A Year in Review - 2014

Take out your bible. Not Jack Daniels. Not Noakes. The other one. The Old Testament. Now turn to page 229. Breathe in. Breathe out. Let the words soak in:

He wanted to impart some of the truths Bruce Denton had taught him, that you don't become a runner by winning a morning workout. The only true way is to marshal the ferocity of your ambition over the course of many days, weeks, months, and (if you could finally come to accept it) years. The Trial of Miles; Miles of Trials. How could he make them understand?

On December 29th, 2013, Saba passed away. Everyone loses grandparents. Most people lose four. But something was different about Saba. He was a Holocaust survivor, and I don't mean like a managed-to-hide Holocaust survivor or pretended-he-was-Christian Holocaust survivor or moved-just-in-time Holocaust survivor. Not to belittle any of those. Surviving is surviving. But he survived a Nazi death camp. With no education past the age of eight, he went on to be an engineer. He was the kindest, most giving person I have ever met. And in my mind, he was immortal. If you can survive a Nazi death camp, you can survive anything.

I learned the hard way that nobody can escape death. Every step I took became a tribute.

Savta, Dad, me, Lymor, and Saba

MONTH BY MONTH

January

On January 1st, 2014, I woke up feeling like my stomach was going to explode. I had to volunteer for the Resolution Run 5K, so I decided to just take a Zofran and gut it out. I survived the volunteer work but the pain got worse, so I went to the ER. Not a great way to start the year.

My coach had me take it easy when I started running again. But I wanted to do more. When most people are sad, I think they tend to withdraw from their interests. I'm not like that. I drown myself in them. They distract me.

By the end of the month, with nothing to owe to my own patience and everything to owe to good coaching, I was running pretty well again. Take that, life!

February

I opened up the season with a rust-buster of a 5K, Love 'em or Leave 'em, in 18:51, a road PR. And why stop there? I was in awesome shape. I threw in the FSRC 15 miler in 1:40:35 for 4th. I didn't even run all-out. I started at marathon pace and gradually picked it up. I was invincible. This was going to be the best season ever.

Highest highs and lowest Lowes at the FSRC 15M

March

I continued on my little invincibility stint for most of the month. It was hard to breathe, though, and I wasn't sure why. But Kimber had allergies, and that meant I probably was making it up and didn't also have allergies. I had a blatant asthma attack during a workout, which my coach called "exercise-induced bronchospasm." I looked it up. It was asthma. Whatever. I didn't have asthma. It was in my head.

The stomach pain came back at the end of the month. I went back to the hospital. Still no cause. Less than a week later, I decided to make my 10000m debut on the track. I mean, why not, right?

It was probably the worst race of my life. Predictably. So I drowned my sorrows in volunteer work, then in ice cream, then in dancing the night away at a gay bar with my teammates. Is that really all you've got, life?

April

I took a trip to Boston to watch the marathon and run the B.A.A. 5K. I told myself that the 5K was "just for fun." Secretly, I put myself under a lot of pressure to run 18:15, the time I had magically decided I was capable of running, or at least 18:30, the time I actually knew I was capable of running.

Then I got to the starting line. Our numbers were in order from fastest to slowest. Pretty much nobody actually knew that. I remember trying to walk in front of someone whose number was a few thousand higher than mine. He yelled at me. I told him I was going to run 5:50 pace. He sarcastically said that was really slow and he could run faster than that. I told him if that was true, he should also move up toward the front.

Then we were off and I was stuck behind hundreds of people who didn't understand what seeded entries are, zig-zagging to 6:07. I panicked and hammered out a super fast second mile, then died a painful death and finished in 19:02. You do the math. My teammate Valerie, who ran a much smarter race, passed me during the last mile.

I was not happy, but whatever. I had a marathon to watch! I got to write about the marathon. I had a strong sense of duty. It made me feel better.

Teammate Katie Conlon ran a huge PR and smiled the whole way

May

I was two-and-two, looking for a personal victory at Cinco de Mayo. Seattle had its first hot week leading up to the race. Dehydrated, allergy-ridden, and (as I later found out) iron-deficient, I rode the Struggle Bus to 1:27:30. It was the most painful race I have ever run. I have no idea how I made it to the finish line, let alone in a not-too-terrible time, albeit not at all what I was looking for. It sucked, it really sucked, and everyone who saw me at the end could see just how much it sucked, but it was the toughest I had ever been. I had transcended. Or some shit.

I won a water bottle for dehydrating myself to the point of almost fainting

Determined to find the cause of my stomach pain, I underwent exploratory surgery shortly after. The doctor found abdominal adhesions (scar tissue) sticking the area near my appendix to my abdominal wall. She got rid of them. I have had zero pain since.

June

Post-surgery was weird. My core strength was totally gone. I strained my diaphragm trying to get back into running too quickly and I was totally convinced I had a blood clot and was going to die. I got really, really depressed for two weeks, and I didn't have running to help me feel better.

When June finally arrived, I was healthy and ready to go. I decided to open with a double debut in the 1500m and 800m at Northwest Regionals. 5:09 / 2:36. The former converted to a 1600m PR so I guess I'll count it.

I finished the month with a 5000m race at an All-Comers meet. I had an asthma attack during the race. Turns out I'm allergic to basically everything. Whatever, life. I've got this.

July

The asthma attack turned out to be a positive event, because I went to an allergist, started medication, and began getting weekly allergy shots. My running became a lot more consistent.

In mid-July, I had the opportunity to race the 10000m in 85 degree heat at Club Nationals because that's fun or something. It was actually awesome. Times were slow because of the heat, but I came back late in the race to pass Denver and take 8th place, completing the Club Northwest sweep. I hadn't been expected to score, but it had been a personal goal, so I was very happy with my racing.

August

I topped off my summer season with 38:56 at the Railroad Days 10K, a PR by almost a minute, enough to win my age group, despite being injured for several weeks leading up to the race. There's really not much more to say there.

I took the rest of the month off to let my lingering peroneal tendonitis finally heal.

September

I opened my season in Israel, because why not? It was hot, a different kind of hot, a thick sunny hot that permeates the air and your skin and your bones until you melt, a hot that only native Israelis grow immune to. I won. It was a terrible race though.

Feeling hot, hot, hot

I had the opportunity to run with a couple of Israeli groups. I met world-class steepler Noam Neeman, who ran for Maryland for a season. I ran with another group through a Kibbutz and stopped for fresh, free pomegranates mid-run. I just wished I hadn't been so out of shape.

October

Fall, fall, sweet cross country fall. Opened with a 24:09 hilly XC 6K at WWU. It was the same exact time as last year. I was out too slow. A week later I raced with a bad cold at Emerald City Open. 24:46 on Lower Woodland. Bad run. Felt terrible. Everything hurt. Couldn't walk for the next couple of days.

November

I returned to Lower Woodland Park for my second time this year and sixth time over three years. I ran PNTF Championships in 23:55, a 46 second course PR. It was glorious.

My new teammate and training partner Tayler, who doesn't like this picture, ran even better

Everything I had worked for all year was finally coming together. I'd made it past all of the hills in life and onto a nice, long, flat straightaway; I'd gotten into a rhythm. I ran Northwest Regionals in 23:18, a 25 second XC 6K PR.

December

I wasn't ready to call my season over. Which is why I'm lucky, in a way, that I got to go to XC Club Nationals in Bethlehem, PA. It was really a matter of circumstance. Ruth Perkins, one of our top seven runners, got hurt and couldn't race. I felt kind of bad going on those terms. I didn't want Ruth to be hurt. Another sort-of alternate turned down the opportunity.

I got the email just a few weeks before the race. I said yes three minutes later.

I ran a 3000m time trial in the Dempsey as a tune-up in 10:57. It wasn't supposed to be (and honestly wasn't) all-out, so seven seconds slower than my PR was really promising.

The trip to Bethlehem was the best weekend of my life so far. I ran 23:25, so almost my PR, and very consistent. But I had the freaking time of my life.

Love these girls to death

LESSONS LEARNED

1. I'm one tough cookie. I don't know where that phrase comes from, since it makes me picture a really stale, crumbly cookie, and nobody actually likes those. But whatever. It's true. I can take anything and come back stronger. I get it from Saba.

2. Focusing on helping other people takes away the internal pressure I feel when I race. Joining the board has been awesome for me. Suddenly it's not me, me, me; it's team, team, team. Is Katie going to run that huge PR? (Yes.) Is she going to qualify for Trials? (I'd put my money on next year.) What is Ruth going to run at Twin Cities? (Spoiler Alert: 2:40:02.) Is Ashley going to keep up her streak of running a PR at every single XC meet this season? (Almost.) How is Megan going to handle her first XC season back post-baby? (How does leading the team at Club Nationals sound?) I can't be nervous. I'm just a part of something bigger. 

3. Some days, it's smarter not to race. But I'm not mature enough to hold myself to this. Which is what coaches are for. So I have a deal with my coach about this. And we communicate. It's cool.

4. Don't challenge life. Seriously. It's not worth it. As I reveled in just how much I could overcome, I got MRSA in my ear. I tried to run with it and my peroneal tendonitis came back. Not fun! If life is easy for you, just enjoy it for a little. 

5. Being out of shape won't kill you. Actually, all of my best seasons have been after forced longer breaks. So maybe MRSA is really a blessing for someone like me.

6. Be assertive about your health. I never thought I'd figure out the cause of my stomach pain. But I kept trying. I figured it out. And now I'm healthy. I thought my breathing problems were in my head. They weren't. I figured it out. And now I'm healthy. Fight for your health. It is the most important thing.

DEAR SABA,

I will never have to go through what you went through, but your strength lives on in me, and I can show it to the world through sport. The Trial of Miles; Miles of Trials.

Love,
Talia

Having Fun

Before every race, I open up a text document and write out my anxieties as questions. Then I answer them. Then I end it with a little note to myself.

Here's the one from just before PNTF XC Championships a week and a half ago:

Q: This course is hard and it's going to hurt like hell. 

A: True, but you've done it five times already, and you've been fine each time. Plus it can't hurt any more than last time when you ran it sick. 

Q: My legs don't really feel rested. 

A: You may not feel rested, but you've backed off appropriately, and you've slept eighteen hours in the past two days. You'll feel great. 

Q: What if I end up alone? 

A: You've raced alone countless times. You can handle it. Try to keep company, but if you end up alone you know you can pull through.

Q: What if I run slowly? 

A: Then nobody will really care. It'll be an off-day. But you're well-trained and felt pretty good Wednesday, so there's really no reason this should happen. Just trust yourself and trust your training.

Relax, have fun, and run fast :)  

I'm not really sure where the last bit comes from. It's usually something impulsively write to myself. It's what I want to hear. It's reassurance. It's what I would tell myself if I were my coach. Relax, have fun, and run fast. 

Have fun. I'm back on the line and the tension is building and the gun is about to go off and two weeks ago I ran this course sick and it was basically torture. Have fun, I remind myself. This is fun. You like this sport.

What follows is the best race I've run this year. What follows is a minute faster than two weeks prior. What follows is a 46 second personal best for this course. 

What follows is this:

calm, confidence, fight, & joy

I repeat these words to myself at every workout that follows. 

Calm. The beginning of a race when you're all butterflies or the first quarter of mile repeats when but 90 feels so slow and you want to hammer it. Impatient, you surge. It bites you later. So trust it. Relax. You have plenty of time to run fast.

Confidence. The second stretch of a repeat or race when gee, I don't know if I can sustain this pace. Of course you can. You've done all of the work. Now trust yourself. 

Fight. The finish seems unreachable and every inch of your body is searing in pain and that girl surges right past you. I should just let her go. She's faster than me anyways. What? No. Fight back. She's yours.

Joy.

Joy.

I'm having fun. I'm smiling. 

I read this terrible sports psychology book this past summer that really missed the mark for me. It dismissed the whole "just have fun" thing as absurd for the elite athlete, as deterrence from the real point, winning. After all, it said, winning is fun, so if you win, you'll have fun.

Well, I'm no elite athlete (yet), but I've finally figured it out. I work the exact opposite way. I run better when I remind myself to have fun. When I remember why I love this sport. The moment that I feel joy is the moment that I stop fighting the pain. I don't ignore the pain. And I don't just accept it. The moment that I feel joy is the moment that I embrace it. 

Because after all, the reason I love this sport is because it makes clear to me just how much I can overcome.

Israel, Part I

So once upon a time, I was born. Somewhere in Rhode Island. Home of clam cakes and coffee milk and Del's Lemonade. From an Israeli-American couple. With dual citizenship.

Consequentially, I "only" have to run 2:43 in the marathon to compete in the Olympics. Some people have abnormally good genes, some people are born at altitude, some people grow up running to school, or start running in school. I was born with another gift: A dual identity, a rich cultural background, and a guaranteed trip to the Olympics for something 100+ women in the US can do.

So obviously I have to try, because who wouldn't? Let's be real, though, 2:43 isn't easy. But it's a hell of a lot easier than 2:26, what I would've needed to make the US team in 2012.

Anyways, fast forward to two weeks ago, and I was on another goddamn airplane flying cramped up in a tiny seat not sleeping for something like a ten hour overnight trip. It'd be worth it, though, to see my family.

The next morning, I went for a nice easy run around Ness Ziona, kind of made up where I was going and somehow found my way home, looking something like this: 

"It's too hot"

A day and a half later, I was with my mom and savta (grandma) getting ready to race a 5K "for fun," ten hours jet-lagged, still unaccustomed to the Israeli diet of hummus, pita, diced cucumbers and tomatoes, fresh squeezed juice, Milky, and Krembo. I told my mom, "I'm going to puke." 

Milky

Krembo

I decided I'd just run to win with an honest effort. No jogging it in, but no worrying about time, either, since I was feeling pretty terrible before I even started running.

So I did just that. I ran a super slow (for me) 5K a solid 1:20 off of my PR, but tried hard and won. And it was fun in the totally miserable way that only runners understand.

Plus, I got another photo for my "Talia face" collection

Then I almost did puke. I went to talk to the dude by the ambulance to ask him for ice, because I felt so hot, so goddamn hot everywhere I didn't know what to do. I was going to melt away under the sun and dissolve into the thick, wet Israeli air, my gut twisted and drowning in Milky, so much Milky, why does Milky have to be so good? 

"You'd be better off just lying on the grass," he said, so I did. And started to itch. Everywhere. I was allergic to the grass.

I won $150 to some local spa. In typical Israeli fashion, we weren't able to reach the owner to book an appointment before I left, so I gave it to my aunt and cousin and told them to go together.

The real point of all of this was to scope out some clubs so I can run in the Israel marathon championships if I choose to. And it kind of worked. A little. Sort of. OK, not really. It was pretty chaotic. Still fun, but chaotic. And it warrants its own post.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chasing Denver

Eleven months ago, I had just gotten back from my sister's wedding and something was seriously wrong with my stomach. I couldn't eat or drink and was in immense pain, so I figured I'd cut my long run short and just run ten miles. Totally logical.

Ten miles later, I downed some whey isolate in Gatorade because that wasn't real food and I'd be fine, and I found myself on the floor of my bathroom screaming. I went to the ER.

One week later, I found myself racing a 10K. Slowly, miserably, I dragged my sorry ass to a 39:49. I wobbled over to my coach and told him "THAT FELT TERRIBLE!" He said "I thought it would." I regretted showing up.

Anyways, I didn't know it, but the qualifying time for USATF Club Nationals was 39:50. I also didn't know it, but USATF Club Nationals was going to be in Tacoma, WA for 2014, which meant I could go without being one of the top runners in our club. I'd just secured my spot to run twenty-five laps around a little oval against really fast people because apparently that's fun in my twisted little head.

Training was going very well this time around, and I knew I was in shape to run under 39. Also, I didn't end up in the hospital, which is always nice. Everything was perfect! Well, except for this:

"AN EXCESSIVE HEAT WATCH MEANS THAT A PROLONGED PERIOD OF HOT TEMPERATURES IS EXPECTED. THE COMBINATION OF HOT TEMPERATURES AND HIGH HUMIDITY WILL COMBINE TO CREATE A DANGEROUS SITUATION IN WHICH HEAT ILLNESSES ARE POSSIBLE. DRINK PLENTY OF FLUIDS... STAY IN AN AIR-CONDITIONED ROOM... STAY OUT OF THE SUN... AND CHECK UP ON RELATIVES AND NEIGHBORS."

Tom's advice was not quite as dramatic:

"I think it would be wise ice your head during the longer races. The best way to do this is to have a baseball cap or visor to hold an ice-filled sandwich bag with crushed ice in it. We will have sandwich bags and ice available but are asking you to bring your own ballcap. We puncture several holes in the sandwich bag if you want to squeeze cold water on your head during the race."

So I bought the dorkiest-looking bright orange hat I could find.

I threw out my preconceptions about how fast I should be running and decided to start conservatively. If running a fast time didn't turn out to be realistic, I still had two goals: Beat the girl from Denver Track Club. And score.

When the gun went off, I lost her. I figured she was behind me, but really she was out with the lead pack at a near-suicidal pace. Alone, I stayed focused. 95, 95, 95, 94, 96, 95. About three miles in, being alone got to me, and I started to fade a little. 97, 98. That wouldn't do. But I was feeling sorry for myself.

Then I realized that one of our girls had dropped out and one hadn't shown up, which left nine of us, Adrienne already behind me. So I had to get that last point. I had to beat Denver. And that's around when Mark yelled something like "8th place is 200 meters up and fading!" I didn't want to hear it. 200 meters is far. But god did I need that point.

200 became 150. "There's a point 150 meters up, go get that point!" And then Tom told me I'd gained 16 seconds on her in one lap. That's when it lit up. The fire. It had been subdued by months of setbacks. I'd been serious about my running, but I hadn't been hungry. And boy was I hungry. Denver was mine. I was chasing Denver.

Before I knew it, with about a mile to go, she was with me. I made a decisive move and left her behind. For about 200 meters, I felt scared. I felt like she was going to catch me. So I ran as fast as I could to make sure I broke her and she stayed back. She did.

And that's how I completed the top eight sweep in the 10000. With my single point out of 161 total for the club's women. And it's probably the point that has the most value to any single runner. 

We got second overall!

PS: Denver, if you ever read this, nice race. You were bold.

#Awkward

I'm an awkward person. Really. In high school that used to be a bad thing, but in the Real World it seems like my friends like me for my strengths and accept (or even embrace) my quirks, so being awkward isn't a big deal.

I'm also a huge track nerd. Put the two together and what do you get? Extremely awkward encounters with professional runners.

Here's my top five:

1. Andrew Wheating, Eugene Marathon

Right after I ran the Eugene half, my sister, boyfriend, and I went to a party hosted by Picky Bars at Ninkasi. I'd expected Lauren Fleshman. I hadn't expected Andrew Wheating. So when I saw someone who looked a lot like Andrew Wheating standing there, a real person, in a brewery, after staring at him for a solid ten minutes I finally worked up the balls to approach him. I opened my mouth and out came "ARE YOU ANDREW WHEATING?" When he laughed and said yes, I told him I hadn't recognized him without the beard. By beard I meant the little fuzz on his face in Behind the Stands. He looked seriously confused.

And also really tall

2. Lauren Fleshman, Club Nats

This was my second or third time meeting Lauren Fleshman. Not sure. It was after XC Club Nats last year. I'm past my partying days, but Club Nats is the exception. I mean, when else do you have a thousand or so post-collegiate runners clustered in the same city, all of them done with their seasons at the same exact time? So after the race I drank through the awards and then got dragged along to another party after that. I was wasted by the time I ran into Lauren Fleshman, who is like my favorite. So that's what I told her. "You're like my favorite!" I have a way with words.

"Oh well," I thought, "next time"

3. Lauren Fleshman, Beat the Bridge

Unfortunately, "next time" I was two days post-surgery doped up on Tramadol. I decided it'd be a good idea to take the bus over to the Beat the Bridge 8K to watch my teammates and take pictures. When I finally figured out in what direction the race was going to start, I took a seat next to a wonderful blonde lady on the curb. I put my Picky Bars water bottle down next to me. She turned and said "I thought I recognized that water bottle!" It was Lauren Fleshman. I informed her that every time I see her I "turn into a babbling idiot," and then mentioned my encounter with her at Club Nats. She said she remembered it. Great. I didn't take a picture this time because I didn't want her to think I was stalking her.

4. Kim Smith, Brown University Track

I was doing a track workout on a hot summer day in Providence in 2012. My old coach Bob asked if I'd met Kim Smith because she was there, at the track, also doing a workout. I said that no, I hadn't, but I knew who she was and followed her running. So Bob introduced me to her. Not her to me. Not like "Talia, this is Kim Smith" but the other way around, "Kim, this is Talia, she's one of our marathoners." Oh shit, what was I supposed to say? So we both complained about how hot it was. It was hot. Really hot. Hard to do a workout when it's this hot. She was leaving for the Olympics soon. Cool. It probably would have made sense to say something like "good luck in the Olympics."

5. Joan Benoit Samuelson, Iron Girl Columbia Half

This was a women's-only race and it was probably the coolest thing ever. Joanie was the special guest. She was also racing. When the gun went off there was the lead pack right there and no men and just women and the clock and oh my god the lead pack the lead pack I had to be part of the lead pack so I raced up to the front and held on for as long as I could. Then I faded. And faded. And faded. At one point I heard light, efficient steps behind me and I thought "I'm about to get passed by an Olympic gold medalist!" Joanie ran right by. I hung on to her for as long as I could. It wasn't very long. I ran a PR that day, but it was a terrible race in terms of strategy because, well, there was no strategy. I just got so damn excited. You run, you learn. I approached Joanie after the half-marathon. She said (in the voice that moms use to guilt their daughters) "you went out too fast!" Oops.

Also, back then I was really into PJs as warm-ups

Oh, and here's an honorable mention from last night:

Boston

A week and a half ago, I took a trip back east for Boston. I wasn't actually running Boston, I just really wanted to be there.

I got to see my family, my friends, my old coach, and (more importantly) my two German Shepherds. As much as I'd love to write all of you an elaborate explanation of how absolutely adorable Bowzer is and how I could squeeze his giant head all day if only Yoshi (who is also cute) weren't so goddamn jealous all the time, or how awesome my mom's birthday dinner was, this is a running blog, so I'll spare you the details. Reluctantly.

But here's a picture of Bowzer anyways

Everyone knows about the Boston Marathon, but far fewer know about the B.A.A. 5K which is run the same weekend. It always has an awesome elite field. Since Providence is my hometown, I'm a huge Molly Huddle and Kim Smith fan. Amy Hastings, too, but I'd be lying if I said I followed her as much as I follow the other two. Kim Smith won in 2013, but wasn't in the field this year. Molly Huddle was third in 2013, and she was running. So the Lil' Rhody Running Nerd in me was pretty excited.

I was obviously not in the elite field. I was seeded 346 out of almost 10,000 runners. And I was nervous.

Hence arranging all of my stuff the night before into neat little piles

My teammate Valerie was with me, which made me a little less nervous. We took our time getting over to the start ten minutes early, figuring we'd have time for some strides before making our ways into the seeded corrals. But the race wasn't really organized at all and the corrals weren't seeded and our numbers weren't used for anything. When we tried to get up slightly in front of the 6:00 pace sign, someone with a number in the 2000s actually yelled at us. I tried to explain that the numbers were in order and we were trying to run 5:55 pace and the girl (whose number was in the 5000s) just made a sarcastic comment. So we ignored them and tried to get up a little further before we encountered a wall of runners. At that point we settled for somewhere closer to the 7:00 sign. Whatever.

When the gun went off, nobody around us was actually running that pace either, so we spent the first mile weaving around people who had been dishonest about their times to a slow (for us) 6:07. Valerie stayed calm. Smart girl. I, on the other hand, totally panicked and hammered an all-out second mile. And then I was done. I dragged my burning legs slowly to the finish as Valerie ran right on by. I couldn't really feel too upset by my time because I was too busy laughing at myself.

So the race didn't go so well for me. But it did for Molly Huddle, who won and tied the course record. Providence represent!

My race was followed by this:

And this:

And finally this:

As I found myself a spectator of my own sport. I dyed my hair orange with that cheap spray stuff, photographed every elite who ran by, and went nuts for my teammates. At mile twenty where I was standing, between the Newton hills and Heartbreak, most of them looked like they wanted to die, which honestly made it a pretty fun place to watch from. The crowds were going nuts and the lady next to me wouldn't stop blowing her stupid horn in my ear. Boston loves its sports. All of its sports. Including its marathon.

So I witnessed the end of the American drought. I saw some damn fast elite runners. I got to cheer for and photograph my friends and teammates. I even got to do a little run-reporting, the result of which is on my club's website.

It was pretty much the best weekend ever.

Lemonade

This season has been quite the roller coaster. I've had some of the best workouts of my life, but I've also had minor setback after minor setback. I think my boy Obi Wan totally nails what bounce back feels like:

Lately, though, I've been playing around with optimism. It's new to me. I hate getting hurt, I hate getting sick, I hate having to run fifty-four miles instead of the seventy-five I'd planned for the week or having to hit 6:50 pace instead of 6:40 pace or whatever. So when I woke up on Thursday and my big toe hurt so much it was hard to walk, I was surprised I didn't freak out.

Oh, I went through the standard denial stage, laced up my running shoes, headed out the door, and spent four minutes and thirty seconds arguing with myself over whether or not it made sense to continue my planned ten mile run. And then I was like, "wait a second, why?" What would this run do for me that eighty minutes of cross-training wouldn't? And if I hurt myself more, wouldn't I be pretty pissed if I couldn't run the B.A.A 5K? If I back off now, I might be fine by Saturday.

So I jogged back to my apartment, changed into a short-sleeved running shirt, and hopped on the elliptical in my apartment's tiny gym. It was a new elliptical. And it was Satan's very own elliptical, straight out of hell, the most evil elliptical I have ever laid eyes on. On the lowest resistance, at the lowest height, my heart rate was over 160, which was not sustainable for eighty minutes and not good for a Thursday. So I switched over to the bike. But the bike was also new. And it was a recumbent bike. And I couldn't get my heart rate over 110 on it. So I went back and forth and back and forth wondering what the hell my apartment manager was thinking switching out totally good machines for Hell's Gym. For eighty minutes.

The next day, I decided to make lemonade. I signed up for a free spin class at Flywheel. It'd be fun and different!

I showed up totally clueless and the instructor showed me how to get on the bike and adjusted it to my height. It was a 45 minute "endurance" ride, although in retrospect it was more like an interval workout, and I'm not sure where the "endurance" part comes from. But I digress. It was definitely a good workout.

Probably a little too good. I'm not supposed to work hard on Fridays. But in a dark spinning studio with a super intense guy next to you decked out in full cycling gear and dance music blasting at 180 BPM and some lady telling you what resistance and RPM to hit and the Torq Board, the goddamn Torq Board, it's a little hard not to get carried away. The Torq Board is a leaderboard that lists your "power" which, from what I can tell, is pretty much a made up number based on your RPM and resistance. So basically, it encourages everyone to hammer the workout and race the whole thing rather than actually listening to the instructor.

I signed up to have my pseudonym (HurtRunner) show up on that board. Terrible idea. I followed the workout exactly, hitting the max RPM and resistance recommended by the instructor each time, and I was still behind three other girls and seven guys! Afterward, I got to see all of the arbitrary stats about my workout in my profile:

Whatever the hell any of this means...

It was fun, though. It really was. If I had to do it again I'd keep my name off the board and take it easier, because I worked way too hard for a Friday. During Saturday's long tempo my glutes and hammies were screaming at me the whole time. A great replacement for a Wednesday or Saturday workout, for sure, but not for a Friday easy run.

And now I'm running again :)

Bounce Back

If you think you've had the worst race imaginable but you're yet to run a crappy 10000 on the track, you haven't. Thirteen laps in your legs feel stale and what was once ninety-two is now ninety-six and getting slower and slower and you tell your legs to pick it up and they don't listen and as if to mock you, some lady is standing at the 400m line telling you "twelve laps to go!" Seriously?

And when it's done, you care. So you pay the price of caring. Haven't you always envied the apathetic?

It's OK though. Somewhere between the ice cream you eat straight out of the pint and the fancy cocktail drinks, killer short ribs, and dancing with your teammates that make up your evening, you'll get over it.

No, seriously, you will

Wedged between the insanity were two hours of clarity. You helped with the high jump. For those two hours, it wasn't about you and how slow you ran and how terrible you felt and how badly you wanted to go home and sit in your bed and eat ice cream out of the pint. It was about making sure the bar was the correct height, getting it back up every time it fell down, lifting it up five centimeters at a time, being swift and attentive. It was about the high jumpers. And it made so much sense.

Soon you'll run fast again. You're ready.

Bad Days

I want to talk about my bad days. Mostly because I hate talking about them.

When I run poorly, I grieve. I feel embarrassed for running so slowly. I blame myself. I decide that fast race a few months ago must have been a fluke and this is how I really run and everyone thinks I'm pretty fast but they're wrong and I'll never run that fast again.

It passes. I bounce back. Usually in a day. Sometimes longer. I've gotten better at it with experience. But when it's happening, it feels like the end of the world.

When a friend runs poorly, I feel none of this. I don't think "oh my god, I can't believe she ran so slowly, that's embarrassing" and I don't think "she obviously wasn't trying hard enough" and I definitely don't think "she's done, she'll never be good again; I can't believe I ever thought she was fast." I think "shit, she had a bad day. I hope she feels better soon. I wonder if there is anything I can do to cheer her up in the meantime." Such is the cognitive dissonance that plagues me.

Sometimes I forget that other runners have bad days. I remember my bad days forever but I forget about my friends', my teammates', my sister's, and my competitors'. I remember their good races. I remember my sister's breakthrough half-marathon PR that got her interested in training seriously and qualifying for Boston. And I remember when she qualified for Boston very clearly. I remember Andy's 2:34:49 marathon debut. I remember Kimber winning PNTFs. I remember Drea going from out of shape after a long break to kicking some serious ass just a few months later. I remember Rose hauling it on the track and I remember her winning obstacle course race after obstacle course race and taking home several grand. I don't remember any details of any of their bad races, except that maybe I consoled some of them and I think one of my sister's involved a hurricane.

Just in case anyone views me this way, here are my worst days I can remember:

1. Let's take it all the way back to my swimming days, some eleven or twelve years ago (oh god, I'm old). There's a scratchy feeling in my throat and I have a low-grade fever but I don't really care because I want to race the 100 Fly. I want to beat Elena. So I show up at this swim meet and tell my coach and go ahead with warm-up and realize I feel awful. I scratch from most of my events but I keep myself in the 100 Fly because it's the best event ever (at this age I'm yet to discover the 200 Fly). I pop cough drop after cough drop until the whistle to get up on the blocks and shake out and dive in and swim a fantastic first fifty. And that's it. I stop breathing and the officials pull me out and I feel like I can't even stand up straight and I get home and my temperature is 104 and I have pneumonia. Naturally, I'm upset that I didn't beat Elena.

2. It's 2009 and I've been running for a year and I've knocked out a 19:56 5K already so I decide that means I can walk on Maryland's XC team. I do it. With a stress fracture. I recover and get my mileage up and feel pretty good. Coach Dunham tells me I can finally race. So I order some spikes off the internet and show up at the Panorama Farms Invitational with no idea what to expect. When the gun goes off I try to hang with the fastest girls in the field (who eventually go on to run twenty minutes in the 6K). I run an awesome 800. Then I fall apart. I waddle my exhausted, nauseous, and sore ass all the way to a 26:06 6K on a fairly typical course to take last place. I want someone to tell me it was a terrible race, because it was, but Coach Dunham just says "first college race!" The head coach later cuts me from the team. 

3. 2013. I've had a phenomenal summer season. 5:36 mile, 10:50 3000, 18:40 5000. All massive PRs. After my sister's wedding I get very, very sick. I essentially cannot eat for a week. I start to feel a little better and decide I'm going to do the Railroad Days 10K anyways because I know I can run 38:45 and I'm itching to prove it. By mile three I already want to die. I spend the rest of the race wondering if I should just stop because god knows if I run over forty minutes it's embarrassing and slow and everyone will judge me forever and I don't want anyone to think I'm actually that slow and this is terrible and why am I even doing this? I convince myself to keep going and run 39:49 and feel awful every step of the way. As if to mock me, this time stays on the Best Times List all year. I relapse and cannot eat again for the next week.

4. Same season. Two weeks later. Just one more race. I don't want to end my season on that note. Just one more race. Just let me squeeze out one more race. The Labor Day Half. I stuff my face with carbs all week leading up to it because I know I'm glycogen-depleted. It's hot and Tom knows I've been sick and tells me to be conservative and in my twisted head, conservative after being that sick means 6:40 pace. But after a few miles, 6:40 pace doesn't feel so bad so I start to pick it up. And I feel alright. Until I get to mile five or six. I shut down. I can hardly sustain a jog. I know this feeling. It's the end of a marathon. Except it's only a half. I drag it on until mile eleven looking for someone, anyone I recognize so I can finally end my misery and pull off the course. Finally, I find Andy, who says something like "you can do this!" to which I say "NO I CAN'T!" and pull off the course and cry. I walk a few miles of shame to the finish and all along the way the photographers take pictures of me like I'm still racing. Gail gives me a hug. Tom asks what happened. All I can say is "I just stopped. I don't know. I just stopped."

After that last race, I sent Tom an upset email and he gave me his little glycogen speech but then dove into a paragraph I'll never forget. Ever. And I want to immortalize it.

I hope  you can use this to gain perspective.  It is an easy trap to take your identity from your time in some race.  Please don't do that.  You are so much more than that.  More than a simple time, so much more than just a distance runner.  It can be part of your strength, but it should never become the whole thing.  It's disappointing and frustrating to be sure, but you just have to continue to look at the big picture and move on.  Easy for me to say! :) 

How this sport makes me feel

It's no secret that this sport is an emotional roller-coaster. It's almost impossible to justify why we like it so much to people who don't just get it. Sometimes it's even hard to justify it to ourselves.

This morning I raced fifteen miles as overdistance in my build-up to my goal race, the Cinco de Mayo half-marathon. I thought it was crazy when I signed up, I thought it was crazy while I was racing, and I still think it's crazy now that I'm home in my warm room sitting on my lazy butt gorging on enough pasta to feed a family of four. But something is so right about this. So I'd like to share the emotional roller coaster that was this week.

Tuesday, 1:30 PM: Like a Goddamn Golden Retriever
I'mgonnaraceSaturday and I'mgettingsofast and I'monthephonewithmycoach and hesaysthere'sawayIcangetmorepowerinmystrideandfindnewgears and hesaysIshouldtrytonegativesplittherace and I'mdoingaworkouttonight!!!

Tuesday, 7:00 PM: Angry
All I had to do was make it through this one last workout without getting hurt before I backed off. And I got hurt during the warm-up. I overestimated myself by exactly one day. Time for intervals on the bike. I'll pretend I'm running.

Wednesday: Sad and Jealous
Practice is tonight. Everyone is running a workout. I want to be running a workout too. I hope my patience pays off and I can race this weekend.

Thursday: Calm
I'll take today totally off. I've accepted the hand I've been dealt. There's only one thing I can do right now and that's heal up so I can race. And if I can't race, I think I'll be alright. I'll show up anyways and cheer on my friends and boyfriend and maybe race in a few weeks when I'm healthy. Nothing I do (or don't do) this week is going to impact my fitness for this weekend, so I might as well chill out.

Friday, 9:30 AM: Elated
I've just come from physical therapy and things are looking very good! I think I'm going to be able to race. Laura worked on my quad a little and seemed to think I'd be good to race. She is one of very few people I trust to help me make decisions about whether or not to run.

Friday, 8:40 PM: Anxious
I have terrible pre-race anxiety. It has gotten a lot better recently with the help of a local sports psychologist. But it's still there, especially when things don't go my way. At 8:20 PM I realized I didn't have any granola or yogurt left and the cafe wouldn't be open in time for me to pick it up before the race. So I went to the cafe to get it ahead of time, and I figured I'd be back by 8:30 PM and I could stick and stretch, then relax and watch The Good Wife while eating my night-time cereal with soymilk and raspberries and get to bed by 10:00 PM. Except the barista at the cafe must have been new because she took twenty minutes to get through the three customers in front of me and take my order and my anxiety took over and I kicked the fridge with the drinks and yogurt in it and started crying in front of a lot of people. Now I feel embarrassed and still nervous and I can't get my brain to shut up. I'm pretty much a terrible person for the 24 hours leading up to a race (I didn't even sit with my friend at lunch at work because he said he had a cold, and I waited for a second elevator when the guy getting into the first coughed).

But hey, at least my nails are awesome.

Saturday, 6:30 AM: Nervous and Excited
I must be crazy because I know exactly what I'm getting myself into. It's going to hurt a lot. And I'm going to like it.

Miles 1-5: There
Gun. There is that spot you're in when everything's right and you know exactly what you're doing. There is the way you feel at the start of the race of your life.  There is clarity. Your legs are floating and you're calm and focused and everything is right. Your teammate Ed is with you and he's chatting along and you feel great and when does this even become a race? This doesn't feel like a race. You're jogging. 6:50.

Miles 6-10: Getting It
6:45, 6:40, something like that. You're starting to hurt and you know exactly what's coming but it still feels a bit surreal. Ed is still there. Chatting. Between breaths. Ari, Andy, Ruth, Kimber, Lauren. Ahead. Coming back. Fast. You're fast. This is good. This is fun.

Miles 11-14: Crazy
This is the turning point. Pick it up. 6:35. Here you make decisions. Here everything hurts and the normal part of your brain says stop, I don't like this and you overcome that and push through and see what you're capable of. And you know what? That's your favorite part of this spo- Shit, when did that hill get there? Crap. Crap. Crap. Ed has taken off. Why isn't this a half-marathon? You'd be done. You can just stop you know. The guy behind you is catching up again. You don't even care. Yes you do. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. So you turn right back to the normal part of your brain and you say you know what, soon you'll be in your room sipping hot cocoa and reflecting on how awesome you ran, and you'll feel on top of the world. You'll feel that way because you're not listening to the normal part of your brain. That dude ain't catching you.

Mile 15: Eager
You're almost there. Just another six and a half minutes of your life and you'll be done. You don't know how fast you're running and you don't even care. You feel like you're dying but you don't care. Those last three-hundred meters on the track are candy. There you are where you most love to be. Leave everything there. Ruth is jumping around and pointing out the finish and you're not sure whether you want to puke or scream or laugh or cry so you do the only thing you know how to do which is run as fast as you can.

Saturday, 10:40 AM: Blissfully Dazed
And then I'm done. Just like that. 1:40:35. I become myself again. I can't believe I just willed my body to do that. Ruth points out that my thighs have chafed raw and I haven't even noticed, so I spend the next thirty minutes in a daze cleaning and dressing my wounds and I'm happy still. Ruth helps because of her super-mommy-powers and I feel comforted. I wander out, still in a daze, to find a potato and water and a Picky Bar and sit around and chat and get my ribbon. And also to figure out what the hell 1:40:35 means.

Catching up with Stephanie after the race and meeting her sister

Saturday Afternoon: On Top of the World
I kick back. Put my legs up. Sip hot cocoa.

The race went well for me and for my teammates and friends (although I like to joke that I got last in my age-group because it was just me and Lauren, and she's super fast). Unfortunately there are no hilarious race photos up yet, but I promise I will post them when they're up.

Possibly coming soon, a (much shorter) post on "shit injured runners say." Unless I'm lazy.

Love 'em or Leave 'em

On Saturday I ran a nice little rust-buster of a 5K, the Love 'em or Leave 'em Valentine's Day Dash. As much as I want to pretend I strategically worked it into my racing plan for this season, the real reason I did it is because my boyfriend roped me into it. There's a couple's prize every year. He saw the results from 2013:

 1.   36:01 Blazzin' Saddles                                   (18:01)
======================================================================
  1    17:56    146 Brandon Byhre           30 M 
  2    18:05    285 Andrea Eiseman          29 F 

And he figured we could win this. And I like winning. A lot. Probably too much. The idea of winning as a couple was even cooler. We'd both have to have good races to do well. It'd be a joint effort. I couldn't resist. Suddenly I found myself moving around my race schedule to conveniently fit in this 5K in early February, you know, as a rust-buster and a tune-up for the 15 miler two weeks later.

So did a bunch of the Club Northwest ladies. And the Oiselle ladies. For a local race, the depth on the women's side was ridiculous. I probably sound like a sore loser pointing that out, but it's really something I'm super happy about. As a Reasonably Fast Woman I often find myself in no-man's land, or at least no-woman's land. The guys' side of a typical local 5K will have a handful of dudes in the fifteens, sixteens, and seventeens bunched together pretty well, but the girls' side will have maybe that one chick in the high sixteens and then a sparse scattering of women between seventeen-something and twenty-plus. That was not the case on Saturday. It was awesome.

My race was pretty good. I tucked in behind my friend Natty who had a stellar race. She dropped me after a 5:55 mile. I didn't really reap the benefits of the depth of the field, I faded a bit, and I questioned my sanity like I usually do (5Ks are so much more painful and difficult than long races and all of you 5K runners are totally nuts). But I still came in at 18:51, a road PR and 11 seconds off of my track PR from last year, and in February at that.

I can also tell I gave it my all because the friendly photographer caught a beautiful picture of me with spit running down the side of my neck to add to my race face collection:

I am such a graceful racer.

That was only good for 19th in a local race, which, again, I find awesome:

Unfortunately, Andy and I came up short in our division:

 1.   34:25 TRI HEARTS                                         (17:13)
======================================================================
  1    15:19    749 Mason Nicol             19 M 
  2    19:06    584 Bri Gibson              16 F 

  2.   34:40 Club Northwest Teamcest                           (17:20)
======================================================================
  1    15:49    772 Andrew Reed             25 M 
  2    18:51    780 Talia Ringer            23 F 

I was pretty happy since those were good times for both of us. Andy's reaction was a sad face and "we don't get a prize?"

Things I worry about before a low-key 5K and the weird things I say to comfort myself

What if I drive and there's nowhere to put my keys?

Then run there. It's a mile and a half away.

What if I run there and it's cold and I'm sitting there freezing before the race?

Then dress warmly and wear a warm-up jacket.

What if I need my ID to check in but I don't have my stuff because I'm not driving and I can't check in?

Bring your license if it makes you feel better.

What if someone steals my warm-up jacket with my license in it?

Then you won't notice until after the race anyways, so who really cares?

What if there are no safety pins to pin my number to my shirt?

What? Seriously, Talia?

MY NAILS AREN'T ORANGE. I FORGOT TO PAINT MY NAILS.

So paint your goddamn nails.

But it's 8:50 PM and if I paint my nails now I might not go to bed in time.

Then don't paint your nails.

Should I wear the blue underpants or the red underpants?

Is this a real question?

This is going to hurt!

That should be exciting.

...

In case you're wondering, I went with these team-colored nails:

I'll be wearing mittens. So, um, yeah. No idea why this matters at all. Rituals I guess.

My old coach told me that I should start a running blog. Like most people who start running blogs, I asked myself why the hell anyone would ever want to read anything I write about running. And like most people who start running blogs, I eventually caved and started one anyways.

The gist I got from Bob was that people are more interested in the time you ran into your all-time favorite American female runner at a party after Club Nationals but were too many drinks deep to say anything other than "you're like my favorite":

Or the time Kara Goucher showed up at some random XC meet in Oregon, hung out with you and your teammates before the race, won the race, and then humored your fangirl questions after:

Or the time you met up with the only other girl on LetsRun:

Or the time you and your boyfriend met up with two total strangers from LetsRun to watch a track meet, stalked Jordan Hasay to the outdoor track, watched her post-race workout, and accidentally ran into Alan Webb:

Or your ridiculous race faces and how much they (hopefully) contrast with your normal faces:

Or even just how much you love being a part of Club Northwest:

Than the fact that you ran seventy-seven miles last week including two strength workouts and two quality days (that might be interesting, but that's what my DailyMile is for). The stories. And since I'm the biggest running nerd I know, I have plenty of stories.

So I'll post them here.