Girl In Motion

I hope all you holiday celebrating folks had a fine time this week. We went (as we have for the last 4 years) to our very close friend’s house in upstate NY with the other annual Xmas invitees – so there were nine of us doing the Secret Santa thing, eating exquisitely prepared food (when’s the last time you had poussin?), hiking in the woods and jabbering for two days.

Now I’m back and in a strange mood. Ordinarily, the first thing I’d do when coming home is jump on the computer, check email and then the forums, but something’s going on in my brain, leaving me less enmeshed in the forum life as I have been.

Without a doubt, I’ve spend an inordinate amount of time on running forums this year, sometimes to my boyfriends detriment, and my own as a result. It’s been hard to concentrate on anything else - even the novels I dutifully check out from the library every few weeks end up sitting on the night table, unread, because the only words I’m able to ingest are about running and other people’s running.

If I was going to be brutally honest, and I will be, I’ve been embarrassed about my prolific forum participation for months now, ever since I emailed a race report link to my non-running friends, so they could check out my race pictures and see what I was up to. It wasn’t till I’d sent the link that I realized A) I’d given my non-running friends access to my inner running world which in retrospect I wish I’d kept separate and B) I’d already racked up over 1000 posts on the forum since February, which seemed easy enough to accumulate by congratulating people for their races and breakthroughs, plus my own questions and advice – and while none of my non-running friends mentioned the high post-count to me (probably didn’t even notice), I’ve been pretty self-conscious about it since.

So here I am, back in the saddle (computer chair) and perusing with less energy than usual. Funny thing though, moments after I started writing this entry, I gave a quick once-over to the RW forum and found someone had posted a thread with my name in the title, thanking me for something I’d written a while back. It was so lovely to be called out and made me feel great to have been a help. And then I checked my team thread (I’m in a mileage team where you post your weekly mileage and share the weeks’ highlights) and it looks like one of our team members is slyly announcing her pregnancy in a tricky way, so ok, I’m going out for a run now but will check back to see if my guess is correct and…

Oh, who am I kidding? If 2007 was the year of the Forum Freak, 2008’s version will be a little laid back, still in existence, but less obsessed and a touch more absent - a Forum Freakette, if you will.

And now, it’s time to get on with that run, but first let me just check out that website we were we talking about over Xmas dinner. What was it? Oh yeah, www.secondlife.com. Funny, but everyone warned me not to go there, they said I’ll probably never emerge from this room if I do, and Nick had a real worried look on his face, so I’ll just take a tiny little peek…

When I started running (or rather, jog/walking), I remember vividly how far a mile felt…interminable. It was a unit of distance best enjoyed from inside the comfort of a car, a measurement invented for hating, not to be taken lightly.

By the time the run/walk program progressed to the final week and I was managing 3 miles without stopping, everything had changed. I no longer feared the word “mile” - it was a symbol of progress, proof that I was getting stronger and healthier. And as it grew to 4, 5, then 6 miles, I couldn’t remember why I was scared of adding distance, my body was accepting of the progression and I just wanted to go farther, longer.

Then 7 miles came, and oh my, what a little drama that was. I’ll expand on it at another time, suffice it to say I learned what dehydration can do to a gal and how it can turn a lovely run into a nightmare. One thing’s sure; it gave me more respect for the future miles I would continue to add on.

Next up was 8.5, significant because it’s the “museum loop” which I had cycled before (and found endless), so to cover this landmark distance in running shoes would be hugely symbolic. And it was. I cried as I crossed Falls Bridge that first time, the river was so beautiful from up there and I was accomplishing something I’d never planned for or expected. Well…I’m such a crybaby, anyway.

The day after I hit 10 miles, I became officially unfazed by distance. Sure, I continue to feel proud and excited when adding miles, but my handy compartmentalizing mind says that any run below 20 is just 10 with a few more miles tacked on, which makes it all seem so achievable. And with marathon training in view for 2008 (a humbling thought, for sure) I’m happy to report that my longest runs to date, an 18 and 19, were both positive experiences for me.

So what is a mile now? It’s “the third lamppost after the turn” or “just before the big tree” or “midway at the short cement wall”.  I notice when I go out, instead of thinking 12, I think 6 with a turnaround to go home.

Of course, all of this big tough talk doesn’t explain the other day when I left a message on a friend’s answering machine saying, “I’m going out for a run now, but I’ll be back in a couple hours.” And it hit me: a couple hours on a cold grey windy day. Suddenly that seemed like a really, really long time to be outside running. In an instant, I was in flashback mode, feeling as unsure of myself as the days when one measly mile seemed forever. Then I remembered that I don’t care about such things (hah!), I gave myself a kick in the ass and into the day I ran.

Christmas is coming and Nick (the boyfriend) and I were going to exchange gift certificates to a running and cycling store respectively. But after a good hard think, I have decided that a non-running present is what I really need. Because lately, with my unending excitement for running, I feel as though I’m channeling a 12 year-old boy. Time to get girly again. I want to want to accessorize. That said, I’m still ordering running stuff online. It’s a moderate compulsion, but I’ve got it under control, kind of sort of - ok, well I’m trying.

So the UPS guy came on Friday. As he handed the package over he said, “Aha, my kind of person,” then read the address label out loud, “…Running Warehouse.”  And for the next 10 minutes we talked about marathons, PRs, water stops and the like. It’s funny how, when you’re not a runner, you’ve no idea there are thousands of strange folks walking around contemplating electrolytes, wicking fabrics, black toenails or nipple chafing. Become one, and they’re everywhere.

And then it occurred to me that maybe UPS is carrying pod people in the back of their boxy brown trucks, that Running Warehouse can afford to offer free 2-day shipping because they’re in cahoots with the devil UPS to turn every last one of us into 12-year-old-channeling running wannabes. This would explain why I’m forced to add a new pair of Balega Enduros to my cart every time I order from them, because who in their right mind needs this many pairs of $9 socks? Freaky.

Fairmount Park is one of the largest urban parks in the country. Gorgeous and ethereal, the portion I run is along the banks of the Schuylkill (pronounced SKOO-kul) River. Let me introduce you to some of my (unbeknownst to them) running partners.

There’s the weird guy who sits quietly on one particular bench where everyone must pass. He is not alone - his bench-mate is Jesus, or rather a couple plastic-wrapped pics of the Big J. I’ve yet to figure out if he’s selling them or simply displaying them for our admiration or conversion and will never know, since his crazy eyes make me run a little faster whenever I see him sitting there.

There are the geese. Not a few or a handful, but clumps of 30 and 40 milling about. They’re extremely good-natured and except for the giant green turds they leave in their wake, make for some very nice crowd support. I’m also happy to note that leg-pecking does not occur to them - which is good, because I’m always having to sneak around one or two waddling in my way.

There are the power-walkers, some I recognize from far away, thanks to their hugely abundant arm-swings. I smile or say hi to a couple, though a few always pretend they’re alone in the world, which is fine, I just ignore them back.

One of my favorite sights in the park are the lanky-legged guys running with concentrated determination across their faces. Sometimes you can tell it’s a speed day as they surge forward like antelope, effortlessly bounding ahead, all limbs and raw energy. Other days I might end up passing them which always tickles me pink (even though I’m sure it’s their recovery run or low HR training that lets that happen).

There are loads of women around, too - all ages though the majority are younger. There are some you smile at, say hi to, there are some who look mean even if you’ve smiled and said hi, and there are those that cheer you on a cold day saying “go, us!” or out of nowhere give you a high-five (I suspect that woman confused me with someone she knew, but I loved it anyway). There are also a few strange ladies who, in the height of summer, bundle themselves weirdly in plastic outfits, like an antiquated example of how to lose weight. I always expect one to pass out - maybe then the geese will have something to peck.

Then there are the Boxers, or at least that’s what I call them. Assorted tough-looking guys shuffling forward in large hooded sweatshirts, hands shoved deep into the center pocket. It’s funny how you can tell when someone’s running for reasons other than running and these guys look like they belong in the ring.

Lastly, there’s the old guy who’s 70-something and fast. I’ve seen him at races - he wins his AG all the time, but would be considered fast by anyone’s standards. He’s there in the summer, long white beard and short shorts (nothing else), zipping along like a mad scientist with wings on his feet. I saw him drive out of the parking lot once in a Porsche convertible. I wanna be him when I grow up.

So there you have it; a wonderful mixed bag of shapes, sizes and species - as beautiful to watch as the rowers slipping their oars soundlessly into the river. Well, all except for Jesus Guy…he’s just creepy.

I admit it; I’m embarrassingly addicted to my Forerunner 305. I bought it back in March, realizing how valuable a tool it could be; measuring distances, tracking pace, programming workouts, etc. I never run without it and contend that it’s been a huge player in my steady improvement, but the dependency issue has become a real downer.

This was never more obvious than a couple months ago when, days before a big race, it appeared to have died completely. All I saw was a blank screen and panic set in. My first thought was to immediately buy a replacement since there wasn’t time for repair (and with such a high price tag, this was not a healthy reaction). Luckily, the button-press sequence they have on the Garmin site saved the day, but it hit home how utterly lost I’d be without this bulky bit of wrist hardware.

I brought it up at the coaching session, and he suggested I leave it at home for a while. Leave it at home?!? Terror-struck, I whined that my logs are made from this data and I need the details it gives me. Patiently, he said then wear it, but don’t look at it till the run’s over. Weighing the fact that I’m working on base miles for the next month and don’t need to beat any time limits for a while, it was now or never.

And so it was that yesterday, on an 8-mile run, I managed to ignore the friendly monster completely. I did it! The strangest part about it was the outcome…my pace was totally in line with my usual runs. I do have a weird habit (when I don’t bring my mp3 player, and yesterday I didn’t) of singing a song in the back of my head, even while thinking about all kinds of stuff, so there’s a constant beat going on. Maybe that helped or maybe I’m not so detached from my inner pace clock as I thought. Whatever, it was a surprise.

So I’m going out for 12 today, and again will ignore any gathering numbers accumulating on my wrist. I still don’t know how I will ever be able to race without it, it’s the magic pill for starting out too fast, and god forbid I should have to learn how my Timex Ironman works (bought while run/walking to C25K podcasts and before the Garmin purchase). But that’s something for the future.

Meanwhile, I will surreptitiously continue to log my miles in SportTracks, marvel or wilt at my average pace that day and waste valuable time analyzing split information. And while I may never completely rid myself of Garminoholism completely, I will do my best to rise above this addiction and fight the demons it brings. Or, failing that, just try not to look at it so often.

What excellent fun I had this morning - my first meeting with a running coach.

Granted, I did feel a little silly hiring one at this stage of the game, but egged on by some great advice-givers on Coolrunning (one of whom recommended this particular coach), coupled with a mounting bloodlust for speed and a vision to squash as many 45-49AG babes as possible, I made the appointment.

We met at a high-school track on this sunny, 25 degree morning. It snowed last night, so the track was covered but not really slippery. I had originally wanted to do speedwork for our first meeting, but was honestly relieved that the snow interfered with that plan, since it took some of the pressure off. So we ran around the track a bunch while I badgered him with questions.

We talked about how many minutes I can expect to lose from my 5K PR, winter training & mileage, using the Broad St. 10-miler as a Spring goal, interval work, calcium and iron, stress fractures, strides, even did a short hill form-check (I bend at my waist when going up…gotta work on that). All in all a completely satisfying hour.

So now what? December will be for working on my own with a steady base diet of 40+mpw plus some tempo and strides, speed if I feel like it (which means probably none), then come January I plan on making him suffer through a speedwork session and another meeting for some hill fun, and then by February, I hope to hire him more regularly so by the advent of Spring, I can start kicking some old lady ass.

In case anyone else in the Philly area is looking for a coach, Lowell Ladd’s the man and can be found at www.2lcoaching.com. He’s a very sweet guy (though if you’re a fella, this might not be a prerequisite), easy to talk to and he knows his stuff.

So that’s the tale of me and the coach. I told him before we parted, “At the level I’m at, I feel like those people who self-print their own books by hiring a Vanity Press…you’re my Vanity Coach.” But the truth of the matter is, he’s anything but. This guy’s going to make me fast.

Though I’m a frequent poster and lurker on a couple running forums, I’d call the Beginners forum at Running World my “home” forum, the one where I post the most. While it does cater to Beginners, many of the regulars have been running for years, some for decades, and the vibe is so cool, they stick around. It’s a wonderful, helpful and friendly bunch of people, several of whom I’ve met outside of the internet, in races around the area. Anyway, all this to say, I respect and feel great affection towards my fellow forumites.

But I do have a bone to pick with some of the advice given (or rather, not given) when it comes to running form.

Today, someone posted that they’d been running on a treadmill at the gym and a staff person approached them, saying they’d been watching this person kicking themselves when they run and that it was likely due to an imbalance caused by upper body tension. They spoke about a different way to hold your thumbs while running that helps relax the body. The poster was doubtful and very self-conscious, wanting to know what they should do about this advice.

The responses were, “ignore them”, “don’t worry about it” and even “this sounds like a case of someone who thinks they know more than they do” (that one’s my fave). Granted, the staffer’s advice was unsolicited, so yes, it would appear pretty rude, but my reply was “Great!…use it!” I suggested she ask this person to check her out so she could improve her form and run better. Why the hell wouldn’t you, if given the opportunity??

See, it’s like this: If you took up carpentry and you weren’t good at measuring, you’d end up with some very crooked tables. Would it be satisfying to make crooked tables forever? When, with just some particular attention paid to the task, your tables could be vastly improved, not to mention easier to make!

That’s what happens when you work on running form. With no real “work” - just some undivided attention paid your body - sizable bonuses can appear in speed, effort, comfort, and you end up looking damn good, besides! And that’s not even addressing injury reduction, where a simple change in stride can make a world of difference.

How do I know this? Early in the game, so I wouldn’t have to re-learn bad habits (because I am, admittedly, attracted to bad habits), I read books, articles and essays on running form and practiced what was preached; stopped overstriding, started mid-foot landing, stopped crossing my arms across my centerline, adjusted my arm swing to drive with my elbows, increased my foot-turnover (so the Elites run with a 180-beat cadence? Then I will, too!), stopped looking down at the ground, used my core, relaxed from my jaw to my toes and what did I get for my trouble? An instant speed increase and still no injuries to speak of (knock on wood, forever).

C’mon people, the fastest route between two points is a straight line, so take that straight line! Make your life easier!! Do what people before you have done. If you don’t have access to a coach (some running clubs are led by coaches), then read a book, scour the web, learn some simple tips and tricks that’ll make you a happier, faster, more elegant runner. There’s simply no reason not to.

Or they would if their windows were rattling like mine today. I just got back from 8 easy - easy, considering the wind’s whipping like a Dominatrix on speed.

I’d put it off all morning but the forecast basically said “wall ‘o wind” until tonight, so there was no avoiding it. Once I got out it was fine, like strength training at times, and I did end up kicking myself in the shins when I was sideways to the gust, but I had a smile on my face the whole run. Why? Because I was out there. I know, it takes so little to crack me up.

What was especially cool about today’s run was twice I was passed by runners going the opposite way who jokingly assured me, “it’ll be a lot easier on the way back”. This is pretty unusual in itself because with all the runners and cyclists out there daily in my park, not many will smile, much less speak to you, so it’s nice when you get that “we’re all in this together” camaraderie.

Of course, it works the other way, too. They’ve been building a new parking garage for the Art Museum, which I pass every time I run. For a few months, there was one stoic construction worker in charge of letting the trucks out onto the street, making sure the driver waited for runners and pedestrians to pass before exiting, and this guy and I would silently nod to each other when I passed. He was replaced a couple months ago by a much more effusive guy who keeps trying to talk to me when I run by, which doesn’t work too well because I ain’t gonna stop and I’m usually plugged into my mp3 player, besides.

A couple weeks ago, before the Philly Marathon, he managed to ask (yell out) if I was doing it, after a few “What?!?”s from me, I yelled back that I was doing the Half and he replied that he’d be there. But again, me with my headphones and fear of overly-friendly construction workers, I didn’t find out in what capacity he was talking about - was he running it, volunteering for it, cheering a friend, stalking me? No idea. He’s since asked how it went, I yelled out, “fine” though I felt guilty because I couldn’t ask how it went for him without starting an actual conversation, so I ran on. And that’s that, until the next time he cheerily asks me another question I can’t understand.

Which is what’s so interesting about a running life: the Wind, she comes and goes, but all the funny little interactions remain, innocuous and notable at the same time.