The Half That I Hated

Last year, I began my running journey. Like any other thing I've ever attempted, I researched, planned, and became focused on the goal, all the while knowing that the journey towards this elusive (for me, at any rate) 13.1 mile achievement would be filled with chaos (I have a three year old), ups and downs (I have a five now six year old that brings home germs from school), and multitasking (I also work from home). But, I was enjoying my new activity that gave me a mental mini vacation, pushed my body to discover every weakness it had, and made my yoga pants look fantastic.

I'm a mom, I live in yoga pants most days. Or workout pants that really resemble leggings from Victoria Secret. Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, jeans.

I signed up for this feat, knowing I had six months to prepare, and many 5k opportunities in between. I ran every morning, pushing my littlest in a stroller for added resistance, planning, and making running playlists.

My first 5k I found out a friend was expecting, which was awesome and a great way to start my race journey. No medal, but the memory made up for that. By my third, and one medal later, I was hooked. It was more fun than I realized, easier than I thought (I was putting the work in!), and I had a running crew to share the good and the bad with along the way.

Then, Facebook fooled me by posting a 5k/half marathon literally down the street from me.  With a medal for the half, plus a bonus windbreaker for the first so many who signed up!

That darn medal did it all for me. It was in our Metroparks, with a wolf as the main character in the design.  Close by, cool medal, and free bonus jacket if I signed up now? Yes! My husband even encouraged me to take the leap.

Then he asked, right after I signed up and had my new partner in crime locked in, how long a half marathon was. When I told him, he actually had the audacity to looked stunned. I am pretty sure he thought it might only be a bit longer than the 3.1 miles I had been running in over the summer.

Great.

So, I ran. And with any great plan comes insane complications. It seemed every single weakness I had (a weak ligament in my ankle from an injury while pregnant with my first, a bad knee, years of working in heels on marble floors for 45-55 hours a week, all those really cute shoes!!!) sprung up to hinder and attack my poor body.

I did yoga, tried to add strength training, and dusted off the stationary bike in my office. The office that had somehow become the cluttered mess I avoided since I had children.

Long story short, I never got beyond 6 miles for my longest run. Between my IT band being a complete jerk, PTA mom responsibilities, germs (UGH!!!!!), and life happenings (selling our "extra" house), I let myself down. But, there was no way I wasn't going to do my best. Even if I had to swear and cry along the way. I wasn't a total lost cause, but I would be lying if I didn't say I wasn't worried.

The race sponsors sent out info letting everyone know if they were walking (HALLELUJAH!) the marathon, they could arrive early to make sure they could finish before the roads were opened. And, the temps were forecasted for a chilly arrival of mid fall temps and possible snow!!!

The long and short of it...it snowed. I froze, layered correctly (the power of finding out and testing things in advance!!), had a great running partner who shares my love of intervals, and we did great until about mile 8 or so.

Then, I began to hit a wall. To be honest, the view was pretty in a way, but the simplicity of it all BORED ME TO NO END! Worst of all, the roads were banked, and while I run in my neighborhood, banking is pretty rare unless you count the hills. But hills and banking are two totally different animals. And not very friendly ones either.

We finished, texting and posting random Facebook updates in the snow with our gloves on or off depending on where we were interval and energy wise, shared Jelly Belly Energy Beans, drank all the water we were offered, Honey Stinger Wafers, and swore profusely as we neared the end of our ordeal.

I had my first ice bath (who knew ice could be so darn wonderful??), yoga recovery for half an hour, and gladly kissed my boys when I got home. That medal is hanging with its friends, and I both smile at it and glare as I pass by.

But, to be honest I just don't know if I'm going to ever do another one. My running group is already trying to get me to sign up for another one, but I'm just not sure I want to torture myself that greatly anytime soon.  If I do, there will be a castle involved, a few rides, and a good dose of training non stop beforehand, with plenty of swearing and new running shoes along the way.

But, I can say I'm a half marathoner now. And that's pretty cool.

The Road To Running: Rain or Shine

My body has the crazy idea that maybe I need to take care of myself. Unfortunately, I don't listen well, if at all. This means I need the message delivered LOUD AND CLEAR.

If you've read any of my Disney revelation blog, you know some of this. But I'm pretty sure I really haven't let on just how bad it had gotten. Last Spring, my life was in a crazy constant tumble of insanity. As a mom to two adorable, active, and at times spirited little boys under the age of five, life was a nonstop journey of overwhelming activities that made me feel like I was forever on a hamster wheel dedicated to never-ending catching up. I was neglecting myself, my marriage (I kept forgetting how lucky and loved I was, and my frustrations made me stressed which definitely hindered my communication ability), but giving what I thought was my energy to my sons. Then, my feet started to hurt. Just a tinge here and there, especially after wearing a certain pair of really cute sandals. What I didn't know then was that I was developing a horrendous case of plantar fasciitis in both feet that would hinder my ability to walk for almost a year.

It became so bad that I had to seek medical advice. I stopped doing my favorite things (yoga, dance, walking, biking, playing soccer with my five year old) way before it got bad, but now I couldn't even attempt any of these things withour excruciating pain. An older ankle ligament injury became aggravated, doubling the pain. Not fun.

So, I started physical therapy. Ice, tons of ice! Rest (which made me so insane), new shoes (running shoes that took forever to find ones that gave me what I needed), and tons of yoga. To calm my crazy mind, and gently strengthen my body. My weight had started to climb up due to my lack of activity, but I knew if I could somehow get myself healthy and less stressed the journey back would be worth it.



So, I started walking after my son's bus picked him up with a fellow mom (who has since moved away) rain, snow, or shine. I learned to tape my injuries when needed, and started having movie nights with my family. I shared my fears with my husband, who hugged me, listened to me, and encouraged me.

Then, we went to Disney.

Life changing.

I began a Baby Steps to a 5k program, and I signed up for my first 5k. Every morning, without fail (weekends became optional so that my husband and I could work on our dream business) I walked briskly, knowing that slow and steady would be best for my body.

Then I found the Galloway Method and intervals!

To be continued....

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