Snowflakes & Shamrocks!

The Shuffle is widely recognized as the first race of the new year for Chicago-area runners. But while it's now officially running season, the weather is clearly not on our side!

The blizzard-typhoon that swept through Chicago Saturday night into Sunday morning kept me and 16,000 others from participating in this much-anticipated race. After waking up and taking one look outside, I knew it was a bad idea to go. By 8:30 am the weather still hadn't let up, so I grimly hopped back into bed.

But with so many people supporting me, I knew I had to remain accountable. I ran a pleasant (yet still challenging!) 5 miles solo later the in the day when the elements were much, much more accommodating!

14,000 brave souls did strap on their shoes to run on Sunday (many who wore shorts and sleeveless tops - I have no idea how!!). The Chicago Tribune has some great race day photos and coverage. And, just like the Chicago Marathon, a native Kenyan took a first place finish in the Shuffle. Emmanuel Korir, who now resides in Lansing, Mich., finished in only 24 minutes and 18 seconds.

The women's title went to 2004 Olympic Marathon bronze medalist Deena Kastor of California.

To date I've raised nearly $850 to support Hope Runs programming in Kenya and Tanzania. I'm looking forward to seeking future sponsorhip this year - hopefully with more positive race recaps!

14 miles... like, whoa

When I embarked on my first long run of 10 miles, I felt nervous but confident I could do it.  I kept a positive mindset and ran all the way from the Rog to Belmont Ave and back. A good, solid run.  Talk about an esteem booster.

Then I pumped it up to 14 miles. It was a busy weekend so I didn't get around to running until 8pm on Sunday.  This time I ran to North Avenue beach.  I love night running and this one went smooth, too. Until I hit mile 10, which I'm starting to think is my my wall.  I pretty much just dragged my feet for the remaining 3 miles. Oh, was I frustrated.  But it reminded me that if my runs are too comfortable, if I'm not feeling exhausted at the end, then I'm not pushing harder. Running is supposed to be a constant challenge, a struggle that leaves you fatigued and sometimes distressed when finished.  Not every run is accompanied by an euphoric moment.  But it's always worth the two, four, ten runs it takes to feel that runner's high.

For now, just knowing I ran 14 (and now 16!!) will suffice. I know I'll soon feel it, too.

Stitches. Now that's a good excuse for not running!

I've been real lazy with my running lately, or at least real sloppy. I'll put off the day's scheduled run and "do it tomorrow."  When I finally get out there, though, the run feels good so that's a bonus.  It has been difficult getting back into the groove of regular distance running since returning from vacation but the runs are getting easier which, as a result, cause me to actually enjoy running. Can you believe that? Yes, I like to run. Wahoo!

I went for a night run on Saturday with Jeremiah, the 17 year old bro of Josh Hagan (not to be confused with college buddy Joshua Hogan, although there are striking similarities).  I told the boys-- Rodrigo, Josh, Jeremiah-- I was going running while they went to get video games and White Castle.  Okay, that's a lie.  I told them I wanted to go but Rodrigo had to coerce me into actually doing it (told you I've been a bit lazy!).  When Jeremiah (or Miah, as we call him) heard this, he piped up and insisted on accompanying me so I "didn't get mugged."  He refused to go north towards Evanston so I opted to show him my usual path down Sheridan and to the Lake.   I was concerned that he wouldn't be able to stand the distance (only 4 miles) when, in fact, he kept the pace quick for me.  He sprinted at the end. Damn kid.  Oh to be 17 again!

So that was Saturday.  Sunday I slept in and when I finally popped out of bed I ended up stepping on-- not knocking over but actually crushing-- a glass of water.  Which, of course, sliced my foot and blood began pouring all over. Greeaaat.  I called for Rodrigo, four more friends rushed over, and Rodrigo concluded we had to go the hospital for stitches. Wonderful, right? The pain wasn't bad; I was more irritated than anything.

So, to make this long story short (although I could comment extensively on the hospital experience and the screwiness of our heath insurance system, I will not), I ended up getting six stitches.   This did not hold me back from attending a 3 Doors Down and Staind concert last night nor from walking all over the city on errands today. Unfortunately it is preventing me from my 5.5 mile run today. And that sucks.  But I guess that's just how life goes. Gotta get well, get this damn thing healed by the weekend, because I've got my first really far run: 10 miles. Yikes. As if that wasn't enough to worry about!  Well the best way to put it-- and how fitting for it to be Bastille Day!-- is c'est la vie! 

And I will post some sick/cool photos of my foot once I find a decent camera to use.  Proof of my battle wounds and all. 

M is for Marathons.... and Mexico! and Mangoes!

Just as marathon training is about to officially start, I had to go to Mexico. Had to. Like going on vacation is a bad thing, right? Ha! 

Honestly I was a little concerned about being gone for 10 days just when I needed to start 'building my foundation,' so to say.  My family and I left on Thursday, June 19th, for a trip south of the border for the 15th birthday celebration of a family friend, Laurie.   I'll take more time to blog about the experience of being in Mexico for the first time and all the fun stuff that goes along with it (tacos for every meal, cheap cerveza, deciphering what eve

ryone is saying, toilets that don't flush... yes, even that

) but I'm a bit too tired right now. So... to be continued!

I will say that the title of this posting is derived from the experience of my solo quality run while away.  At our resort there was a gorgeous golfing range that was off limits to joggers.  So I, of course, had to run around this path when the golfers di

sappeared for the night.   I did two laps on the large range, which is approximately 4 miles, and about 20 minutes along the way I came across a mango tree with fresh, luscious mangoes lying all around it. Mind you, I really, really like this fruit which, in the U.S., is pretty pricey and rare (nowadays it's $1.50 for one mango.  I used to pay $1 for 3 at Devon Market just a few years back! Sheesh!).  So to stumble upon a plentiful plethora of free, ripe mangoes kind of made me want to stop running and happily weep. And eat. Okay, it's an exaggeration but still... 

Anyway, I did not, in fact, stop; I did continue on m

y run. But the mangoes along the trail coupled with a magnificent setting sun that painted the whole sky a vibrant orange, then pink, and finally mauve,  kind of made running in Mexico really peaceful.  I was hot, and drenched, and weak, but man, was I happy.

What goes up, must come down... crashing.

So the title of this posting is a little exaggerated, I'll admit it. But since registering to run the "big race" in October I've experienced both moments of euphoria ("I can do this! I really can!) and utter disappointment ("What is wrong with me??").

For the first two weeks after registering, my runs were amazing. Simply awesome. I was down to like 25 minutes or something for my 3 miler. For me, that was much better than I've done in a long, long time. A few weeks back I ran 6 simple miles along the lakefront-- a few times, actually-- and just felt great. Natural. Like, I could really do this.

Flash forward a week (in real time, that would be two weekends ago. Sorry if my timeline is confusing you). Beautiful spring Sunday. Everyone is out and about and cheery that good weather has finally arrived. I'm stoked to run in such nice weather. So I lace up and head out and after about three quarters of mile I begin to think, 'huh, this really doesn't feel all that good. As a matter of fact, I feel lousy. This is... hard?'

I had music. My pace wasn't too fast. I had no excuses except I smoked hookah the night before (lungs hurt) and pulled an all-nighter Friday (sleep-deprived). I had to suck it up and make myself run the 3 miles back home.

This happened again a few more times, during long runs (6 miles) and shorter, quick runs (2 miles). My legs felt heavy, I was running with my chest, it was just so unnatural. I didn't even feel like I was employing my quad muscles, squeezing my abs, using my biceps and forearms to pull me through.

Then, I'm home on the south side this weekend. I run 6 miles around the 'hood. How'd it go? It was awesome. I was going much faster than I felt. I think I finished in around 55-56 minutes. The next day I have 2 fast miles to crank out. Finished in under 16:30. Hmm, what gives? Familar territory, Ashley suggested.

Yesterday was another beautiful day. Again, totally excited to run 5 around town. So I go out, and, just like before, felt shitty. I did run one mile under 8 and another (on the Ignatius track, after breaking in) in 7:40, but I could only complete 4.

It's frustrating. It is so easy to get sidetracked by the bad runs and fall into a funk of "what the f am I doing? No, why the f am I doing this to myself?"

But then there are those really Zen-like times when you feel like you can put foot in front of foot for hours... I could really use one of those this weekend. Like Saturday when the schedule calls for 7. Lucky number 7!

An ad, hanging on my bulletin board at work:

"halfway thru my run
I realized
I actually
felt
good."