Personal Record; also, the worst

Saturday, May 11 was Race to Wrigley - the 5K through the Wrigley Field neighborhood. I ran it for the second time. 

In 2012, this became my 5K PR race. A year ago, I ran it in 40:44, for a 13:09 minute mile. This was the race that got me thinking, hey, maybe I could run a sub-40 5K. For most runners, this is a given. For me, it has been a struggle. Race to Wrigley last year was the closest I'd ever gotten.

We had a swell group of people running this year, although I sure did miss my sister Kathie and nephew Alex. (In true Cubs fashion ... wait 'til next year!) Shelly, Kristen, Linda, Pam and I met up with Diane and Justin at Wrigley. 

Clockwise from 1:00 - Diane, Kristen, Shelly, Pam, Linda, Me, Justin. I think.

Before we headed out, Kristen's friends Michelle and Tracy joined us, too, along with Tracy's kids. Soon, it was time to get started!

Me at the start, surrounded by a bunch of people.
Yes, I realize how much I look like my brother.

I love this race. Going in, I knew it would be a fast one for me; after last year, I had a feeling for how it would go. It's relatively flat, very few turns, and relatively open. I was looking forward to a great run, and I was not disappointed. 

We ran through the area, and lots of residents came out to offer us more cowbell or just cheer us on from their front porches. I felt like I was giving a good effort, and there were a few times I wanted to stop and walk, but I wouldn't let myself. It is not supposed to be easy! It should feel like effort, I kept telling myself; it should be a challenge. I took a short walk break to drink some water, and then it was right back to it.

When we turned off of Waveland and into the concourse of the stadium, I knew I was going to be close to earning my PR. I pushed it as hard as I could, while maintaining my breath and ... ya know ... not dying. Honestly, it felt good! I crossed the finish line, smiling. Soon I ran into Kristen, and she asked if I'd gotten my PR, and I said I thought so! The clock said 41 minutes, so unless I crossed the start line right at 8 a.m., I was going to be close. Lucky for me, they had a kiosk set up so you could look up your results. I put in my bib number, and this is what I saw:

Yup, that's what my PR looks like.

I could not believe it. Not only did I get my PR, but I beat the crap out of it! I was more than two minutes faster than last year's race! Unreal. I am still on cloud nine.

On a similar yet not sort of note, Jenn and I did a 5K on Sunday, too. It was the Aurora Fox River Trail 5K, done in conjunction with a half marathon by the same company. It sucked. It was actually almost four miles, which is no big deal except it sure does screw up your clock time, and it was poorly organized. Thankfully, it was a gorgeous day and the company was good.

So there you have it; one weekend, two races. One a personal best, the other an organizational worst. For me, the thing that is most striking about all of this is the way I am able to bounce back. In the past, a 5k would wipe me out, and I'd wake up sore as hell the next day. Lately, it's just become something I do without a whole lot of drama. So there's progress all around! Woot!

Of bagpipes and the best of friends

Sunday morning dawned clear and warm. The training was done, and it was all down to this. This morning, this moment, this race.

It was GO TIME.

Early raceday morning, I got a text from my sister Kathie: "Have a safe and healthy run. You rock!" Yup, she said it. In writing. It was time to go and prove her right. As I drove to St. Charles, I bit back nerves the entire time. From here, anything could happen ... good and bad.

So why is it that we focus on what could go wrong instead of what could go right? I found myself tied up in metaphoric knots right up until the airhorn started us off. Seriously! What the heck is THAT about? What if I was too slow and they didn't allow me to finish? What if I was literally the last person and I got embarrassed?

Well, so what? That's the worst-case scenario? I'll take it.

There are people - lots and lots of people - for whom running isn't an option. There are others who physically could, and would like to, but something keeps them from trying. I can. So what if the "what-ifs" get me down? I approached the start area.

And almost immediately found a friend - Carrie, one of my first encouragers and an amazing woman. Carrie is an IronMan and an incredible all-around athlete. I love her.

The incredible IronCarrie Mills and me, pre-race.

With a few words of wisdom from Carrie, I was ready. Just one more check of my phone, and another text from Kathie: "Focus. Be strong. Run healthy. You can do whatever you were meant to do."

Amen.

And I began to run. The first mile was horrible! My legs were tired, and the pack immediately began pulling away from me. But I had the world's best playlist, and I knew it would help. I ran this race as a fundraiser for the MS Society, and I asked those who donated to my run to give me song suggestions and prayer requests to bear in mind during the run. The songs - except for the ones suggested by Mike Rice - reminded me of why I was running. Mike's suggestions pretty much just reminded me to laugh. The music helped - a lot!

Once I got through that first mile, I settled into a rhythm and a run/walk interval that felt good. I kept telling myself, "You planned and prepared; execute the plan". I kept passing the same people, and they me, so there was a sort of "back of the pack" camaraderie; it was nice! A mile or two before the turnaround, the "real" runners started coming toward me. It was incredible to see these amazing athletes running toward the finish. Seeing people I know - Carrie, her friend Pat, their friend Jay and my old friend Laura - did a lot to help me keep my head in the game. So much support. And once I got halfway, well ... to turn back at this point is pretty much to finish. 

This is where I met Denise. She settled into a pace alongside me, and we ran/walked the rest of the race together. I think we saved each other! We chatted on and off as we made our way the six or so miles we had until we made it to the finish. She told me about her kids and her career, and her journey as an athlete, and I shared my reasons for running. I explained that I was running as a fundraiser, and that the finish line might be a bit of a spectacle because my friend Rich Bird was planning to be there.

With bagpipes. 

Our deal was that if I raised $800, he'd "pipe me in" at the finish line. Well, I raised $1170, so as Denice and I approached the finish line area, we saw this guy:

My friend Rich Bird is the coolest person ever. For serious.

And he began to play. And I began to cry. And then I told my self to knock that shit off, because there was no way I'd finish if I were crying! 

It was so cool; best finish line ever - and that's goin' some. The finish line at a Disney race is pretty stellar, but this one was special. In a lot of ways, it was the culmination of months of planning on my part. It was my friends, though, that made it awesome. They - 26 of them in all - had donated to a cause that's important to me, and I felt their support with me along the run. I was running (walking, stumbling) for them. It mattered.

I wasn't kidding about the bagpipes, or the kilt, or the awesomeness of my friends.

I crossed the finish line hand in hand with my new friend Denise, and Linda (who had volunteered for the race) put my medal around my neck. I had done it! I won a half marathon! (And by "won" I mean "finished in the upright position".) My friends Millie and Eric were there to cheer me on, and Kristen (another Runner of the Round Table, our unofficial running club) had come all the way down from Schaumburg to see me finish.

That's what running is, for me. It's something I do by myself, with a large group of people. Many of them are strangers, a few are good friends. Some of them, like Denise, aren't strangers for long. It doesn't matter if you run or not; you can still be part of the race. Runners, especially the Pokey Joes like me, couldn't do it without the volunteers and the spectators and the other runners. That's where we get the motivation to keep going. We run, because we know you believe in us.

Finishing the race and celebrating with my friends ...  that's life, at its best. Those who were with me got hugs and tears, but those who weren't - my Walk MS team, my family, Carrie (who had to go to her son's ballgame) and the rest of the Runners of the Round Table - were there in my heart, for sure.

Someone you know was very very tired on Sunday night.

It was as magical a day as you can have, outside of Disney World.

Half marathon, all crazy

So I made a few bargains while asking for donations for the half marathon, benefitting the MS Society. The coolest was that if I reached $800, my friend Rich Bird would come to the finish line to "pipe me in" on the bagpipes. SO NEAT.

But there were other "incentives", too, that allow donors to be part of the experience. First, I asked everyone for a thought, hope or prayer that I would keep in the center of my mind throughout a portion of the race. With the number of donors I have, each person will have roughly a half mile dedicated to their request. 

I also asked for people to suggest songs for my running playlist, which I'll use to keep me moving forward on Sunday. So I thought I'd share with you what I've received, both prayers and songs. I will update as more come in. 

I'll be thinking of and praying for ...

• a dear friend's sister who is battling MS.
• the children. Think of the children. (There's a jokester in the bunch.)
• those who are battling MS combined with depression, and how hard it is to deal with both.
• health and happiness for all those we love. 
• family.
• everyone fighting MS.
• that we can leave a better world for our children.
• all my friends to have happiness, however they define it.
• a woman named Barb who was admired and appreciated by her co-workers, and has moved on to a different job.

I'll be listening to ...

• I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor
• Big Panty Woman by Barefoot Man
• Tubthumping by Chumbawamba
• The Greatest Love of All by Whitney Houston (at which point I will probably have to step off the trail and vomit)
• Silent Running by Mike & the Mechanics
• Texas Twister by Little Feat (I'll probably listen to Dixie Chicken, too)
• Not Dead Yet by Bad Examples
• Kryptonite (Live) by 3 Doors Down
• Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen (who else?)
• Viva la Vida by Coldplay
• Something Pitbull (haven't decided what!)
• Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen
• God's Great Dance Floor by Chris Tomlin
• Raise Your Glass by P!nk
• Chelsea DAgger by The Fratellis
• Jump by Van Halen
• The Olympic Theme by John Williams
• Carry On by Fun

I am still reeling with the generosity of my friends and family. The donations continue to come in, and I am so grateful that so many have chosen to support my run by giving to an organization I believe in. I absolutely trust that, in time, one of the dollars we raise will be the one that wipes out MS. And that's the real gift.

Me, and Sally Field

Remember that Oscar speech? The one where Sally Field waxed philosophical about how the Academy felt about her? It was 1985, and she won Best Actress for "Places in the Heart".

"I can’t deny the fact that you like me, right now, you like me!"

I sorta feel like that, right now. See, a month or so ago, I issued a challenge - to myself and to my friends. If they - you - would help me raise $500 for the MS (Multiple Sclerosis) Society, I would run a half marathon.

For the past few years, I've participated in Walk MS, a walk-a-thon that benefits the MS Society. My team is the Myelin Milers, and at its helm is my friend G. She was diagnosed with MS in 2009, and is committed to showing this disease who's boss. As my personal awareness of MS increased, I began to realize that I know many people affected by it ... and it became even more important to me to support the cause.

So I set the goal for $500, and the next thing I knew, I'd reached it. Right away, my friend Rich came up with an idea to help me get even more donations: Bagpipes.

See, I'm running in a kilt. So for $500, I run a half marathon in a kilt.

When I reached $600, I agreed to accessorize with argyle socks.

At $700, I allow my donors to choose my playlist for the run.

And at $800, when I reach the finish line, Rich will meet me. With bagpipes. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of support my friends offer me.

That was yesterday. In the hours since then, my friends and family have continued to donate. At the time of this writing, I am at $945. With $55 more in donations, I will reach $1,000 - double my original goal. Ergo, my Sally Field moment. The people who have my back - you amazing and wonderful people who have selflessly donated to the cause - you believe in me. You believe that on Sunday morning, I will cross the start line, and I will continue running for about three hours ... the time it will take me to run 13.1 miles.

I can't deny the fact that you believe in me, right now, you believe in me! Knowing that, I have the confidence get it done.

So here's to you, with all my gratitude. I run for you:

• Diane, Justin, Aidan, Eva and Koen Rand
• Emily Schneider
• Angelicque Cate
• Kathy Mickelson
• The Ludena Family - Polly, Marc, Ross, Jack and Ro
• Linda Clegg
• Kimberly Thuente
• Susan Carolina
• Trish Koran
• Amy Turk
• My sister Pat
• mEllen Bruce
• Mary Jo Hann
• Kristine Keef
• Lorna Clegg
• Monica McIltrot
• Gretchen Taylor
• Mike, Rae & Kaylee Rice
• Eric, Milly & Danny Schwartz
• Mammy
• Cinthya Mix
• Michael Bushman
• Brian Powles (my eighth grade English teacher)

And, for the record, if you'd still like to donate, the MS Society will gladly accept your gift. My page can be found here. 

The other worst 5K ever

There's this thing called the Rave Run. It's a night-time run with music and lights, and it looked cool. Plus, we got a Groupon for it, so it was only $25.

We arrived downtown only to discover that the race wasn't where we thought it was. Great, we'll walk! At least we got good scenery.

Buckingham Fountain in the pre-season.

Once we arrived on the grounds, it became painfully obvious that we were lucky to have paid half price. Honestly, they should have had to pay me to participate. It was horrible. Not well organized at all and just an absolute mess. We did, however, get cool glowing stuff to wear.

Meat Rand, me and Diane Rand

The only way a poorly run race is worth the time and effort is through friends who are in it with you. My friends almost made this horrific night worthwhile. But only almost.

Me and Pam

As we stood around in the late-spring chill, getting colder by the moment, a DJ played. It was pretty much all bass, so I couldn't tell you if the music was any good or not. We desperately wanted to have a good time, but we were having to work way to hard to get that.

Diane, Pam and Linda, suited up for a glowing good time.

The venue was pretty enough - Chicago's lakefront - but the original location at the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum was a unique choice, and an area I haven't run in before. That would have been nice, but they changed to a location to accommodate the large number of registrants. Had it been my call, I would have kept it small. They didn't ask me.

Miss Emily, my former roommate and newest run bud. This was our first run together!

All told, we had a nice enough time, but it wasn't worth the hassle. And after all that, I have no time to report, because it wasn't a timed race. Ergo, I highly recommend not doing a Rave Run if they come to your area. They billed it as "3.1 miles of lights and music" and they sure didn't make good on the promise. There were hardly any lights at all, and very little music. The highlight of the evening was making it back to Schaumburg for food. 

Which is to be expected.

I am aware that this entire post sounds like I'm bitching, and I apologize for that. But at least we have some cute photos to make up for it!

It's never "just" a half

One week from Sunday, I'll kick off my second half marathon of 2013. On a whim sometime long about January, I mentioned that I'd like to do four half marathons this year. As of some time around noon on May 5, I will be half way to my goal.

Four half marathons. The equivalent - mileage-wise - of two full marathons. 52.4 miles total. Some day, I will run a marathon. When I have the time to devote to that kind of training, and when I'm not carrying around quite this much excess weight, I will run 26.2. But the thing is, a half marathon - 13.1 miles - is nothing to sneeze at. Mathematically, it's half of a marathon ... but it's not half of anything, really.

It's a full-blown, kick-your-own-ass experience. It's a risk and an adventure. It's a challenge and a joy. It's a reason to eat a great breakfast.

And for me, it's a reason to celebrate.

There are people who tell me they fear I've become "obsessed" with running (which just cracks me up because I think they're probably obsessed with avoiding running, but that's another blog). There are those who say I give too much of myself to the practice. I assure you, there's a reason behind all of it ... and the reason is simple. It's important to me.

Running is a hobby that gives so much back to me. (Yes, even the bad runs.) Anyone who says there's no such thing as runner's high has never hung out with me after a particularly fulfilling run. Like last Wednesday, when I went out for a six mile run and it was windy and full of hills. I ran at an average pace of a 14-minute mile, which is pretty slow. (Most run trackers only allow you to track runs at a 12-mm or faster pace.) But for me, it was awesome. I felt amazing afterward, because I had pushed, but not too hard; I listened to my body and got the training done.

Running gives me confidence. When I think I can't do it, I can. It makes me feel strong and capable; no, scratch that. It proves to me that I am strong and capable. I'll be honest: I don't always enjoy the process, but I have never once regretted going for a run. I always feel great for having finished.

If this is an obsession, I'll gladly be obsessed.

I don't have a flexible schedule most of the time, because I spend a lot of time working out. Most days after work, you'll find me in the gym or on the trail. Doesn't mean I'm a bad friend; it means I've gotten really good at prioritizing. I can't miss a workout for a decadent dinner. (Those times often find me squeezing the workout in at a different time.) I can miss a workout if I feel like I need rest, or if I have something fabulous on the schedule, or if it's a loved one's birthday. But I do need to plan for those things. It doesn't mean I spend too much time workout out; it means I am spending my time in accordance with what I value.

It's not for everyone. But for me, it's just ... right.

Run for Boston (or, how to fail while not really failing)

Monday night, April 22, running stores all over the country organized runs for Boston. It was a way for runners to come together for those whose lives were lost, who were wounded in the bombing, who were denied the finish line and whose city was defiled the previous week. I headed to my favorite running store to be part of it.

They were running a 5K - 3.1 miles - for Boston, and virtually every running store I know of was doing the same or similar. The run was supposed to start at 6:30, and I got to the store around 10 after. I walked in the door and felt like the walls were closing in. I am not prone to panic or anxiety attacks, and it wasn't anything quite that dramatic. I describe it this way:

I got stuck in my head.

It happens sometimes. Usually, I'm with friends and they are able to squeeze me out of it. But last night, I was going solo, and it was more than I could handle. I walked around the store and found myself surrounded by real runners. Muscular legs without any discernible jiggle. Marathon t-shirts. Faces that seemed to say "Three miles is nothing". It tore me up inside. I did not belong here. The horrible feeling - no, knowledge; it felt like knowledge - that if I stayed, all these people would discover that I am a fraud just washed over me. I could not overcome it.

As quickly as I walked in, I walked out.

I know that I'm a runner. As sure as I breathe, I am a runner. I'm just so much slower than everyone else that it plagues on my every insecurity. In tears, I drove toward home. I had pep-talked my way into going to the run, but I could not pep-talk my way into staying. I could not handle the public humiliation that was sure to come.

Runners are a special group of people. The support and encouragement you get from a running group is  beyond anything I've experienced before. But when you're the one who is different - when they are all head and shoulders beyond your ability - it can feel isolating and shameful. No one I know can understand what this is like, because none of them fight for a 13-minute mile. No one I know fears the finish line quite the way I do, knowing the number isn't going to show you what you really want to see. They think they do, but they don't; it isn't the same.

I've been told over and over that it isn't about the time. And I know that it really isn't. But when you're with a big group of people, and you are a good three minutes per mile slower than most of them, it becomes about the time. I've said it before: I honestly don't know of a single other person in the world who is willing to work this hard at something and still suck at it. Most of the time, I don't care. I'm secure enough in my quirkiness that I consider my running suckitude to just be another facet to the awesomeness that is Maggie. But last night was not one of those times.

So back to last night. I cried on the drive home, and then ... I didn't drive home. Instead, I drove to the trail, laced up my shoes, and ran 3.1 miles. It wasn't what I set out to do, but it was what I needed to do.   (And, for the record, my first mile took "only" 12:15.) It felt good to realize that as stuck-in-my-head as I was, I didn't need to stay there. I could acknowledge it, and then run right past it.

Slowly.