On hiatus until mid-December

I have a new home

2010-12-26T21:25:00.001-06:00

Swing on by my new blog: http://kellyinbellyland.wordpress.com/ :)

Changing direction

2010-11-20T11:25:00.003-06:00

Me and Mark out on the town.

I had started this journal as way to document my journey to reaching a grand personal goal of mine: a 3-hour marathon. I didn't quite get there this year. Life happened, or rather, I got in the way of it. Whether it was overtraining, shoes worn past their prime, or a wonky running gait, I can't definitively say what caused the relentless case of plantar fasciitis to afflict to my poor heels. But it did, and continues to ground me to this day. (Although it's been nice becoming one of the regulars at lunch-time spin classes during the week. I have even--annoyingly, you might think--laid claim to a beloved bike in the front row.)

I admit, I gave in to the pain, so much that I've gained a little weight and I feel like this injury has become a part of who I am. I haven't taken the stairs in ages, nor have I attempted to run since Whistlestop over a month ago. Defiantly I've gone back to wearing my clunky Frye harness boots, although I know it's for the worst. (But they flatter my silouette so much better than a pair of frumpy sneaks!) Oh, and I stopped wearing that lovely, nighttime PF sock that makes my middle toe go numb after a couple hours. Also scorned, the rolling-my-foot-with-a-frozen-golfball treatment, icing, stretching, and anything else remotely therapeutic that might lead to a new and improved, non-gimpy, back-to-normal Me.

Well, I'm ready to get back on the wagon. I dug through all my gym bags and found that ugly, white, be-velcroed sock . Although I hate to admit it, it works. I can spring, pain-free, out of bed in the morning after a night in that God-awful contraption. So, along with my eye cream and last-chance pee, it's in my nighttime repertoire, like it or not. Along with all the other aforementioned stuff I've been too lazy to do.

There's a reason for all this right now, believe it or not.

I'm taking a short hiatus from the blog until mid-December, then I'll be back with a new title and new direction that will include running, but only peripherally ... and regular posts!

Better late than never? Whistlestop pix

2010-11-03T21:31:00.001-05:00

It's November, which means National Novel Writing month is in full swing. It's just like a typical summer day--I'm up around 5 am, but hitting the coffee shop instead of the asphalt. My blog will be evolving to reflect some major life changes such as this one... stay tuned (I know ... my life is full of such riveting details, please try to contain yourselves ;) Enjoy this pictorial race report--as my eyes are burning from lack of sleep--one of my last for awhile. I can't wait to do this race again next year--maybe even aim for that coveted 3-hour marathon time. Soft trail, small field, small town--not a lot of fan fare. My kind of race. And our cabin at the Deer Trail Lodge was the perfect mix of small-town charm and a more than a few dashes of aw-shucks kookiness (I mean that in a good way). They took great care of us and bestowed us with a level of trust only seen in cute little podunk towns. Refreshing, and highly recommended.

Me, Susan, and Patty at packet pick-up in Ashland

The view from our cabin in Iron River

Half marathon start in Moquah

Mile 5 or so

Finish line

Found this on the way back to the cabin

Susan (and her abs) after a strong marathon finish--her PR!

In search of post-race grub

Mission accomplished

Whistlestop Half Marathon race report ... soon

2010-10-12T14:44:00.000-05:00

~~They~~ I said it couldn't be done.

Well, I did it! Not the marathon, and not running at sub-7:00 pace, but I completed my first race in nearly two months at Whistlestop last weekend with a time of 1:42:26. The half marathon was also my first run since the Life Time race at French park in August, so I'm very, very happy.

Full race report with pics comin' up real soon :)

Slowing down

2010-09-22T11:16:00.014-05:00

Egg Harbor, Wis., July 2010

Meeting race goals has been insanely fulfilling. For the most part, you do the work, you race the race, and in the end, you cross the finish line, God willing. There's the goal. Achieved. There's the finisher medal and T-shirt that proves you did it. The cheering crowds ("Looking strong! Way to go!") that, in part, validate all your hard work. And then there's your drained legs and foggy head to tell you it's time to rest. You're done. Until next time.

It's a moot point now that my gimp foot has not healed in the same spectacular fashion in which I injured it. The heel pain has subsided when I walk, but the area where the heel meets the arch is still tender to the touch. And worse, at the LTF trail race at French, I also felt what I think is my peroneal tendon (discovered last week through an exhaustive Google search ;), which runs along that knobby protrusion on the outside of the ankle, become inflamed as well, and it has remained injured to this day. I swear, this getting old thing is, well, getting old.

Needless to say, my race days in 2010 are numbered. The number? Zero. I have officially downgraded to the Whistlestop half, and I will most likely not be adequately healed in time to run it.

In the meantime, I've grown fond of my newfound free time. I actually went five days without breaking a single bead of sweat, and (gasp) I didn't sweat it. If it weren't obvious enough, this just might be one of those times when my body is trying to tell me something really important. For me ... well, I've had this goal to make writing (fiction) a practice that I have hitherto (yes...finally, I get to use that word!) put on hold while I chase down my (equally gratifying) athletic goals. (Yes, yes, yes ... here I am, in the flesh, yet another person who's "working on a novel.")

All my stories have supernatural twists, and the process--even dragging myself out of bed at 4:30 a.m. to hit the coffeeshop before work--has made me happier than a pig in poop, as my grandpa would say. Since I was of the age to confuse imagination with reality, I have had a penchant for horror stories, ghost stories, and monster movies. Writing this stuff is such a natural fit for a crazy like me.

Just recently, I took up the pen again--or keyboard punching, more accurately--and revisited a novel I began two years ago and am deep into a short story I plan to submit to one very lucky literary journal before year's end. (I hope the sarcasm was detectable.) But seriously, I want to be read, so I'll be holding my breath before too long, waiting for that acceptance letter in my inbox.

It's definitely an adjustment to go from a very social outlet, like marathon training, which I mostly do in groups/with friends, to striving for a goal that involves hour after hour of solitary confinement. And I shouldn't event mention the sedentariness (that a word?) that comes with the territory, or my body might instinctively curl into the fetal position. It's a 180-degree turn for me, but I know the pay-off will be worth it if I just "dig deep" as many a fellow racer has told me in passing. (Which has always been one of my pet peeves, by the way...never tell me to dig deep if you fly by me 100 yards from any given finish line! ... I know, I know. It's the thought the counts ;) I'll be swallowing those words shortly, as I'm sure there won't be as many people cheering me on from the sidelines when I finish a paragraph or a second draft. Can you imagine it? "Way to develop that character! You're my hero! That line you wrote about the dude who goes to the grocery story to buy a bottle o' Pepto Bismal ... amazing! Keep it up!"

The one I think I'll miss most: "You're almost there!" But perhaps if I keep up the positive self-talk, the voices in my head will never be out of a job. And I just might have a few credits to my name if I keep to my "training" schedule.

I remember when I thought finishing a marathon was not in the cards for me. I didn't think myself disciplined enough. Too easily distracted.But then I found myself running five times a week, treating each run like a doctor's appointment--set in stone. And then there was Ironman Wisconsin in 2002. I couldn't swim freestyle well when I registered. Didn't own a bike--my hybrid Mongoose didn't count. Or a wetsuit. Didn't know what a wetsuit was, to be honest. But again...there I was, month after month like clockwork, in the lake or pool, hitting the pavement on wheels or foot.

I'm grateful for all the life lessons sport has given me, and the people who brought it into (and keep it in) my life. I'm turning the page now and taking all I've learned from marathon and triathlon training with me. Life is short, and we're all in a race for something, right? I'll definitely suit up in spandex again, but it can wait. I'm looking forward to redirecting my energy and chasing something new (and a long-time coming!).

This next chapter I'll have to take at a slow, methodical pace, but I have a feeling I'll get to the finish. I've seen and felt it, and I know how to get there.

Parting shot: Patty and I in Door County in July after a sprint tri--my one and only triathlon this year. Happy day :)

Pushing the reset button

2010-09-03T12:38:00.004-05:00

What is an injured runner to do?

Fig out.

On the way back from work yesterday I called Mark and asked if he was ready to fig out at dinner. Figs for appetizers. Pizza with mozzarella, arugula, turkey andouille, and figs for dinner. Salad: Arugula, shaved parmigiano-reggiano, proscuitto, and figs tossed in apple balsamic vinegar. And for dessert: a couple more figs. Yes, we figged out. We were a coupla figgies. Yes, I've been itching to say those words. They are on sale at Whole Foods now ($3 for 2 pints), so nab them while you can. Fig, fig, figgy fig fig.

Push-ups. Worked my way back up to 17 push ups without rest!

Icing sessions for my left heel/rolling out left foot with frozen golf ball.

Cast of 'Being Human'

Catching up on season 4 of "Dexter"/starting "Being Human," season 1, a very fun BBC series about a vampire, a werewolf, and the ghost of a murdered woman who share a flat in Bristol, England.

Swim.

Vinyasa yoga.

Yoga nidhra (for insomina)...very special thanks to yogi and flirting extraordinare Thea Jensen of the Minneapolis Yoga Center :) This type of yoga is supposed to be the equivalent of four hours of sleep. It's a little early to tell if I've entered deep relaxation yet, but I'm optimistic.

Cabin weekends with grrrls. (thank you, Chrystina! Always a pleasure to be in your company ;)

Teach myself how to French braid my bangs.

Champagne imbibery ... lots.

Which relates to: sampling new brands of gin. Kelly's picks: Magellan, Plymouth (blue label)
...which reminds me, I have not partaken of nearly enough aviations for a behobbled runner. Have just one of these luscious, lavender cocktails, and you'll be flying the friendly skies.

Write short stories and research literary journals.

Read Under the Dome by Stephen King.

One-legged vaccuming.

Biking.
Biking.
Biking.

I'm starting to like this plantar fasciitis thing. I've been doing things that have been on my to-do list for way to long.

And last....I've been busy watching other people race, naturally! The parting shots: Marky at the Great Hawk Chase in Duluth a couple weeks ago. Have a great Labor Day weekend all!

Mark heading down a gnarly turn toward the finish

Lester Park, Duluth

Grant (left) and Mark, post-race, cleaning off their bikes in the Lester River

Life Time Trail Series #3: French Park

2010-08-26T23:33:00.004-05:00

This is what I'll be doing until Oct. 9; taken at Turtleman 2009

My lunesta is crawling up my bloodstream to my noggin as I speak, so this one will be brief. In short ...

I won!!

http://assets.ngin.com/attachments/document/0012/9493/Plymouth_Open_Results.pdf

Actually, I came in third overall, but the two female speedsters ahead of me were in the masters division ... so I came in first in the open division!

Long story short, I trashed my foot. I can't put any weight on it whatsoever. What I did was stupid, stupid, stupid ... but coming in first kind of made everything worth it! Until the high wears off tomorrow morning. I know tonight was a tiny, insignificant race, but to a longtime runner who sees her name at the top of the list as often as a lunar eclipse (if that ... my astronomy knowledge is rusty), it's pretty special, and I'll take whatever accolades I can round up. The last race I won was Grandpa's Run for the Walleye, a 5K up in Crosslake over the 4th of July last year. And let me tell ya, I rode that victory for months. Think I even had my name engraved on paddle that's on display somewhere up north. Sniff. Sniff ;)

So there you have it. I have a competitive side.

I also just had to do this race because it's five minutes from my house--that never happens, and the weather was gorgeous, another anomaly this summer.

Back to the race ... I warmed up minimally so as to save my foot, which has been tender all week, from any additional pounding. I bought arch supports, which I've been wearing all day, and they've helped my feet to feel immediately better...but they only go so far. The race started at the bottom of the sledding hill. I knew that ahead of time, and I figured we'd start by hauling our asses on up it. Bingo!

I felt strong, surprisingly, and was among the first pack up the hill. My foot (this entry will keep circling back to my foot, so bare with me please :) felt only slightly tender at this point, but the soreness was increasing. I appeared to be first female, until I got passed a few minutes after Mile 1, which I ran in 6:19 pace. Holy sh*t. Very happy with that, it being my third run in a month.

Mile 2 would bring "Challenge Hill," an absolute bitch to skate up in the winter. But today it was over before I could get psyched out. A wave of confidence came over me as I crested that beeotch. "It's done. I did it," was all I though. The rest is a cake walk of rolling hills, and in just under 2 miles I'll be done. (This was a 3.2 mile race). The problem? I jigged a mental victory dance as I ground and pounded down a duet of hills on the backside. God help me. I ended up using my right leg to absorb all the pounding on the descents, as my gimp heel was REALLY starting tenderize. Coming into mile three I got passed by another master lady, which made me third female. My right leg was fumbling, fatigued from continually shifting the weight off my left foot.

I remembered her as a strong runner from Hyland, so I knew it wasn't a matter of if but when she'd pass me. What was frustrating was that on a long, flat stretch of nice packed dirt approaching the meadow and continuing over a bridge across it, I couldn't gain any speed. I had run this stretch many times, and it is cheetah fast. Only I couldn't push off with my left foot to get that kick or generate speed. Any other year, I'd fly down that section. Not tonight. All I felt was my arch start to cramp, then immediately my heel scream in agony. Had the race been a 5-miler like the last one at Murphy, I would've had to DNF.

I'm thinking this as I turn a corner and see the blessed Mile 3 mark on the side of the trail. Third place, I thought to myself. Wow. I'm proud! ...all things considered. And then I hear the panting behind me, and it's a woman. For the first time in a long time, I looked back. Pink sport top. Blonde ponytail. Blood in the water! Never look back, Kelly. Well, I guess I had a reserve (and fear) in me, and against my better judgement, I dug into the bloodthirst I don't like to admit I have and I threw it DOWN on the dirt path.

The last .2 was a winding, twisty uphill path that rolled up to the finish smack at the top, and I used every last reserved of energy I had to drag my gimp heel to the finish line. I turned around and saw I was safely in third. Seriously, no matter how little or small, I love races, because there's always opportunities for those rare moments when you're running scared and debating in your head whether you can emotionally and physically dig for that strength you know you're hiding.

On the way home, I looked forward to icing my heel, the pain blossoming as the ride wore on. By the time I got home, I wasn't able to put any weight on it. Tomorrow, I'm taking my stupid runner's ass over to Run-n-Fun to buy one of the Strassburg socks that keep your arch it a perpetual stretch. Everyone has told me they work wonders. We'll see.

My plan now is to race the last run in trail series at Elm Creek in a month, and do NO running in between. Lots of high-mileage bike rides with hills, swimming, and YOGA!! If anything non-sucky comes out of this, it will be that I will bring myself closer to becoming a human rubber band because I'll have time, finally, for yoga...and of course, Tiffini's AMAZING rockin-to-the-80s Total Conditioning at classes at LTF.

This will be my last post devoted soley to my gimp heel. I'm bored with it already. But I might have to retitle my blog 9 1/2 in 2010 ... it crossed my mind to switch to the 1/2 at Whistlestop. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts! ... but realistic, too.

Parting shot:

My babies, Lucy (right) and Smokie. They'll have to get used to powerwalks around the 'hood while I heal.

My left foot

2010-08-20T23:16:00.004-05:00

My abzorbant saviors arrived in the mail this week: new stability sneaks...same model, one for road (left), one for trails

I am officially injured. But that's no secret.

Tonight, after a two-week hiatus off my feet, I hesitantly gave myself the go-ahead to run up to an hour to gauge how my plantar fasciitis is healing. The good news is my right heel feels no pain. Of course, there's bad news. My left heel has acquired the same tender pain that plagued me two weeks ago. On a post-run trip to Lowe's, I found myself hobbling on the ball of my left foot. Sucky.

The secret? The only sucky thing about this debacle is the pain. The not running part? Haven't really missed it. Last week I started swimming again, and it was so refreshing to be in the pool that I couldn't stop myself. I ended up swimming 2500 yards, only interrupting myself mid-bliss because I had somewhere to be. Who'd have thought I'd been missing the sour, chemical scent of chlorine and the back-and-forth repetition of lap swimming?

And don't get me started on my bike. I've been craving the road the way paparazzi wait with bated breath for pantiless celebs to fall out of their limos. Truly, madly, deeply. At this moment, I'm actually fretting over how I'm going to squeeze a ride in before we leave for Duluth early tomorrow morning. I'm not going to try and understand it. But it's pretty clear that my body is telling me it's time to take a break from the marathon grind. Training my body to race a marathon leaves no room for running for pure pleasure. Every workout and every day of rest serves a purpose. There is, without a doubt, a side to training (versus recreational running) that is unparalleled. You can't compare the pride of having reached any finish line after having pushed and sweet-talked your exhausted body, mind and spirit into believing that, yes, I have MORE in me and to move my ass or else (!) to a 45-minute lollygag around Lake Nokomis--even if it's during the most beautiful sunrise on earth on a 65-degree morning. But when you're trained, it's not all sweet talk, it's the truth. You always have more, and when you can get your body to respond to all those mental cues and tricks you play on yourself over the course of the race, well, it's a beautiful thing to not only realize, but to conjure your own hard-earned strength.

Periods of forced time off are opportunities to evaluate my path. I've been wondering where I lost sight of why I run. So many runners have found themselves in the same befuddled position. Have I placed too much weight on the goal (finish time), and not enough on the pleasure of each individual run? Lately, if I'm not doing a grueling speed or tempo workout, I'm pounding my joints on a long run. But I've grown accustomed to the "event"-like anticipation of marathons and endurance races, and it's hard to let go of that feeling. And although I don't fully appreciate dragging myself out of bed at the buttcrack of dawn at the time, I do appreciate having a reason to get up. Interrupting my precious zzz's to "stay fit" just doesn't yank my chain. Time to dig into that inner strength I've alluded to, me thinks.

So what now? Adjust my goal, I suppose. I definitely can't run with a heel that feels like it went six rounds with a kangaroo. Whistlestop is less than two months away, so I'll likely not run it in three hours or even 3:10. Regardless, a fun cabin weekend with friends is planned around my marathon. Maybe a good race story to tell afterward will have to suffice.

The parting shot. Me running in last year's Ragnar Relay (going on as I type!) when I still had the runner's fire in my belly--to be rekindled in 2011 :)

Trails-n-derailed

2010-08-12T14:10:00.007-05:00

My brand new mountain bike, circa 2007

This week I've had to adapt--plantar fascitis style. It's a self-diagnosis, but an accurate one I'm sure. Extreme tenderness in a concentrated spot in the middle of both heels that hurts most in the morning when I get out of bed, and even moreso during and after running. Sh*t.

A silver lining: this past weekend was fantastic training-wise. I got in a solid 18-mile run in the beatific rain on Saturday morning with a few girlfriends--only had to do two of the Lake Loops at Hyland on my own after they pussied out (I kid, I kid!). Their company was seriously awesome. My heart and legs felt strong. I was able to tackle every hill, even sweet talking the girls into running back up a big one we had just descended to which they agreed without complaint. Good times.

It was only after the run that things turned not-so-good really fast. My heels immediately lulled into a constant soreness. Just pushing down on my clutch on the drive home was uncomfortable. I've been trying to walk on the balls of my feet ever since to allay the pain my normal heel-to-toe step elicits. The internet docs and pseudo experts advise icing (my heels? !) and stretching my feet and calves, which is what I'll be doing. It's all my fault. I've felt this coming on for a solid month and have been too boar-headed to alter my running schedule. Instant karma: skipping the LTF trail race at Murphy tonight--the one I was most looking forward to :(

Sunday was a nice mood lifter. To get off my feet and shake up my training a bit, I headed out to Murphy-Hanrehan with my friend Becky to test how our mighty knobby-wheeled skills have fallen. Neither of us had mountain biked in over a year. Well over a year. I dusted off my trusty Santa Cruz Blur and had Marky tinker with it before hitting the trails. I hadn't been on my mtb in so long, I forgot how it shifts. Tragic. But Miz Blur turned out to be as dependable as ever. I love riding at Murphy because it's short on obstacles and long on rolling trails that you can just RIDE. There are a couple stretches that you can hammer down for a spot, then let yourself wind through the woods like you're on a roller coaster. To top it off, I only fell once while attempting to squeeze between a small tree stump and a big rock, and the heat didn't bug me much as the trails were mostly shaded. That is, until we reached the parking lot, at which time we discovered we were sweating like pigs. It felt like an invigorating cleanse more than anything, though. Afterward I felt like my body and spirit can benefit from more non-running activity ... stat.

Good Hed

With that in mind, I managed to get on my road bike two days this week--not a small feat. I see plopping a bike helmet on my head in 95-degrees of high humidity as akin to erecting a greenhouse on my skull. So unpleasant. Like sweaty hugs. Last night, Mark and I tackled a 25-loop out to the boonies and back. It was my maiden voyage on my new H3 Hed wheel. I never thought I'd own one of dem fancy carbon tubular wheely thingies. Wow is that thing fast! It even sounds fast. I kept checking my Garmin to see how speedy I was going, and often it read between 20 and 23 mph. It was true love from the first pedal stroke. I don't think I'll be able to ride without it ever again. I'm contemplating heading out on the same loop again tonight, but I've been working on a short story and it's actually going pretty well, so I'm torn. But not to worry...I'm sure my decision will be made as soon as I step out of our garage into the heat.

Parting shot: a vintage pic of me and Becky at Murphy. Hopefully, an update to come!

Tempo-po

2010-08-05T18:57:00.002-05:00

(Driving to Afton last Saturday--taken at about 5:30 am)

I'm chowing down on half a package of Trader Joe's chicken potstickers drenched in chili soy sauce as I write. It's that time again. I've amped up my mileage, and I'm craving salt. My mind is already wandering to a jar of Claussen pickles in the fridge. To make matters worse, Marky left a Smashburger receipt from today on the kitchen counter: Classic Smashburger w/ Fries, Malt." Damn him.

This morning I fell out of bed at 5 am and drove to the Highland Life Time--my starting point for an 11-mile tempo run on the River Rd/U of M bridge loop. Although it was apparent I was carrying a little extra weight than in previous years, I still felt strong and was able to stay between a 6:40 and 7:30 min/mile pace most of the time. I haven't done a healthy tempo run yet this year, so I really needed to turn out a strong one to build up my confidence a bit. That said, I lost another pound this week--five to go!

There's something about running alone that I love. At times I really despise traveling solo, but when I need to focus and strive for a timely, personal result, going it alone has always served me well. I don't get swept up in someone else's fitter pace, and I don't give in to slacking because my partner has a hangover or wasn't able to squeeze out his/her AM BM. I can train myself to focus on only the run: my breathing, my heart pounding, muscles pulsing, chest opening. The entire time, I'm taking note of how invigorating the air feels (or oppressing!) or how the sunrise is a different shade of orange than yesterday, but nothing really profound. Everything just is what it is, and I like that. And heaven forbid I start worrying about something like how much time 'til I have to be at work, how much cash I have in my bank account, or any myriad of mood killers...then, I just speed up until I feel some pain, and that takes care of those thoughts.

On a side note, tomorrow, I don't need to run--not because of how hard I worked today, but because I'm BUYING speed instead! It was a ridiculously great buy. Truth be told, I'm not registered for a single triathlon, but I don't even need to do another tri in my life, that's how stupendous a deal I got this pretty, tri-spoked beauty. I could just hang it above the fireplace, or serve sushi on it, and I'd have gotten my money's worth.

That was completely unrelated to running, but I'm a girl, and this girl never passes a) a good buy and b) the opportunity to brag about said good buy. Thanks for humoring me.

The parting shot:

Christopher (off the front of the pack) and a group of ultrarunners I had the pleasure of joining on a 16-mile loop at Afton last Saturday. Most of this group ran 31 miles that sultry day. I love sweating with crazy fools!

Life Time Trail Series #1: Hyland Park

2010-07-29T23:07:00.000-05:00

Tonight, half-digested burrito in belly, I hit up Hyland Park for the first race in the Life Time Trail Series. It was pretty much Trail Mix Lite: a 4.8-mile course that bypassed the ski hill and the (what I've come to call) "evil grassy knoll"--a long, gradual climb just out of the shaded woodchip trail that offers no respite from the sun. The event was very low-key with a small field, but extremely well-organized, as can be expected from Life Time, and the course couldn't have been marked better. Yet for some reason, I was nervous for this one. Shorter distance races have always spooked me because my legs burn hot and hard, versus the gradual slowburn of marathons. Going into it, though, I knew a short, fast, hilly trail race would be great prep for the Birkie Half coming up in September and Whistlestop.

The first mile of the race, I let myself get swept up in the adrenaline-rush. I think I averaged around 6:20 min/miles, eventually settling into 6:45-7:40 pace, depending on the terrain. My legs took a bit longer than usual to flush out the wobblies from pre-race anxiety. My breathing was labored, and I heated up within the first 1/8 mile. One of the charms of doing short races, though, is that you can tell yourself that you only need to keep it up for 1/2 hour or so--which I did until I crossed the finish. I passed one girl with a gorgeous black ponytail that grazed her butt as she ran after 1/2 mile. She was the only woman I passed. I followed another woman much of the race, but couldn't catch her. I held steady at my pace, while little by little she stepped hers up. I was breathing hard, and still trying to pace myself despite the short distance because the hills and heat were really tough to run through at the pace I was trying to keep. I kept thinking how nice it was to breathe hard and heavy in a race. Being a marathoner, it's rare that I push myself like that. The pain is more in my joints and muscles than in my lungs.

I ended up placing third: 34:37, which is 7:12 pace. Rebekah, one of my Boston coaches, finished first. I managed to stay within eyesight of her for the first three miles, which was an accomplishment, though by "eyesight" I should note that the last glimpse I had of her was from waaaaaay up ahead of me across a prairie. The she just disappeared into the woods like a deer.

I've signed up for a couple more: Murphy in two weeks, and French Park after that. Sorry no pix tonight--brought the camera, but forgot to snap a shot of Patty, Maggie and I (both of whom turned in stellar performaces!) due to post-race electrolyte haze.

A change will do me good

2010-07-26T20:41:00.002-05:00

A great training weekend has come and gone. I changed things up a bit, too, much to my satisfaction.

Saturday morning, Christine and I were scheduled to run eight miles at Hyland. I planned on getting there early and tacking on an addition seven. But a couple morning plans came undone--a yoga workshop was cancelled, my insobriety from the previous night lingered into the AM--so Christine and I met a handful of our friends downtown for a much shorter urban footfest (I like to make up fancy phrases for "running" just to keep things fresh!) around Lake of the Isles and the surrounding 'hoods...although I did manage to drag my bum out of bed a tad earlier to slide in five extra miles, bringing my day's total to 13. I had spent the previous night frolicking with friends at Hell's Kitchen, and it was funny when the group decided to head back for the our post-run breakfast. I don't think I've ever done that.

I'll have to be sure to get in some hills on this weekend's 16-miler, but I don't regret running with the group--one among them was in town for the weekend on a business trip--so I was glad not to miss out.

Sunday morning, Mark woke up and downshifted into his usual routine: newspaper in the sunroom while I made pancakes and eggs. As I stood over the stove, an unfamiliar urge to ride my bike overcame me. Since we had slept in (JOY.), it was nearly 11 am. I popped my head into the sunroom and told Mark, with some urgency, the good news. I think he must've been dumbfounded, in a good way, because he scarfed down his breakfast and headed into the garage to get our bikes ready. I think I might have inadvertently starved poor Marky of the pleasures of "couples riding," as I've never seen him get up and go so fast. Sweet thing.

On a related note, I heartily admit, I will probably take advantage of his desperation and let him tinker around with my bike before our every ride. He pumped my tires, retaped my handlebars, and even lubed my chain. Warms your heart, doesn't it?

I agreed to a two-hour ride, and we ended up going 40 miles out to Lake Rebecca and back. The headwind didn't bother me much, as I wasn't pedaling fast enough to feel it. We might have found our go-to course that day, too. (see below). On the way out, we passed a hobby farm development--something you don't see everyday, which got us dreaming of "someday."

What I loved most about our ride, besides the company...No busy highways, rolling hills, endless farmfields, light traffic the entire way, and Detour 19, a little bar in Loretto that has all-you-can-eat crab legs on Wednesday, is along the course. We stopped here to fill our water bottles and to share a large, much-needed coke on ice. At 2:30, the horseshoe bar was surprisingly packed, save for two seats conveniently open near the door. It's always fun walking into a bar donning spandex, bike helmet, and a thirsty grin and seeing a sea of faces look up from their beers to peer at you. THIS is training :)

Although I only averaged 16 1/2 mph, I didn't bonk, I had fun, and afterward I actually wanted to live to ride another day. Success. To top it all off, my friend, Jill, invited me and a bunch of lovely ladies out for an evening boat ride on Lake Minnetonka. I must have earned some instant karma recently. Here's Captain Hill at the helm, with Cindy reclining elegantly in the background.

Today I kept my momentum going with a noonday spin at Life Time. As my reward, I stopped at Lunds after work for a smorgasbord dinner: ciabatta, roasted tomatoes in oil, prosciutto, green olives, and aged gouda. I even bypassed the full-fat Haagan-Daz and scooped up a lil pail of dulce de leche frozen yogurt. I don't want the fruits of my labor to shrivel up and die. However, I don't think I'll ever stop rewarding myself with food. It's the runner's way, and the way I roll.

A parting shot of the my girls' night on the lake:

Once again, I'm left wondering, is it possible for a Minnesotan to get too much sun? I don't think so. Cheers!

Door County Sprint Triathlon and a little life lesson

2010-07-22T18:56:00.001-05:00

It's about time I give my Door County race report. I've admitted in the recent past that triathlon has become a hobby I've dabbled in at best the past few years, so I didn't take the sprint triathlon on Saturday that seriously...and it showed. My three swim workouts since August of last year got me through the 1/4 mile swim at a 2:11/100 yard pace. That deserves a YOWZA, delivered with a cringe...although the waves were pretty big--at times I lost sight of the swimmers in front of me due to the size of the swells--which slowed me down quite a bit while a stopped to hack up water and regain my bearings multiple times. I ran into a couple girls who had regain their composure alongside a volunteer kayaker. For someone doing their first triathlon that day, the swells were understandably intimidating.

I exited the water, sans wetsuit (I thought, "Why bother?" since I'd be out of the water in under 10 minutes) without the usual sense of disorientation, which was such a pleasure. After this, my second sprint tri, I'll readily confess that this distance is growing on me like back hair on a robust Italian dude. Sprints just might be my go-to distance in the future.

Now for the humiliating part of my report.

The bike has always been a thorn in my side. I've never enjoyed bike training. Pumping tires and checking and double checking all those mechanicals deflate my athletic mojo. So it will come as no surprise that THREE was the operative number with my bike training this past year. And again, it showed. 17.3 mph. Ouch. I had to ride in my small chain ring much of the distance: a piddly 18 miles. I should be ashamed. I should not even be recording it for posterity. But something's gotta teach me my lesson...which is that it's much more fun to race trained than untrained. Especially when you have a body that's in or near its prime. I know that with consistent training--even two rides a week--my day would've been much different. Instead of clinking into my big ring and hammering at 20 mph (a great speed for me) and passing a person here and there, I found myself counting the number of hybrid bikes I passed. Eleven, in case you were wondering. These were the only bikes I could muster the strength to pass.

I think I'm done talking about this subject for now. At least the course was gorgeous...and flat, a small detail that adds yet further insult to my injured ego.

Moving on...I redeemed myself a bit on the 5K run, averaging 7:04 minute/mile pace. I had hoped to come in around 6:40 pace, but with my groin muscles would tight from the bike, that wasn't possible. It was refreshing to finally, actually PASS some people. By this time, passing other racers struck me as this incredible concept. After 18 miles on the portion of the race of which I will not speak, passing felt like a hammer to my head. In a refreshing way. It certainly pulled me out of the dignity drain I had been spiraling down. I felt myself gaining strength throughout the course, which told me that my marathon training is where it should be. Although it was a short, flat run, the sun was out in full force by this time, along with 85-degree heat that radiated off the asphalt, which were elements to contend with, especially as I was trying to push myself.

I crossed the finish line in just over an hour and 35 minutes. Not a great time, but not cringeworthy, either. If there's a grain of wisdom to be plucked from this race, it's that I enjoy racing most when I have great expectations for myself. When I'm old and bereft of the body I have today, I'd like to look back at my long resume of races with a sense of wonder and pride that I pushed my young body to the edge of its physical capability. Of course, there's a strong emotional element to pushing one's body, but that's for another post that I'm sure I'll pursue as I hit my peak mileage weeks for Whistlestop.

Athletic pursuits aren't for everyone. But speaking for myself, running and the training that goes along with it, usually culminating to a big race, are outlets that inspire me to chase that grand idea that "anything is possible." My commitment to running often bleeds into other areas of my life, which is a blessing I'm careful not to take for granted. So last weekend's triathlon wasn't that great. No big deal. I'm thankful for the outcome of the race, though, simply because it has encouraged me not to let my Whistlestop training slide. I want to finish that race in peak condition. This week I ran to Total Condition ing class at Lifetime. I ended up logging 9 miles total. I remember this euphoric sensation of "Now THIS is training" hitting me somewhere around 7 miles...a big deal for me, as I haven't been a race warrior for a couple years! Tomorrow's pre-dawn 8-mile run with my mutts will mark another opportunity to stay on pace (and simply start the day out right!). G'night!

Straddling the wagon, pulling myself up again

2010-07-14T21:59:00.001-05:00

It's hard to write this, but I fell off the wagon for a stretch. With the 10-day trip to Banff, and my sister, and lil bro-in-law in town from France on the heels of that trip, I haven't done much running. I only half regret it. I see my sister only once or twice a year, so when she's here, I want to maximize my time with her. And anyone who knows her, knows....well, let's just say she's one of the least athletic people I know :) so our exercise consists of perusing the discount racks at Macy's and Bloomingdale's and hitting up secondhand stores for that elusive find.

Last weekend I hosted a baby shower for sis, and of course, many a photo was taken. One of which made me literally gasp in horror. It was simple enough. My two cousins, Becky, and I sitting on the couch. I was wearing a black cotton dress I love for it's simplicity. Sleeveless, empire waist (to wear when pigging out at Minnesota hot-dish themed baby shower), classic. My face looked puffy. My arms looked unlike the arms I remember having in the not-too-distant past. My chest seemed gorilla-like. I turned to my sister, my face still contorted in WTF-ness, and said "If ever I've had a distorted body image, please tell me it's right now, because I look like a gussied-up ape in this picture!" She glanced at the the photo on the camera with casual incredulity, then here eyes widened. "Kell, well, you do look big. But don't worry. It's the picture. You don't look like that in real life. That's just weird." Then she took the camera from me and covered my face on the photo and said, "If I cover your face, I would never know it was your body I was looking at." Thanks, sis. Gotta love sisters for their honesty!

So cutting to the chase, I played the "Rocky" theme song in my head and vowed to get back on the wagon this week. On Sunday night I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. and pledged to arise bright and early without an ounce of sloth or negativity in my system, and do the long run I forewent over the weekend. And I did. 12 miles in the hopper by 6:15 a.m. So there. I have one hand grasped solidly onto the side the wagon, and it's moving forward.

Yesterday was a tough day. I'm still trying to catch up at work, so I came home mentally exhausted. During the entire traffic-clogged ride home, I cursed my optimistic, go-get-'em attitude that morning when I implored to Mark that we should ride together after work, then I'd do a run afterward. This, sadly, would be my "emergency workout" in preparation for the Door County sprint triathlon this Saturday. Thank you, Mark. Because we did go on that ride. A beautiful one, too--I so enjoyed the scenery--beautiful farm fields and the big sky nothingness of Medina--that I even forgot about the heat. It was not an effortless ride, though, being my third of the year. I have a feeling that I'm going to exert a fair amount of energy to hit 18 mph at the tri if I'm lucky, but I'm not fretting it. My attitude toward triathlon the past few years has been noncommittal and more of a social outlet than anything else. If anything, though, I was pleasantly surprised by how much yesterday's riding left me with wanting to bike more.

As I lay in bed last night, I remembered the 3:12 I ran at TCM in 2008 and all the mountain biking at Afton I had done that spring and summer. I started to wonder if all that climbing on my knobbies boosted my running fitness somehow. I'm thinking I'll incorporate more of the same into my Whistlestop training this year. Maybe Monday. We'll see how my schedule shakes out.

Tonight I have my friend Jill to thank for hauling my ass back on the wagon, reins in hand. From her house, we ran up to Hamel's cute main street area to run three one-mile repeats in the park behind Inn Kahoots. As I raced from work to her house (yep, through heinous traffic again), I looked at my car thermometer: 99. In heat like this, the little devil on my shoulder appears and beckons me to pop in a Netflix and break open a can of Mountain Dew. Not today. So thank you, Jill! We ran like little troopers around the baseball fields filled with little leaguers. I ran each repeat around 6:40 pace, which I was pleased with. I even hit 6:15 for a 1/4 mile stretch on my second repeat. We finished up with 8 miles under our sweaty belts and a whole lot of pride for digging deep through the high temps. As long as I keep fighting the fight (and the heat and the sun), I think I should be on track to hitting a 3:10 at Whistlestop.

Yep--I said 3:10. But that's for another post. It's been a great training week so far, and I'm not going to ruin it. Tomorrow I'm giving myself a break from the asphalt and instead hitting up my girl Zuzana at bodyrock.tv for one of her ball-busting SuperSexy workouts. I'll be hitting miles of burb pavement later scouring garage sales with sister.

And last...according to Jill's superchic Ironman scale, I've lost 6 pounds since I started the blog. I was stunned. I guess I this means I just need to lose the brownie/Cheetos/ice cream fat and gain more muscle.

A much needed hiatus

2010-07-07T23:23:00.006-05:00

I'll try to make this my longest hiatus. I've missed writing about my training, but somehow happy hours, Tuesday night showings of Eclipse, books, dog romps and life's unexpected pleasures and pains get in the way. So it is for the lonely life of a blog and the average week of a life-lovin' (and oft lazy) lass.

I just returned from a 10-day trip to Banff, Alberta. Mark, my friend Melissa, and I flew into Spokane, Washington, then made the seven-hour drive up to Banff, with stops at the luxurious Econolodge of Cranbrook, BC and Two Scoop Steve's ice cream shop in Yahk, AB, among other little mountain towns. In between being excited to the point of nearly peeing in my pants, I wondered often of what effect the vacation would have on my marathon training. But then my yogi friend, Christine, would appear in diminutive, transparent form on my left shoulder, whispering wise advice on how the break would be the best thing for my ever-tight butt crease muscles. She was right. An essential part of marathon training includes, funny enough, not running. Awesome.

When I worked as a photographer's assistant years ago, we had a saying: "Location's no vacation." And this trip was no exception. Every day, we hiked at high elevation for at least 4 hours, often longer. My heels, knobby from wearing too tight and trendy shoes when I was an impressionable pubescent, developed raw, open blisters the first day from the relentlessly steep climbs. I had cover to them with a band-aid and duct- tape them every day therafter ... there was no way I was going to miss a single glorious day of hiking in the Canadian Rockies over a superficial injury the size of a nickel.

The break from hoofing it on asphalt combined with the spectacular cardio of billy goating up steep, rocky terrain and inhaling unpolluted mountain air must've done my body good. I've run a couple times this week--barely feeling my cardio kicking in while pushing a nice 7 minute mile pace. Rejuvenating. I'd write more about the amazingness of our little vacay, but it's late, and besides, I think these photos will speak for me.

Two Jack Campground, Banff

Egypt Lake Shelter, 12K hike from Banff. To reach the shelter, we had to cross Healey Pass, which was still covered in knee- to thigh-high snow in late June. The trail was covered and we got lost for 2 hours.

This is Bridget, a lovely and sparky New Yorker we met at the shelter. Here she is in her wifebeater, braving Healey Pass on our way back to Banff.

Canada Day festivities at the Fairmont Banff Springs, where we stayed on our last night. So worth it...and not just for the hot shower!

Above Lake Louise

Melissa, me, Bridget heading back to Banff from Healey Pass

Lake Louise from Big Beehive trail

Mark, Melissa, and I nearing Whistling Pass. Saw a few marmots--not jackets!

The parting shot. Well, this isn't Banff, but Coeur D'Alene, ID, where we stayed the night before heading home. Here we are on the boardwalk. I loved this town. The cafes didn't chain their patio tables and chairs at night--gotta love it! If I ever do another Ironman, this just might have to be the one. Happy trails!

Sunday run at Afton

2010-06-08T17:39:00.000-05:00

First things first ... I lost a pound and a half! I don't feel much more of a spring in my step yet ... patience.

It's been a few days since my last post. I have insomnia to blame for that. While my sleep pattern has gotten better, thanks, in equal parts to Lunesta and coritsol cream, I still have a ways to go. The last time I slept eight hours straight was in Paris two years ago. I took a late afternoon flight, didn't sleep on the plane, and arrived in Paris at 8 a.m. the next day. I remained awake until 9:30 p.m., at which time I caught a glimpse of my bed-to-be in my peripheral vision--enough to make me completely crash, but not before popping a Lunesta for insurance. I wasn't going to mess around. I woke up around 8:30 the next morning, fresh as a rose petal, and experienced an alertness throughout the entire day that I had resigned myself to living without. My energy level was that of a rambunctious five-year-old. I wanted to do, see, and play, and it had nothing to do with being in Paris ... although the Frenchy change of setting didn't hurt. Does anyone regularly experience this perky level of wakefulness, I thought. More than anything, even losing my last 8 pounds effortlessly (and without giving up butter), I would love to sleep more than seven hours a night on a regular basis. Heck, I'd take five.

Seguing back to running, I often wonder what effect sleep deprivation has on athletic performance. It certainly works in tandem with laziness to affect my motivation. When I get home from work, my body and mind are exhausted--not from my workload, but from simply being awake for so long. I have adapted somewhat. Namely, I try to run in groups or with a partner as often as possible. Once I get on the road, I'm fine. And scheduling with another person is also key. It's just not cool to cancel at the last minute because you've pussed out.

That said, my bleary eyes and heavy limbs dragged myself out of bed on Sunday to do this:

Afton trail run w/ Patty by funsizesnack at Garmin Connect - Details

That's 11+ miles down and over the steep climes at Afton State Park. My bf, Mark, had a race out there, so I seized the opportunity to infuse my training with some real hills. None of that French Park shiz :)

Patty was a willing sport and agreed to accompany me, after guzzling a liter of coffee from her snazzy French press thermos. We started around 10:30 (Mark's race didn't start until 11), so the sun was already shooting its rays on us. Mountain bike races start at the ski chalet at the bottom of the hill, so to make things interesting, we ran up that contemptibly steep hill out of the ski area and down the road past the golf course to the state park entrance. To get to the wooded trails that Afton is known for, we had to run down a long, asphalt road. A word to the wise, don't forgo a good smattering of sunscreen just because you're headed to Afton. My shoulders now shine in a deep pink glow that some roses would kill for.

The run itself was a great fitness test. As far as marathon training goes, I prefer doing as many long runs on off-road hills as possible. I'm no expert, but running 20 miles on flat roads seems wasteful. My ideal long run is 75% on hilly terrain at a slow cruise with the last 20-25% on flat road building to marathon pace. Good stuff.

The hills we ran between 9:30 and 12:00 min/mile. Not too shabby, I'd say. And there were plenty of good climbs to keep our hammies honest and steep descents to trash our quads for good measure. Afton is as dependable as you can get around here--and no altitude to deal with. Cardio-wise, I felt strong. It was my left ankle, which I rolled colossally last fall, that took a bit of beating. The culprit? Sprinting down rocky singletracks. I have a bit of a woodtick phobia, and it's never going away.

All in all a fine day. Mark placed 6th out of 27 in his age group at the Lifetime Avalanche..and we all snarfed down Chipotle, guilt-free, on the way home.

Tomorrow: 8-miles with some of my Boston homies, and free dinner, I think. :)

27-Mile Memorial Weekend

2010-06-01T21:30:00.004-05:00

Great weekend of trail running in the southern burbs! Here's what I did at 6:30 am this morning:

Murphy-Hanrehan AM run by funsizesnack at Garmin Connect - Details

I had three solid runs this weekend, all 8+ miles. And while I felt strong (this early in my training), I think my most challenging obstacle will be dropping the extra weight I gained the past six months. I know what it's like to race "light," and let me tell you, I am not light right now, and I can feel it with every step I take up a hill. It's like having an evil twin with a buddha belly growing out of my back. Really takes the spring out my step. At some point this summer, if I stay commited to my training schedule (which, uh...need to do yet), I should be clambering up hills on my sprite, billy goat legs.

That said, tonight I baked a couple cakes for a work birthday: an oversized yellow layer cake with green and yellow buttercream frosting, and a pound cake--no butter stick left behind. So what I'm saying is, I baked through no fault of my own ;) It's what the people want. So it's kind of a one step forward, two steps back kind of thing ... which is actually only step back, right? Of course, I licked the mixing bowls clean, which is eating straight-up butter. Jeezus, I suppose that's another step back, which really does make it two. Darn it. I love REAL food so much. Brie and good prosciutto on baguette ... good baguette. Lobster bisque made with cream. A thick slice of gouda nuked for 7 seconds, consumed half melted. The trick, I think, will be to find coherent words for my purpose--a mission statement (?) for why I want to run a three-hour marathon so badly this year--utter them, then drill them into my skull. It's the only way to ward off the cravings. Seriously. Food. Food. Food. I live to eat good food. Find the balance, Kelly. Find the balance!

Going to be abrupt and cut this short. I'm reading On Writing by Stephen King, borrowed from my dear friend, Patty. I'm nearly finished and eager to sneak in a few chapters before bedtime. I tend to flee from books "on the craft," but this one is so much different than the rest. I've promised myself it's the last one I'll ever read. Better to get busy writing or get busy dying, King wrote himself--or something like it ;) (Look to my goals on the right and you'll see what I'm talking about). Speaking of which, same can be said for running, too, so I better get some shut eye--feed my muscles with deep sleep.

I hope everyone had a restful weekend, too. Good night.

I've got my spine, I've got my [Grape] Crush

2010-05-30T17:32:00.002-05:00

I spent Friday night at a friend's new bodacious abode in Linden Hills, and found myself really missing the city. It was nice to indulge in common city dweller activities again--walking to Dunn Bros., driving 10 minutes to the Acadia Cafe to watch our talented chum Ananda rock out with his Acoustic Roots, and, of course, prettying up my car after someone broke into it. Ahhh ... the simple things.

The next morning we woke up slow with a couple cold glasses of blue Powerade and shredded wheat, then took off for a healthy, 9-mile run with a couple more friends, one of whom led us on her "secret" route around Brownie Lake and environs.

The temps were warm and slightly sticky as we headed out around 10. Patty, the only one wearing a Garmin, had to put up with our curious questions: "How fast are we going now?" How far have gone now?" every five minutes, but replied graciously each time. We seemed to hold a solid 8 minute/mile pace, according to Patty's watch. We talked about things like handstands, work, boys, and the rest of the weekend, which, happily, lies wide open ahead of us.

It's social runs like these that keep me motivated. So in that spirit, I'm kicking off my Whistlestop training with a 10-mile run tomorrow with some of the Boston gang and others at Lebanon Hills in Eagan. I've only mountain biked out there, so I'm eager to scramble up the Leb hills sans wheels and see what they have to offer. Off road running is where it's at for me this year. My 36-year-old legs feel like they've been at this marathon thing for a decade!

On a side note (and fair warning) ... I'm going to write about food ... a lot about food. I love food. And it has a soft spot for me. Anyway, one of my habits is to ridiculously gorge myself the night before I start a training program or diet of some sort. Nights like these I fondly call my "last hurrah." I have had many last hurrahs in my lifetime.Delicacies I have binged on in the past include hot fudge malts, red velvet cake, anything sauteed in butter, grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon, bacon, blocks of cheese, steak topped with butter, etc. Today I vowed not to go balls to the wall, and eat whatever I wanted that was readily available (historically, I will travel great lengths to obtain LH foods). Because today my family got together for Memorial Day, I ate rhubarb tart, sloppy joes (on a white bun!), a few slices of muenster cheese, and on my way home I stopped at a gas station and picked up a bottle of my childhood fave: Grape Crush. So cold. So good. Here's to hoping my morning run is the much of the same.

The start line

2010-05-27T13:27:00.009-05:00

Where does any race begin? Any runner, cyclist, triathlete, swimmer, will tell you, that all races begin long before race morning. My first race, Twin Cities Marathon in 2000, began with a flash forward fantasy six months before I set foot in the starting corral in front of the Metrodome. I imagined myself sprinting (for real!) past the finish line in St. Paul and afterward giddily telling friends, family, anyone who would listen, "I am a marathoner!" Although the 7 am long runs, the excruciating speed workouts around Lake Calhoun and Lake Harriet, and the chronically sore feet I developed later that summer built me up for the better--revealing a sense of commitment to hard, consistent work I never knew I had in me--my motivation for training was fueled, more than I would've liked to admit, by my ego. My 26-year-old body quickly snapped into the incredible shape you'd expect of a young lassie, and it wasn't lost on me. My arms, my legs, even my neck shrunk to their leanest essentials. My stomach became concave, which made me giddy. I remember running past a Caribou Coffee near my apartment at the time. I saw my reflection in the plate-glass windows for just an instant, and was floored by how light yet strong I was. I wanted to feel and look like that transparent image forever, and at that moment, I felt I had finally tapped into the elusive solution that would solve a lot of my dilemmas of that time in my life. When I ran I forgot about everything else except the step ahead of me. It was refreshing.

My perspective on marathon training has changed a bit since then. Although I have gotten faster, I must work a lot harder for my gains, and overall I've made peace with aging. Though, I'm only 36, so to be honest, it shouldn't have taken long anyway. (What are the chances Heidi Montag will read this!?).

I registered for most of my subsequent marathons as social events, loving the post-run pancake feeds as much, if not more than, the race itself. That hasn't changed.

Yet I think something different has creeped into my running consciousness this year. Although I've asked some good friends who have been with me on this journey since it began to accompany me to Whistlestop, I feel like I could've gone this one alone, which is a pretty out of character.

I'll coach myself and commit four days a week to a tempo run, a speedwork session, a long run with a faster pace built into the end, and a 10-15 miler with my dogs (but only partly, because they have fur coats they can't take off). I've read that 5-6 day training weeks are a must for anyone wanting to run a 7 min/mile or faster marathon pace. Well, I ran my last PR (3:12) on 3 days a week, so I suppose some traditions I just can't bring myself to follow.

With the extra three days, I plan on taking the butt-kicking Total Conditioning classes offered at Life Time Fitness, as well as Vinyasa yoga classes, to keep my joints and muscles flexible and well-lubed. I'll throw in some bike rides and lake swims here and there to break up the routine, as well as some Netflix instant-watch marathons in bed. I'm not taking my sprint tri in July too seriously! I just hope to run a zippy 5K to gage my speed and fitness when the time comes.

At first, the impetus behind running Whistlestop was pretty mundane: to lose weight. I've gained 10 pounds since last fall by eating whatever (but mostly WHENever) I want, and I ran Boston in April at the heaviest I've ever run a marathon. But that wasn't enough to get me to register.

Last night, what brought me to pull up that familiar active.com page on the Web was a longing to do something out of my comfort zone and toy with any notions I have for what is attainable, like I did in 2000 at Twin Cities Marathon. I am scared that I am going to train the hardest I have ever trained in my life and fail. But that's too heavy a load to mess with now. Tonight I will work on plotting the next 5 months of my training schedule.

All in all, I am a runner. By the end of September, if i can say "I ran," then I will have spent my summer well.

I can't wait to get started.