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.

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."