Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Run Club

The first rule of Run Club is: Come to Run Club. Seriously. Everyone should come.

There aren't actually any rules to the Run Club that I joined last Thursday. Other than the particular meeting time and place, I suppose. I was hesitant to go at first, because I'm not a fast runner. But this running club is not about speed. It's about getting out and running in a group, socializing and running. And, so far, it's about running with the girls.

A few years ago, I tried to join a community running group led by a shoe store, See Jane Run. They're closed now, in Boise, but while they were here I gave it a try. As I recall, four people showed up, two of them employed by the store. The other women were much faster than me, and though I tried to engage in conversation with the one who slowed herself to run with me, I never felt comfortable. And I didn't go back.

This running club is through Arbor Crossfit, though not strictly one of their programs, hence the "club" part of the name. One of the women there wanted a chance to socialize and run. Turns out, she's not the only one interested in that.

There have been two meetings so far, of which I attended the second, because the first was during the week that the Walker fire smoked out the Treasure Valley. I plan to keep going, even as the weather gets cold. As I told the organizer last week, I'll run in the cold, but not on ice, at least, not on the Greenbelt. Maybe in the winter we can do some special snow days in the foothills where I can break out my yaktrax to deal with the slippage.

The second rule of Run Club is: Keep coming to Run Club.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

(Mostly) Running the Fit One Half Marathon

The day of the race dawned way too early. I was awake and moving before the sun rose. Heck, I was at the start line before the sun rose. And before that I was waiting in the very long port-o-potty line because even though I used the bathroom three times before I left the house, my nerves called for one more before the race.

The starting area was well lit, but surrounded by shadows. There didn't seem to be enough street lights, and the darkness made the corrals packed with people strangely intimate. The pace areas in the corral didn't make sense. No more than five feet of space for each division, even the 9 to 10 and 11 to 12 paces of the more casual runner. I settled in near the middle, though well behind the 17+ sign, and people who felt they should be closer to the front bumped and slid their way through the still and content part of the crowd.

I saw many runners with ear phones, music devices strapped to their arms. I don't run races with music. I used to run with music more often, but now I tend to limit that to indoor track runs or watching TV on a treadmill. When I'm outside, I like listening to the outside noises, especially when I run along the Boise Greenbelt. The river rushing by, the birds, the rustles in the bushes that might be snakes, squirrels or foxes, all of it contributes to my run.

I waited, alone in a crowd that seemed full of pairs and groups, for the race to begin. A slight delay was announced due to the police double-checking the roads were safe for running. And then we were off. I walked to the line with the crowd, in no hurry, and began to jog across the time chip line.

The first time I ran a half marathon, I let the crowd pull me into a faster pace than I could sustain. I did the first mile in a quick (for me) nine minutes and never quite recovered my pace. This time, I made myself relax as the crowd surged ahead of me. I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to run, but run or walk, I was going to finish. And that meant pacing myself.

Before I finished the first mile, despite having gone to the bathroom no less than four times already that morning, I had to pee again. I'd studied the course and knew that there would be a bathroom opportunity around mile 2. So I jogged on and made do. But then I saw the set up. The port-o-potties were off the course on the out-going leg. And there was a line. No way, I thought. I'll hold it until the next one.

Of course, I didn't know exactly where the next one would be, but I figured, worse comes to worst, I could always run into the Warm Springs Clubhouse and use their bathroom.

I ran on in the road, picking out people to stay with or catch. I wore a hydration pack, because I was concerned about staying hydrated. I saw two other women with such packs and tried to keep them in sight. As we veered off the road to detour through the Old Idaho Penitentiary, I passed one and then the other on uphills. Running or hiking, I do love my uphills.

I passed a group of four women wearing knee high Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles socks and I couldn't keep quiet. "I love your socks!"

I saw that the course was on the Greenbelt from the course map, but what I didn't realize was that we would run out on Warm Springs Ave and then turn to the Greenbelt to come back before the Parkcenter bridge. The road heads up as the Greenbelt comes down and I joked to another runner, "No fair, we have to go uphill both ways."

When I caught sight of the turnaround, I saw they had a stash of port-o-potties along with the cheering volunteers. I ran right past the arrow pointing out the turnaround, crying out, "Pit stop!" so the volunteer would know I wasn't just running off course for fun. Though there were fewer potties here, there was no line.

Heading back on the Greenbelt, I re-passed a few people, but for the most part I struggled simply to keep running. My body was beyond aching, and at every water stop I tossed the water directly on my head. The sun was hidden by clouds, but I was still hot.

I passed the half way check point and began to promise myself a break. If I could just make it to mile eight, then I could take a walking break. My right leg's perennial ITB issue was bothering me, though it wasn't a deal breaker - yet.

I was aware of the first official photographer that I came across, at a bend in the Greenbelt where it angles away from the river to accommodate the golf course. That awareness did not make my picture any better.


I mean, I'm kind of smiling... That's... good. 

After passing mile eight, I continued to allow myself little walking breaks after each mile. When I got close to downtown again, I could hear the anthem being sung. I was just in time to catch the rush of the 5K runners. The next picture was somewhere along Capitol I think. I wasn't paying as much attention because I was too busy resenting all these fresh runners, sweatless, breathing with ease and passing me not just because they were faster, but because I'd already run 10 miles before they started. Heck, I probably ran 5 before most some of them woke up. 


Just look at all those fresh 5Kers. Running along without a care in the world.

It was also around the time that I heard the anthem that I realized that the half marathon course was ending exactly like the 5K course, which I had run before a few years ago. It starts with a long slog uphill to the train depot. Which means that I was going to be finishing with a long slog uphill to the train depot. I walked that hill. I walked that hill real good.

I ran and walked along Crescent Rim Drive. I was slow and tired and in pain. I resented almost everyone running around me. But then I reached the downhill.

Downhills used to be my nemesis, but I've learned how to use them. I let myself go, running down the hill with the aid of gravity, thinking I could run it all from there, so little to go, less than half a mile.

But my body protested and I walked down Americana until the final turnaround that led to the finish line. That final segment, I ran. I high-fived every single person on the right side, not caring if I looked silly. I just wanted, needed, to feed off that encouragement so that I could finish strong.


The good news is I was hydrated enough to cry as I crossed the finish line, even though I hadn't drained very much from my bladder. I'd managed to pour enough water on myself to soak my shirt and pants, and I was still hot. I staggered into Ann Morrison Park and received my finisher medal. Then I saw my husband and stumbled over to him. Upon reaching him, I sat down on the curb and contemplated whether I could just stay there for the rest of the day, or maybe week.

He got me up and going. I collected my post-race food and made him take a picture of me with the medal.


And so, I know that I can do a half marathon following a period of inactivity and a two week running ramp up. I can finish it and not break myself. But I'm probably not going to go into another long distance race with such little preparation again.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Calling It a Half Makes It Seem Smaller

Way back in June, I signed up for a half marathon at the end of September. I figured that a summer of backpacking would prepare me for that distance of running and once the beginning of September hit, I could easily ramp up my running training and make a go of beating my first half marathon time. Not to mention the price couldn't be beat. By signing up back on that date, I only paid $15 - a number that is absurdly low for any distance race, let alone a half marathon.

A bout of intense stomach pain completely derailed my training plans for September. I was in too much pain to run, and I felt like if I hurt that much, then something must be wrong. If something is wrong, then running might exacerbate it. So I went to the doctor a lot, didn't get much sleep, couldn't eat enough and dropped over 10 pounds.

Pro Tip: This is not an ideal training plan for running a half marathon.

But when the tests came back negative and my pain was determined to be "functional," i.e. sure, there's something causing you pain, the pain is real, but we don't know the cause, I knew I wanted to get back to running. And I figured that even if I couldn't get into shape to run 13.1 miles in the next two weeks, I could at least get into shape to run/walk it. Or change my registration to the 5K.

Honestly, my first run after such a long hiatus made me think I would have to do the 5K. I was tensing my shoulders, which squished my chest, leading me to believe I could not breathe. I couldn't jog two miles without taking walking breaks. Part of that was from my ITB issue with my right leg. If it doesn't get worked out on the regular, then it hurts to start up again. But the hardest thing was breathing.

Muscles wanted to work, but lungs did not. The solution came, as it often seems to, from my husband. Not that he put it forth as such. Instead, he told me I should go for a walk with our weighted vest. He had 10 pounds of weight in it. I maxed it out to 20 pounds and walked to the Greenbelt. From there I started my slow running and, to my amazement, I could breathe.

The weight of the vest on my shoulders prevented me from hunching them up. Since my shoulders weren't tensed, my chest could expand more fully and I no longer felt suffocated.

But I still wasn't sure if I could do the half. Two miles with a weighted vest is well and good, but did I have the endurance to stay on my feet for the four or more hours it might take me to complete such a task in my current shape?

The answer to that I had to find myself.

And I found it on a hike up to Tablerock. My husband and I set forth in the morning wearing our hiking boots and carrying day packs. On the Greenbelt, we stayed together, holding hands. Our route took us past the Warm Springs Golf Course and across the street towards the Rock Island trail.

Once we hit the trail, we could no longer hold hands. The trail is too narrow. I found myself walking faster than Ambrose, pulling ahead of him as I climbed up. There is a plateau between where this trail tops out and the ramp up to Tablerock. I sat and hid in the shade of some rocks as I waited for him to catch up. I watched a large bird of prey ruffle its feathers on a boulder and then fly off.

When he arrived, I asked if he had any sunscreen. My skin was feeling the heat. It turned out that he didn't, but I did. We both applied some and then moved on. I took the lead again and tried my best not to stop for a break on the steep portion of the trail Ambrose and I call the ramp. Even at a slow speed, my calves were killing me, begging for a break that I refused to grant them.

New benches greeted me at the top, as well as a whole lot of people. I sat on one of the new, green benches for a bit, looking out over Boise and watching a small group of people eat fruit rolls. Then I moved to a rock overlooking the trail I'd come up and sat there, waiting for Ambrose to catch up again.

He joined me and made me eat something. Then we headed down by a different path, going around towards the quarry and then taking a scramble back to the plateau. I was nervous going down the steep parts without my trekking poles, but caution was enough to keep me from falling.

We stopped by the Warm Springs Golf Course clubhouse to get burgers and beer as a reward for our morning's hard work, and it was there that I was able to express that I felt confident that I could complete the half marathon distance. Even if I had to walk, even if I was the last person through the finish line, I had the endurance in my body to finish.

Ambrose, of course, said he figured I'd say something like that after the hike.

For the next week, I kept on doing short runs and walks, getting ready to find out just what my best was on September 26th.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Olympic Coast Hike Summary Day 6

For reasons beyond my control, I could not do a solo trip this year. In order to continue to put out a Hike with Me book this year, I’m going to use the coast hike. These entries will be shorter than normal, because the full story will be published this winter.



The last day is the hardest day. Sure, the packs weigh less because of all the food we've eaten, but taking our last steps on the beach we didn't want to leave was a heavy proposition.
View from the campsite. 
I got to sleep in this last morning, the only night we actually camped on the sand.
Out tent was nestled on the sand here, above the high tide line. 
Though none of the days of our trip were really rainy, this one was the sunniest. 
Ambrose getting water. 
After we made it past the rocks between Chilean Memorial and the Hole in the Wall, people were everywhere. 
To the left, a hoard of school children were taking advantage of the low tide to frolic on the rocks. To the right, campers and day hikers crowded the beach. 
I wanted to hurry to the bathroom at the trailhead, but I also wanted to stay with Ambrose, despite his slower pace. We started the trip together, and that's how we finished it.
Bathroom in sight... almost. 
It was a relief, in some ways, to finish the trip. The hike was difficult; the learning curve steep.  Not to mention we were just about out of food. 
Bathroom definitely in sight now. 
The ocean calls me back. 

This video is from when we waited for the tide on day 5.