In Sync with Greensleeves
Greensleeves was in my sight from the moment the 10K runners split from the 5. There were only 4 runners ahead of me. Greensleeves was the closest.
This is a mistake, I thought as we approached the water stop before the turn, not to keep my eye on her but to even think the name Greensleeves.
Everybody knows “Greensleeves,” an age old song whose tune has been most frequently adapted to Christmas music. Think “What Child Is This” and you know the tune. Slow. Kinda pretty. Not exactly conducive to fast running.
But it wasn’t my fault that my brain chose to name her this. She was, after all, wearing green sleeves, a shoulderless running bra with unmistakeably bright green sleeves.
For almost a mile, I couldn’t shake the song from my head.
But I made a promise to run well. It was the Wild Woman 5K/10K, part of the first annual Wild Woman Weekend held in Blanco, Texas, and I needed to run faster than ever before.
I had to lose this stupid song.
When we turned at the halfway point, the stream of runners trickling along for a good half mile or more startled me. I had been focusing so intently on what lie ahead of me that I hadn’t even thought about what might lie behind. It didn’t register until that moment that I was actually running pretty well, but it would only take one powerhouse runner to catch her second wind and I’d be left in the dust.
That was enough to blow the song right out of my head—and to gain quickly on Greensleeves. Before I knew it, I was close enough to hear her iPod.
I hung back for a bit, debating what to do. We still had almost 3 miles to run and I didn’t want to pull out all the stops just to pass her and risk crashing close to the finish line.
I knew she knew I was there. She glanced back once or twice. We were running virtually alone on a country road outside of Blanco, and it felt a little creepy. I kinda felt like a stalker, running so close behind. So I pulled up to run beside her.
The next 2.5+ miles were some of the best running I have experienced. It was almost surreal. There were no people, only cows and birds, the wind and the smell of flowers. If there were cars, I don’t remember them. We simply ran, breathing simultaneously, keeping the same pace, feet striking the pavement in sync.
When we hit mile 4, there was no marker to indicate it. I held up 4 fingers. This is 4, I said.
That sucked coming down, Greensleeves said at the bottom of a steep hill.
It sucked going up, I replied.
There was no more talking, no need to. We were in stride, side by side, and running fast.
I’ve never checked my watch so frequently. I wasn’t interested at that moment in beating her. I was, instead, astonished at our pace: 7:37, 8:02, 7:58. For over 2.5 miles we maintained an 8-minute mile average. We might as well have been flying.
With less than 1 mile left, Greensleeves stopped to drink and, I think, to breathe. I kept running, but not as fast. It just wasn’t the same without Greensleeves.
She shot across the finish line only a couple of minutes after me. I waited, high-fived her when she crossed.
That was great, I said. Thanks.
Dang, she said, and we smiled.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike
It’s springtime in central Texas. The mountain laurel has bloomed, saturating the air with its grape soda smell. Bluebonnets blanket hills and highway medians. We hit a record 95° high last week, only to be followed by nights dipping into the 30s this week. Definitely spring in Texas.
My neighbors are elbow-deep into spring cleaning. There’s pruning and mowing and aerating outside. Carpet cleaning, closet organizing, and decluttering inside. Garage sales blossom like prickly pears.
My spring cleaning isn’t quite like theirs. I dust off only two things: My bicycle and Queen.
Not Queen Elizabeth II, or even Queen Latifah. You know, Queen. You probably recognize the bleacher stomping at most sports events. We Will Rock You. That Queen.
A few days ago, I broke out my bike. Wheeled it out of the garage, pumped up its flat tires, wiped off cobwebs and last year’s tri sticker, oiled and polished it to a sheen.
I haven’t been on it since last year’s tri.
This year’s tri is coming soon enough, and I have a new goal. I need to finish it in better time than last year. I need to make it up the monster bike hill without the momentary standing still on the steepest grade, the rolling slightly backward.
I need to ride. More than that, I want to.
And so Queen will be my closest companion on early Sunday mornings from here on out, Bicycle Race on continuous loop on the iPod in my head.
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like
Spring cleaning? Nothing to it. Just me and my bike.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )The Blank Page
The page is almost full. Next Sunday–in 9 days–I will be in Austin well before the sun comes up, running a half marathon, the first I have been able to run since February 2010. At the end of the day, my last box will be checked.
When I posted my training plan on the side of my refrigerator just before Thanksgiving, the whiteness of the blank boxes and the progression of long-run miles daunted me. For a couple of weeks, I doubted I could actually do it. Run a half marathon, geez. What was I thinking? I hadn’t run that far in so long I found it hard to have faith in my ability to do it again.
Not only was the page too white, but there were lots of things that might get in the way of fulfilling my plan. Christmas, New Years, vacation, business trip, work. I had to remind myself that the holidays in particular were why I chose to run this particular half marathon at this particular time, why I chose to start training the week after Thanksgiving. I chose.
I knew from past experience how closely aligned race training is with project planning. Life planning. You set a goal and a date, break it down into its parts, plant the tasks on a calendar, and check off each task as it’s complete, recording your rate of success. Focusing on the small chunks, one week at a time at most, one day at a time for certain, is what determines success. We only live one day at a time. It’s our responsibility to focus on the moment, perform to the best of our ability, because the moment is all we are guaranteed.
But for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been looking at my plan with a different eye. When I glance at it from across the kitchen, I no longer see an intimidating white page. My plan has almost reached fruition. The boxes contain times and distances where I followed the plan, or diagonal lines where I didn’t. I am no longer afraid of this page. Rather, I am proud. I have come so far, and there is visual proof to remind me.
When I look at my plan, penciled, erased, circled, used, I get excited. Not only am I so close to reaching my goal, which is thrilling in itself, but I have had the joy (and pain) of reaching a goal every day. I see the results on paper, certainly, but also in the mirror. I am not the same person who started this plan on November 26. And I will be a different person again when I cross that finish line on February 17.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )The Best Wurst 5 Mile Run
Last Saturday I ran the Wurst 5 Mile Run in New Braunfels, Texas. I shared the race with 994 other runners at beautiful Landa Park, home to Wurstfest, a week-long party celebrating German culture, food, and beer.
It was the first time I’ve entered this race, and the first time in a while I’ve participated in a 5 mile run. I have to say, it was the best race I’ve run in a long time. Here’s why:
- Wurst. What kind of race with “Wurst” in the title wouldn’t serve bratwurst? Not this one. There was plenty. I don’t usually eat bratwurst, and I’ve never eaten a wurst right after running, but after this race, I did. Surprisingly, it beats bananas hands-down.
- Beer. What’s bratwurst without beer? A half fulfilled promise. I couldn’t do one without the other, so immediately after crossing the finish line, I headed for the brat line, then the beer line. Another first for me: Drinking beer after a race. I have only one word for all those people who’ve told me over the years how nice a beer is after a run: Genius.
- Tuba. Yes, a tuba. You can’t really have a party celebrating all things German without a polka band. You can’t really have a polka band without a tuba. And I thought bagpipes were cool at a race, but a tuba? Spectacular.
- 5 Miles. For the past few years, I’ve run either 5Ks or half marathons and not a lot in between. A 5 mile race is an enjoyable distance to run. You’re out there long enough for the run to start feeling good, but not long enough for it to start feeling bad.
- Miranda. My friend. We ran the race together, blabbing the whole time. Except for the last mile, when we pushed ourselves hard to cross the finish line, running at a non-talking pace. This was the first race I’ve ever run with somebody. I’ve trained for and entered loads of races with people, but once the starting gun sounds, I’ve been on my own. I absolutely loved passing the miles and the time during the race itself with a friend by my side. So much so that it wasn’t hard for her to talk me into entering the Austin Half Marathon in February, so that we can run it together.
If you’re ever in central Texas in November, you might want to think about entering this run. In addition to the food and the tuba, there’s lots of great people out having a good time, sporting their lederhosen and knee socks. Next year, I will run with a camera.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Seeing Stars
San Antonio is the first big city I’ve lived in since I started running 13 years ago. Before now, I’ve lived in small towns or on the outskirts of big ones, far enough away from neighbors that I didn’t have to worry about loud music or closed curtains.
I love San Antonio, and I’m glad to live here. But one thing I miss about living away from a city is stars.
When I took up running, I lived in Guam. If you want to see how small you really are, live on an island for awhile. I never comprehended how vast the sky is until I could see it unimpeded by buildings, light, or smog. There were few well-lit routes to run, but the sky was so clear and bright, especially when the moon was on either side of full, that lights weren’t really necessary. And the bonus? I regularly got the privilege of running under shooting stars and meteor showers.
The skies above Salado, Texas, where I moved when I came back to the States, were nearly as clear as in Guam. Minus the shooting stars and meteor showers. Nevertheless, I ran in the dark, under starry skies, eyes always up in search of constellations.
Darkness has its drawbacks. When you’re unaccustomed to your route you run the risk of tripping over roots or falling into potholes. But if you tread the same dark path enough times, your feet learn where the sidewalk ends, leaving your eyes to pursue higher things.
Now that I live in the city, I am learning to refocus my gaze. We all know the trick of running up hills: Train your gaze a few feet in front of you instead of on the horizon. Trick your brain into seeing a straight, level path instead of an incline.
My gaze has been cast down not so much to level the hills with my eyes, but in an attempt to avoid treading in the dog poop thoughtless people leave behind. You run the same sidewalks enough times, you learn where to take the detour into the street.
I still love to run in the dark and am fortunate to have a few stretches on my route that fall outside the puddles of streetlights. I find that when I’m running through the darkest stretches, my eyes automatically look up, searching for the pattern of stars that lets me know where I am. I guess I’ve trained my eyes well after all. And tomorrow when I set out on my path, maybe I’ll be fortunate enough to see stars.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Fall into Running
I feel like I’ve become a vampire runner since I’ve lived in Texas. For what seems like 10 months out of the year (but is probably only 5), I run in the dark, before the sun comes up. It’s not that I think my body will burst into a ball of fire or disintegrate into an ash heap once the first ray of dawn touches my skin, it’s that with the Texas sun comes heat and humidity, and I do not like running in the heat and humidity. I’m kind of spoiled that way.
I was born and raised in Michigan, where we have four distinct seasons. I love the fall. And I really miss it. So I was absolutely THRILLED this week when fall began to sweep its way through central Texas.
To my horror, I almost missed it.
Fortunately, I got to run a lot this week. I say “fortunately” now, but I didn’t feel so fortunate when the week began. I’ve been diligent about maintaining a strength training program for several months now, which means I’m in the gym 3 mornings a week and running only 2 or (during good weeks) 3. But this week I suffered from a puzzling injury that caused a great deal of pain when I raised my arm even just a little. There went strength training out the door.
I solved the puzzle after only 2 days, but have had a hard time reducing the pain. The source of the injury? Stress. Seems I carry my stress in my shoulders and neck. My muscles twist and strain like chords of twine worked into a braid, then bunch up into what feels like a knotted ball. Literally. I could actually hear something in there bounce earlier in the week.
But rather than whine, I rolled out of bed and ran. To my very pleasant surprise, outside felt like Michigan. Cool, crisp air. The smell of early fall. It changed my outlook entirely.
I even ran one morning after the sun came up.
And I didn’t explode.
Maybe by next week I can smooth out the lumps and put away the fangs for good. Fall will likely be here, full head on. I can’t wait.
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