tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43889138025447538702024-02-06T21:12:36.676-05:00relaxed runnertrotting with the turtles, hanging out
at the back of the pack,
enjoying the quiet moments
free from kids or personal trainers,
relaxed running is where it's atjillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-20876143918890585342011-02-07T15:39:00.002-05:002011-02-07T15:47:51.267-05:00criss-cross applesauceI am new to cross-training.<br /><br />Yes, I know that runners are supposed to do it (so says The Gospel According to Runner's World), but seriously who has the time? There are plenty of days that it's hard enough to fit running in, without my "off" days becoming "on" days.<br /><br />Well, this year I decided I was going to do some kind of non-running activity twice a week - step class, Shred, yoga, whatever. And I've been good 5 weeks into the year - 3 runs a week, 2 other workouts. I'm finding ways to fit these into my week, thinking about my extra curriculars in the same way I plan out my runs: what am I going to do, when am I going to do it. It helps that Claire likes to at least start exercising with me at home, even if she doesn't do the whole 25 minutes of Jillian Michaels torturing me.<br /><br />I've been feeling in great shape and yesterday proved it for me. I went for an 8 mile run, my longest in 4 months (my half marathon being that longest run). Eight miles was 2.5 miles longer than my recent long runs, and I know I'm not supposed to increase my mileage <em>that</em> much at a time, but I wanted to go long. The weather was almost spring-like and I had the time to do it.<br /><br />And my legs feel awesome! They felt great an hour after running, my cranky right hip has stayed silent, and I woke up pain free this morning - no stiffness even. I can only attribute this miracle to the cross-training I've been doing. It's kept my cardio up during the winter and I'm using more muscles, better.<br /><br />So, apparently, those in exercise science DO know what they are talking about!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-77902688565260977212011-01-31T15:26:00.003-05:002011-01-31T15:33:31.333-05:00hip hip hooray!I DID IT!<br /><br />I set myself a goal for the month and I met it!<br /><br />I've never, ever set myself an actual goal for my running (or for much of my life, really). I'm usually a very flexible, let's-see-where-this-takes-us kind of girl. Planning is not a great gift of mine. Sure, I can make lists and cross things off...but for the long-range sort of plans, my vision is normally blurry.<br /><br />But this year I set myself a goal - to run 700 miles in 2011. Which means I'll have to be pretty dedicated to running each and every month, rather than my normal here-and-there approach to my running.<br /><br />My goal for January was to run 50 miles; this was after running only 17 miles for the month of December. I ran on back-to-back days (something I don't normally do) and I ran in the snow several times. I carefully thought through my week - which days would I run? how would I fit it into those days? And, I stuck with it.<br /><br />This month I ran 50.6 miles!<br /><br />And I also did something else: I started cross-training at least 2 days a week. I'm feeling in the best shape ever!<br /><br />My goal in February is to run another 50 miles. It's a shorter month and I have 2 weekend trips planned, so it's going to be tougher to do. But, tomorrow morning I plan on lacing up my shoes (in the snow, it seems) and start tackling my next 50.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-13952693800736414212011-01-12T12:58:00.002-05:002011-01-12T13:21:09.214-05:00makin' traxIt finally snowed!! I've been waiting for 2 weeks for a storm to deliver enough snow that I could enjoy a run outside in a winter wonderland.<br /><br />Yesterday evening, the snow began to gently fall right around 4:00, just as I pulled into a parking lot to run a few miles after work. By the time I was half a mile into the run, snow was falling steadily, with a light wind at my back. The cold air somehow made the smell of a dairy farm nearby seem sharper and the herd closer to the road than they were, but the hazy farm with warm cows standing strong in the snow was more of a peaceful sight than stinky distraction.<br /><br />I don't usually run back to back days, but last night I decided that I was going to wake up and go for a run in the morning. I wanted to try out my new <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Yaktrax-Pro-Traction-Cleats-Snow/dp/B001CZJBKC">Yak Trax</a>, a Christmas gift from Glenn. I thought I should familiarize myself with the contraption while still coherent, rather than struggling in the dark hours of almost sleep. A wise move, since the directions were foggy at best. After a few attempts I was able to get the Yak Trax on my shoes, and I was ready for the snow.<br /><br />This morning, I awoke to a wintery display of soft cottony whiteness covering our cul de sac. I quickly got dressed in my winter gear, Glenn took one look at me and muttered something with the word "crazy" in it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu47Cv8fBcsjrNlyvLYLBgOEdHoz4lwXTTERsMxPMoWj6LjTZPk6r1jlsOdNmB46HPSkMzvRnKxRhjAIerjvrD2q8-6mdTiHYbSWvXWMFE1VrIx2quUw2d1UEEkI25MM0Tk3nZVqfa62Y/s1600/yaktrax.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu47Cv8fBcsjrNlyvLYLBgOEdHoz4lwXTTERsMxPMoWj6LjTZPk6r1jlsOdNmB46HPSkMzvRnKxRhjAIerjvrD2q8-6mdTiHYbSWvXWMFE1VrIx2quUw2d1UEEkI25MM0Tk3nZVqfa62Y/s320/yaktrax.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561365946589710834" border="0" /></a>The Yak Trax worked beautifully. I thought I'd be able to feel the metal coils wound beneath the sole that provide the traction, but I couldn't. Those coils gripped into the wintery mixture on the ground and I was able to run more or less normally. My run was a short one - just under two miles - but it felt so invigorating to be out on the streets so early on a snowy morning. My neighbors gave me a few strange looks - one older gentleman even shook his head - and passing cars seemed a bit surprised and put out to have to contend with a crazy woman in neon green trotting through the slush.<br /><br />I was quickly able to tell which kinds of snowy cover were easier to run through. Packed snow is certainly the easiest, while the thicker dirty slush was like slogging through knee deep oatmeal. My legs felt a bit slow during this run - I guess the resistance of the snow did slow me down a bit - but overall, it was a wonderful way to start my day.<br /><br />Crazy as I am, I can't wait for another snow storm to bring us enough of that glorious white stuff so I can play with my new toy again!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-81878673324339805942011-01-11T11:15:00.002-05:002011-01-11T11:52:24.866-05:00GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOal!I began running during the summer of 2006 when my daughter Claire was just a bitty baby. Once or twice a week, I'd get my mommy me-time and despite the heat of a July day, I'd be found running along a wooded trail, the shade from the trees only providing minimal protection from the noonday sun.<br /><br />Four and a half years later, I am still running. During that time I've raced to half marathons and participated in the Disney Princess Half (which was more photoshoot than actual race). I've run in about ten 5Ks, getting my time under 30 minutes. I've logged 20 miles in a week (once, but still...something I'm proud of). I've run under the hot sun, I've run the day after a blizzard dumped 22 inches of snow on top of 19 inches of snow, I've run til I've chafed the soft parts of my thighs and a blister has formed on my pointer toe.<br /><br />Despite these running achievements, I've been, at best, a haphazard runner. When I've plunked the money down on a race, I start running in earnest, heading out the door dutifully 3 times a week, noting my mileage and time. When there is no race on my calendar, there is little running in my week.<br /><br />This year, this will change.<br /><br />This year, I have goals.<br /><br />Having goals makes me feel like a <span style="font-style: italic;">real </span>real runner.<br /><br />My One Big Goal for 2011 is to run 700 miles this year.<br /><br />Some of you reading that will think - "Oh my goodness! That is a lot of miles! That's like running from Lebanon, PA [where I live] all the way to Savannah!" Which is true...but I have plenty of running friends who have run much farther in a year.<br /><br />However, that is a lot of miles for me. This past year was the first time that I ever kept track of how many miles I ran - 547 miles. Looking back over the year, there were plenty of months that I logged few miles, weeks that I did not run a single step. I can do better.<br /><br />Running 700 miles means that I will have to run an average of 2 miles a day...or 14 miles a week (with 2 weeks off)...or 13.5 miles a week for 52 weeks...or 58.3 miles a month (all this math, I did on my last run, heehee).<br /><br />Is this a tough goal for me? Sure is. I didn't run 58 miles in a single month in 2010. But, that doesn't mean that I can't run that many miles in a month.<br /><br />Just having my One Big Goal has already helped me in the first 11 days of 2011. I ran on New Year's Day (3.1 miles). On my first running journal week (Monday the 3rd through Sunday the 9th) I ran 13.5 miles. There were a few days that I didn't want to run - especially one cold, dark morning. But in order to make this goal, I have to run when I can, believing that later that day or the next day won't be a good time for me.<br /><br />16.6 miles down...683.4 miles to go.<br /><br />Savannah here I come!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-12535882544074901852010-12-03T13:19:00.003-05:002010-12-03T13:39:01.842-05:00jazz handsLast night I did something I have never done before: I participated in a fitness class.<br /><br />Claire attends a tap-ballet class at local studio that offers various exercise classes in addition to feeding the ballerina dreams of countless four year olds. The studio offers busy moms a deal: half off the fitness class that occurs when your prima ballerina is doing the spunky monkey.<br /><br />Now that winter is here and dark nights are upon us, I thought, "Why the hell not?" After getting Claire to her class (late) and signing her in, paying for December, paying the deposit for her costume for the recital in June, and watching Claire learn a few more steps to the penguin cha cha, I got to the "Combo Aerobics" class 15 minutes late.<br /><br />I walk in and there's the instructor and 3 older women all doing step-aerobics. Way back in ninth grade, my mom got herself a Step and a VHS tape, and I remember trying it out a couple of times. Twenty years ago.<br /><br />Apparently, I'm in a time warp. But, I've paid my 2 bucks, so I set up a step and join in.<br /><br />Holy goodness! The great thing about running is that anyone can do it and few people (Phoebe from <span style="font-style: italic;">Friends </span>aside) look ridiculous attempting to run. The same can not be said of step-aerobics. This involves the need for coordination, something that the Good Lord forgot to give me my share of on the day He created me. I struggle along, just smiling to myself at how ridiculous I look in the wall of mirrors...and then...<br /><br />Jazzercize.<br /><br />I didn't know people still did that! But in this class, you do four minutes of step, then four minutes of jazzercize inspired "jogging". If the Good Lord forgot to give me coordination, He certainly forgot to give me any sense of timing, rhythm, or grace. After a minute, I gave up on the cute, jazzy kicky thing the 4 post-menopausal ladies were succeeding at (and looking good, too! I decided then & there, I want to be that fit when I'm their age). I just jogged in place, giving an occasional kick when I felt I could do so without falling over.<br /><br />A few times I nearly tripped over my step. Most of the minutes I was doing the exact opposite of what the other four ladies were doing, all the while rocking out to "We Are Family" and "Mama Mia".<br /><br />But, I <span style="font-style: italic;">did </span>get my heart rate up and it was a good cardio workout in the bright safety of an exercise studio. I think I found a way to keep my fitness up during the long, dark winter.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-26543010192891569722010-12-02T12:32:00.006-05:002010-12-02T13:22:31.729-05:00winter wishesIt's the most wonderful time of the year - when all our greedy desires no longer have to be hidden behind polite faces, but can be blazoned in lights bright enough to reach all the way to the North Pole so that the jolly old man up there can put all those goodies on his sleigh.<br /><br />My two oldest daughters have crafted their Christmas Wish List. Rachel's been working on hers for at least 2 months now, the feature desire being some fancy cell phone with a touch screen and a QWERTY keyboard. Sarah is less thoughtful, drafting her list on scraps of paper or napkins (which get lost), and then asking me, "What is it I want again?" Claire mostly summarizes her list as "Santa will bring me LOTS of presents, I'll get more than anyone. And he can bring me whatever he thinks will make me happy."<br /><br />So, it is in this holiday spirit that I offer up my Greedy Desires Wish List.<br /><br />1. A really cute running skirt.<br />I saw the one I want, a cute orange paisley creation, at the Disney Princess Half Marathon Expo last March, but didn't fork over the $40 for it since I was spending all my money on<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKnLknELBFvV_ao8yoelDyFFWeaqUv2WLqBXqbtfHmgKR2BCp5SFgVfaqmzEUWU5dg5mpnuzEBfWNPmFEYqOniM6dJx15uDK3nY-MPSPvf8qPdlSHFAoDQaBzjiYxreKcvfgAXCDJfys/s1600/skirt.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKnLknELBFvV_ao8yoelDyFFWeaqUv2WLqBXqbtfHmgKR2BCp5SFgVfaqmzEUWU5dg5mpnuzEBfWNPmFEYqOniM6dJx15uDK3nY-MPSPvf8qPdlSHFAoDQaBzjiYxreKcvfgAXCDJfys/s320/skirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546145841689670370" border="0" /></a> my bitty Princess Claire. I can't find that skirt online, but I did find a funky green one and sent my Mr. Claus the link.<br /><br />2. YakTrax.<br />Last winter we were hammered with 3 blizzards in 16 days while I was trying to train for the Disney Princess Half...unable to run outside, I took to walking the cul de sac in endless circles in all my snow gear, causing Glenn to wonder about my sanity (and his for marrying me). This winter, we might not get a flake of snow, but I want to be ready with these babies to strap on to my shoes and get some miles in.<br /><br />3. A fitness membership.<br />Another option to the YakTrax would be the ability to go to a gym<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X7ppbF4Mm_y3jK3eFZr1P-VDd8kNqtLD1fLLaQZ4ant8Gzz5K_CJPwByyT4dpkQWCbSDLaP_IEkMz9ZIFHpVn068vxc5DsmcU1ZekBijaZI54OF0XBJ5ZYhc2QjcQuqlocsGzNrwrOk/s1600/tm.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X7ppbF4Mm_y3jK3eFZr1P-VDd8kNqtLD1fLLaQZ4ant8Gzz5K_CJPwByyT4dpkQWCbSDLaP_IEkMz9ZIFHpVn068vxc5DsmcU1ZekBijaZI54OF0XBJ5ZYhc2QjcQuqlocsGzNrwrOk/s320/tm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546145947482154210" border="0" /></a> and run on their treadmill, free of snow, dark, danger, ice and distracted drivers. And, I could get some strength training in too, something I haven't really been able to do for a few years.<br /><br />4. My very own treadmill.<br />Even better, would be my own dreadmill to jump on when the weather outside is frightful. Of course, there would still be the frightful children to deal with, which I wouldn't have to do at the gym...hhhmmmm...<br /><br />5. An orange iPod shuffle.<br />Running on a dreadmill can be quite boring, so to pass the time, I'd love a little shuffle, one that clips on to my clothes while I run. Then I can listen to some tunes or some podcasts. When I run outside, I mostly run alongside roads, and it just isn't safe to block out reality with music...but there are those few times when I'm on a long trail and a little musical distraction would be lovely.<br /><br />6. A bigger home, in which to place the new treadmill.<br />I have a very lovely, warm, safe, happy home...but there is just no extra space for a dreadmill. Santa would need to put a set of keys and a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKE67h8kBTLUgR08wOs1et0szQz9Yf4Rv2RsGGSLNhPFqYC8_ye-5wvA96HpMXdfBiUcbigrXD_KrgfTCJ9a3RwQEH1R8Pn0m4saNG3C4sRIXthNSuX8dJluCuVz9B8fej-4nW6MISto/s1600/home.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKE67h8kBTLUgR08wOs1et0szQz9Yf4Rv2RsGGSLNhPFqYC8_ye-5wvA96HpMXdfBiUcbigrXD_KrgfTCJ9a3RwQEH1R8Pn0m4saNG3C4sRIXthNSuX8dJluCuVz9B8fej-4nW6MISto/s200/home.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546151670575189698" border="0" /></a>deed in my stocking, so that I could actually set up my dreadmill and run upon it. Thank you, Santa.<br /><br />7. Entry into the Boston Marathon.<br />That is my biggest, greedy desire: a racing bib that allows me to run through my hometown State, chug up Heartbreak Hill, and throw my arms up in victory as I trot through Copley Square on my way to the finish line.<br /><br />This is a "if money were no object" kind of list, though of course money is the very object I'd need for all of them...oh well. I'd be very happy to receive #1 and enjoy the happy squeals of my children as Rachel gets her phone (not a touch screen, though), Sarah gets clothes from Hollister and Justice, and Claire has the most presents under the tree because hers are the cheapest.<br /><br />Merry Christmas!!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-78545453557379865542010-11-11T07:05:00.002-05:002010-11-11T07:21:42.018-05:00my BunnyFrom a 4 year old's perspective, every game is about winning. When we play Candy Land or Go Fish or Scooby Doo Memory, I don't let Claire win every time, but I don't try that hard to win myself. If she wins she is thrilled and if I win she is, well, learning to be a gracious loser.<br /><br />Which is why my races confuse Claire a bit. She knows - and loves - that I run. She'll make pictures or Cootie Bugs of runners because "mommy is a runner" (my heart expands each time she says it). On my thrice-weekly runs, I am a runner, and there is no one else out there with me, so I always win, and time means little to a 4 year old, so telling her I rocked out a 9:52 minute pace means even less.<br /><br />However, Claire does love going to my races and cheering for me - she's a great cheerleader! This past weekend's race, Claire was going to be with her daddy all weekend and Claire was quite disappointed that she wasn't going to be there to yell, "Yay, Mommy!"<br /><br />As soon as I picked her up on Tuesday, she asked me, "Did you win your race, Mommy?" I told her nope. "Well, did you come in second?" Nope again. "Well," she persisted, "what place did you come in?" And I told her, "I came in seven hundred and twelfth place."<br /><br />And beaming at me from her car seat, my Bunny said, "Oh, Mommy, I am so proud of you! You did so well!"<br /><br />That made me smile...but the thing is, Claire really means it. The next day I was on the phone with a friend who asked how I did in the race and I was describing the race, and Claire was behind me bouncing, "Tell her how well you did, Mommy, tell her what place you got!"<br /><br />I am not a fast runner and I will never finish at the top of my age division, but in my Bunny's eyes I am the best - and <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>is the best!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6tlIGo-1SdiowYCCCD-GIOZ1bxDymZp28Vnlu5SS4YrTegBLXbV7KHZXOKRdN5nboqIxPLm84xnMAa1qPc-5EkxBZkXcpmEtucVad0ZX8_IagSti130zd2G5pONTncNrGmrkf_ieLrI/s1600/Disney+2010+389.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6tlIGo-1SdiowYCCCD-GIOZ1bxDymZp28Vnlu5SS4YrTegBLXbV7KHZXOKRdN5nboqIxPLm84xnMAa1qPc-5EkxBZkXcpmEtucVad0ZX8_IagSti130zd2G5pONTncNrGmrkf_ieLrI/s320/Disney+2010+389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538265967603616418" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">at the end of the Disney Princess Half in March, me & the Bunny</span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-37339409484142514422010-11-09T13:07:00.000-05:002010-11-09T13:08:00.420-05:00doing it amish style<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfb47K-qeTw9h37nT44PSKS7wH57BmsoHQIHYRNk8gO4dCJdIOXmLZAeK_L_lBADDtxaVaghxbTj8GCmM7-xwfkQSIXT1-1CP0ju4_lwhnCM2IJnnd4GGhRA_Va-CwaG8v-ZiIdCKt7k/s1600/Sarah's+Soccer+Jill+Half+Nov+6+10+568.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfb47K-qeTw9h37nT44PSKS7wH57BmsoHQIHYRNk8gO4dCJdIOXmLZAeK_L_lBADDtxaVaghxbTj8GCmM7-xwfkQSIXT1-1CP0ju4_lwhnCM2IJnnd4GGhRA_Va-CwaG8v-ZiIdCKt7k/s320/Sarah's+Soccer+Jill+Half+Nov+6+10+568.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536952568571933170" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I had set 4 goals for my second (real) half marathon, the <a href="http://www.usrahm.com/Events/amish.htm">Amish Country Bird-in-Hand Half Marathon</a>, which I ran this past Saturday. Three time goals (Good - under 2:30; Better - 2:25; Best - 2:20) and one untimed goal (since that's what Runner's World told me to do, and they are my running Gospel) which was to take walk breaks as soon as I felt the need, but to keep those breaks to under a minute (usually I run til I can't take another step, then walk for 2 minutes).<br /><br />The night before my race, I had one of those anxiety dreams that often happen before an important event, like when you dream you're giving your big presentation naked. I wasn't running naked, but in the dream I kept taking bags of M&Ms from these personless hands. Just before I left the house on my way to Lancaster County, I grabbed a "fun size" M&M bag from Claire's Halloween pumpkin - it's best to listen to the running gods when they speak.<br /><br />I parked my car in the Smuckers Farm field (don't know if it's <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>Smuckers...) and had to watch out for cow pies. I could see the starting line from my car and after standing around in the cold (35*) for ten minutes, I went back to my car for warmth and relief.<br /><br />There is one important pre-race thought I'd like to share. Never stand in the port-a-potty line at the start of a race. It's pointless. The line is always ridiculously long and by the time you get into that tiny space, you are facing one of the most disgusting scenes ever viewed. Instead, I hearkened back to the car trips of my youth, and at my car I opened both doors on the driver's side, thus making a little private space for me. I peed right next to a cow pie - hey if cows can poop here, I can pee here.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_qKZihy3QszGPlooihe3JHv0VNB4enu2fp447Lr9bq3trUgJVBimoOl_UfdgSN2t7RUvu2yOiibJN_nqWCyqwnATDKUVqFH94admtd3gx7x0LLrMisMStHhhI47R_eO3gYFzRka6SCA/s1600/Mms-Standard.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_qKZihy3QszGPlooihe3JHv0VNB4enu2fp447Lr9bq3trUgJVBimoOl_UfdgSN2t7RUvu2yOiibJN_nqWCyqwnATDKUVqFH94admtd3gx7x0LLrMisMStHhhI47R_eO3gYFzRka6SCA/s200/Mms-Standard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537610004268880226" border="0" /></a>I stayed in my warm car until I'd watched nearly every other entrant walk over to the starting area, then I joined them. As I bounced in the cold morning air, I remembered my M&Ms, safely stowed in my throw-it-away thrift store sweatshirt. My stomach hadn't been feeling awesome - I'd had to force down my PB toast, a feat that took me 45 minutes to complete. But as soon as I ate those bright bits of chocolaty heaven, my belly purred like a content kitty. Thank you, running gods!<br /><br />After a bit of delay, the race started. I wished I'd had my camera for this race. The scenery was truly awe-inspiring. The roads wound themselves through farm fields, browned grass matted down by tractors and held together with frost. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDISozdhf6mdFbgyzJ6MEDR34uk4BmMjy5Vv5Bz7GjMzBB10NqvNL1a6Xhq5RWu775CkXISF9Bawx_uIA1oI23jCla6NDxjR_SyoheIVMfcLKXOqaQkBFKVC_cAihyphenhyphen5j2h6jsLfAGJIM/s1600/amish+1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDISozdhf6mdFbgyzJ6MEDR34uk4BmMjy5Vv5Bz7GjMzBB10NqvNL1a6Xhq5RWu775CkXISF9Bawx_uIA1oI23jCla6NDxjR_SyoheIVMfcLKXOqaQkBFKVC_cAihyphenhyphen5j2h6jsLfAGJIM/s320/amish+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537609781858955858" border="0" /></a>The broken ends of corn stalks stuck up in little patchwork spots in between where Amish homes welcomed and Holstein cows grazed. The sky was that sort of delicate blue shade that occurs only in the early hours of a cold morning, and the clouds were still tinged pink and purple with the escaping dawn.<br /><br />The landscape was rolling, and at the top of each hill (that I conquered!! woohoo to loads of hill training!) my soul leaped at the incredible beauty that reached for miles. If there is one word I can think of to describe this race, it is <span style="font-style: italic;">peaceful</span>. That's not normally a word used when describing a half marathon, but this one was just that. Not only the scenery contributed to that scenes of calm, but the welcoming support of dozens and dozens of Amish families added to this peace. I hadn't expected a lot of crowd support for this race (nestled in a community of 3000), but at many of the farms, parents held sleepy toddlers and young children held out their hands for high fives (yup, even the Amish give a high five!). Each of the water stops were filled with Amish volunteers, plain and beautiful.<br /><br />I stayed where I expected to run - at the back of the back, my peeps. At one point in the race, four miles in, I crested a hill and looked off in the distance <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhNQZ3KashEth2wZiJxc9MT2SIH07O_BXIny2eQHLRtwBYpwHyApnONU74pPQGsl_FoD_sj2A3nQPYve42LMyGCN6kUuDhzWBi8l56BZVURGLbMmzPBc2hh_mQVLN4bB9EtT9BlLTqmro/s1600/amish+2.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhNQZ3KashEth2wZiJxc9MT2SIH07O_BXIny2eQHLRtwBYpwHyApnONU74pPQGsl_FoD_sj2A3nQPYve42LMyGCN6kUuDhzWBi8l56BZVURGLbMmzPBc2hh_mQVLN4bB9EtT9BlLTqmro/s320/amish+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537610194928108514" border="0" /></a>and could see a long, thin snake of runners weaving their way through the farms, several miles ahead of me. That might have been discouraging to some, but all I felt was a sense of coming accomplishment: I was running stronger than I'd even felt before and I knew that this was going to be my race. I don't know my mile-split times, but I hit the four mile mark at 40:06, and I maintained a 10 minute-ish pace for most of the race (mile 7 was a slow one, and mile 12...).<br /><br />The sixth mile marker was at the start of the biggest of the hills on this rolling race and when I glanced at my watch I actually whooped in joy: 1:00:42! Nearly half way through the race and doing way better than my hoped for goal time. I knew that I was going to finish in 2:20...maybe even better! Tears stung my eyes as I passed several people up that hill (who over took me a few minutes later...my energy surge from my joy was short lived).<br /><br />When I'd driven through the farms the day before the race on my way to packet-pickup with Claire, all she could say was, "Pee Yew Cows." When I'd told her I'd be running my race on this very road, she said, "Well, I hope you can hold your breath for a long time because it is stinky." Maybe it was the chill in the air or the fantastic mood, but even the cows smelled better!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WSujXwYCxXqgFcS3eQGmQrbuJN9MhTKgPYjwL21gWFWtzL78389jhK7t1sMTgb7cG-LUlQVaMYL7olFxEguDV2CKoSHTVLJdI0eaC9Er-BMtg7Y_LOB0RUiA8R1rARf5U8BL7M1taus/s1600/moo.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WSujXwYCxXqgFcS3eQGmQrbuJN9MhTKgPYjwL21gWFWtzL78389jhK7t1sMTgb7cG-LUlQVaMYL7olFxEguDV2CKoSHTVLJdI0eaC9Er-BMtg7Y_LOB0RUiA8R1rARf5U8BL7M1taus/s320/moo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537612708484777042" border="0" /></a><br />Mile 10 took us straight through the heart of a farm on one of their access roads (normally off-limits to the public), a nice gravelly road which my body loved after all the hard pounding on the pavement. The last few miles were flattish ones, and I finally started to overtake a few of my fellow runners. The last mile was really tough, though; my legs were getting tired and lifting them began to feel like work (the first 10 or 11 miles, that was all play).<br /><br />At mile 12, when I looked at my time I couldn't believe it - 2:02! I was definitely going to make my Best Goal of 2:20...and this is where the mental side of running comes in. All the miles leading up to that last one, that was all my body: using all the training I had done over the weeks to prepare myself, listening to what my body needed - stretch now, sip now, feeling the strength in my legs. That last mile, The Voice came in and said, "Good job! You are so tired, why not just walk this last mile, you'll still make 2:20 or so." And my legs said, "Wow, that is a great idea!" and they began to slow down all on their own and groan with how tired they were.<br /><br />But The Runner replied back, "Are you nuts? I don't want 2:20 any more. I want 2:15 and I'm going for it, nothing less than that." I had to focus on every step, if my mind wandered, my body started to feel the pain of 13 miles and slow down. At one point, I allowed myself a 30 second walk break, i wasn't sure how much further I had to run...turns out, it was only another 1/4 mile or so.<br /><br />I turned down the last lane towards the finish line, I could see the food tent set up, see the all the cars parked in the cow pasture, and my kick came in. I always have a good strong finish - somewhere deep within, once my body can see that finish line, my legs take over.<br /><br />At this race, they announced your name as you crossed the finish line - a very cool touch! I crossed the finish line, saw my time, and with both fists pumping in the air, I shouted, "Yes! Yes! Yes! I did it!!" <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjLeF3oxsOJ9IvZiCXNb1lBirc2GHrzaT8-CAJw6LLfrn_Kard6cFqOx1Z2iBnNF38FaAF57pEGdsTuBxEiZmyK80z-ZX86WCEDH2T5hxE34jvKXLWtipFU9dB6HHG9YWbWevc_Qk_X0/s1600/Sarah's+Soccer+Jill+Half+Nov+6+10+567.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjLeF3oxsOJ9IvZiCXNb1lBirc2GHrzaT8-CAJw6LLfrn_Kard6cFqOx1Z2iBnNF38FaAF57pEGdsTuBxEiZmyK80z-ZX86WCEDH2T5hxE34jvKXLWtipFU9dB6HHG9YWbWevc_Qk_X0/s320/Sarah's+Soccer+Jill+Half+Nov+6+10+567.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536952425907378178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />2:15:25<br /><br />A volunteer put my medal around my neck...and I started to cry. None of my family were able to be there this day, and I hadn't realized just how much I wanted to share this accomplishment with the love of my life, until I looked at the crowd and did not see his face smiling back at me with wild pride.<br /><br />When I finally made my way back home, I managed a second great accomplishment in my day: my first-ever omelet that actually was an omelet (usually I make "broken omelets", aka scrambled eggs with stuff in them). <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UEmi9pVHVCA27F-OffjbSXwlvVkNZjkbYwcTK4mMh21-qieUUEOJB79cox4r6E0QVBn4Nw8uJmYDjWDdgSKf5_6mjWYtQNs1jRmJ-gMG8TbGqx4_9nQtPyPZNaN194H9L54iph2nzSM/s1600/Sarah's+Soccer+Jill+Half+Nov+6+10+569.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UEmi9pVHVCA27F-OffjbSXwlvVkNZjkbYwcTK4mMh21-qieUUEOJB79cox4r6E0QVBn4Nw8uJmYDjWDdgSKf5_6mjWYtQNs1jRmJ-gMG8TbGqx4_9nQtPyPZNaN194H9L54iph2nzSM/s200/Sarah's+Soccer+Jill+Half+Nov+6+10+569.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536952698540100194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Later on in the day, Glenn and I went out to celebrate my PR in the way we know best: hot Buffalo wings and cold beer!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-18655997776782380692010-11-01T11:49:00.002-04:002010-11-01T11:58:17.437-04:00game timeI've got six days (counting today) until my next half marathon, the one that I want to really try hard at, to see how well I can do, to challenge myself.<br /><br />I was getting a bit worried about this race, wondering if I was truly ready to run it, especially when my longest run went so badly (<a href="http://relaxedrunner.blogspot.com/2010/10/even-if-im-last.html">read here</a>). My training isn't where I'd want it to be (which, I think, is the motto of the amateur runner: lately, I've read the same sentiment on 3 runner friends' blogs/status updates). Ideally, I'd have logged several runs more than 10 miles, and all my training reach was one 10 miler.<br /><br />And yet, I'm feeling pretty confident going in to these last few days before the race. My run on Friday left me flying high - it was a hill workout that was challenging but didn't leave me struggling; in fact, I wished I'd had more time to run a few more miles, but a Go Fish game with Claire had me leaving the house a little later than I wanted and Family Dinner Out Night had me heading home wanting more.<br /><br />In a way, I think, I am just where I should be in my training - I'm healthy, have no injuries, and I know that my body can do the mileage of this race. I'm making my race day check list, I'm worrying about the weather, and I'm thinking that 2:25 is totally do-able, so why not 2:20?jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-86289183146631633122010-10-24T08:18:00.003-04:002010-10-24T08:46:55.657-04:00even if i'm lastThe old joke goes: What do you call the person who graduated at dead last in their class at med school? DOCTOR.<br /><br />Yesterday's long run was designed to show me what I can reasonably expect of myself in my upcoming half marathon on November 6th. The Amish Half is a very hilly course - last year I biked some of those roads in the MS Bike Ride and let me tell you, those hills are constant and fierce. Up down, up up up level up some more...tough on a bike for this newbie. But, I was feeling fairly confident of running this course.<br /><br />The goal I had set for myself in this race was to finish in 2:20, maybe - dare I hope for it? - 2:15. This was a real, achievable goal, I thought, when I set it two months ago. Then, I lost a couple weeks of training, and after a painful return to running doing 7 miles in the hilly and beautiful Valley Forge Park, I thought, "Uh oh."<br /><br />Yesterday, I drove away from my flat neighborhood and headed to the hillier part of the county. The topography matches Lancaster County, and I thought, this run will let me know what I'm reasonably capable of. The first 5 miles were good enough - even if I didn't run all the way up the non-stop hills, I kept my walks to less than a minute. I was feeling strong. I took my gu at the right time, was hydrating well. A good run. That all fell apart.<br /><br />Suddenly, my legs just didn't want to go too much more. A little more than an hour in, and everywhere I looked was an uphill and my quads were cursing me with words that would make a trucker blush. I realized that I was delusional when setting a 2:20 goal and a 2:15 hope. In fact, I was delusional to think that I should even race in 2 weeks. Better, I thought, that I delay my registration til next year. I quit. In my head, I was done. Not prepared to run the race I wanted, just not gonna do it.<br /><br />That thought process lasted for about 2 minutes...maybe it would have lasted longer if I had any clue where in God's country I was and just how close to my car...but I was several miles from anything, so I couldn't quit running at that moment. And then I thought, "Well, someone's got to come in last." Maybe that someone is me. While that may sound like Loser Lurgy, really it was comforting. There's no reason to quit. My goal just needed to be adjusted (and thank you Runner's World for your November issue whose theme is just that).<br /><br />I plugged on, taking walk breaks every 7-9 minutes, a slow little turtle trot. I began to enjoy the incredibly beautiful scenery again. Blue sky blanketed the rolling farms, Holstein cows out grazing, the stumps of corn stalks poking like a five o'clock shadow out of the dusty fields.<br /><br />My cranky hip decided it had enough my last mile or so. And then I remembered. I'm not sure how these words didn't stick with my my whole run, but they were said and then instantly lost. Just as I began my ten miles, a woman in her 40s in a motorized cart was out with her dog, moving along the opposite side of the street for me. As she saw me, I did that courtesy flip wave, and she said to me, "Wish I was doing that."<br /><br />Wish I was doing that. Too many people's bodies won't let them enjoy the simple freedom of walking down an autumn street, never mind attempt the challenge of a ten mile run on a Saturday morning. I was humbled, no, chastened, for my quitter's thoughts.<br /><br />Later that night, Glenn told me that if I want a 2:20 then I have to run my half as a runner who will get a 2:20. And he's right. I love his confidence in me and the way he pushes me to be the best person I can.<br /><br />This morning, I read this quote on my friend Heather's facebook page (she's aiming for a 1:50 half time this morning).<br /><br /><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}"><span class="UIStory_Message">"It's very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit".- George Sheehan</span></h3>Ain't that the truth? I might be last in my upcoming half...but I will be out there, trotting and running, hoping for a 2:20, thankful for the health and strength in my body and the limits I can push myself to.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-81011286317993433542010-10-21T11:52:00.000-04:002010-10-21T12:45:18.738-04:00memory lane - my first half marathon<p style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As I prepare </span>to run my third half marathon, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane about my first distance race...<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;">The BackStory</p><p style="font-style: italic;">I signed up for the Philadelphia (half) Marathon on November 23rd, 2008 and gave myself about 7 weeks to train for it. Though I'd been running for a while, I'd only had a few really long runs before I signed up. And, then after I signed up, as life always has it for me, I hadn't logged too much running the first 2 or 3 weeks of "training". I got a cold, I started dating an awesome guy (who is now my awesome husband), my boss left for 3 months of FMLA...the excuses piled up and I wasn't running.<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">I was starting to get nervous that I was going to be walking ten of the 13 miles and wasting my extravagant entry fee ($100!!!!) ~ and disappointing myself and the goal I've had for 2 years to run a half...</p><p style="font-style: italic;">In order to get some running in, I'd have to do so from work. I mapped out a route to travel through the Philly neighborhoods of Wynnefield and Overbrook. It was a 2.5 mile loop and for a week I walked it every day. Then, I started running the 2.5 miles on my lunch break a few times a week, but running nothing longer than that. I still had a LONG way to go to make 13 miles seem do-able...however, I was feeling really good and my time was reasonably ok too (I usually run a 11:20 mile and these runs had me at a 10:50 mile).</p><p style="font-style: italic;">Finally, about three weeks before the race, I got back out for a long run, and I was so anxious to see how I'd do, kind of to take stock of where I was for this half. Well, I ran 9 miles in 1:38 and I am thrilled! I actually shaved 8 minutes off my time from my last 9 mile run a month ago. Progress!<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;">RaceDay</p><p style="font-style: italic;">My goal time was to run the half in 2:30 ~ and I beat my goal time!!! <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">I ran in 2:25:33!!!</span> Well, officially I ran 2:33:48, but I waited for 8 minutes at a port-a-potty stop to pee. Next time I don't care how cold it is, I'm just peeing next to a building like the guys did.<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">The Race Day was totally awesome! My parents and nieces drove down from Massachusetts, and with my daughter cheered for me at the half way point, complete with signs and t-shirts that read<span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">"Team Jill."</span></p><p style="font-style: italic;"><img src="http://images2.cafemom.com/images/user/gallery/post_605051_1227623033_med.jpg?imageId=11152292" /><br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">Glenn got up with me at <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">5:00 am</span> </span>to drive me to Philly in <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">23 degree weather</span>, and stood at the start/finish line for me. We were newly dating and he HATES driving in big cities, so that tells you just what a great guy he is.<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">And a new friend of mine, her hubby, and daughter drove from Delaware to Philly and were at the finish line! It was so great to have people I care about there to be proud of me.<br /></p> <p style="font-style: italic;">The spectators out there were a pretty quiet and frozen bunch. It was about 28 degrees at start time and was 36 when I got back to the car at 10 am. Everyone was silently shivering (conserving energy I'm sure ~ it was FREEZING!), all except for <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">a group of fraternity brothers </span>who were outside their house bright and early (with beer) and banging on pots and pans. Every time the spectators cheered, it really did give me (and the other runners) such a boost and pick-me-up. I wish there had been better crowd support.<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">It was so pretty to be running through Philadelphia that early in the morning: I remember I turned up one street and saw the skyline all lit up with the early rising sun, golden and pink reflected on the buildings, and it was breathtaking! It was cold, sometimes the road was icy and dangerous...but it was AWESOME!! <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">3 years ago I couldn't have run a mile</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"></span>...and now I just ran 13!<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">After the race, when we were all back at my home and getting ready to go out for a celebratory lunch, my 2 1/2 year old angel said to me, <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">"Mommy, I so proud of you!"</span><br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"><br /></span></p><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); font-style: italic;"><img src="http://images2.cafemom.com/images/user/gallery/post_605051_1227623306_med.jpg?imageId=11152342" /></span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-65108735203825000952010-09-25T17:43:00.005-04:002010-09-25T17:59:58.638-04:00no excuses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdLXvVGE77BBQN866iySL9Mvxy2IZ0f-XvjkfTZR6lubH7V6Pts_JLg_wi_pd9urB7wJaBPl05ChUj_xTM7tLqe67Xt7ZXoB7zaOeMoFauDDBNUZ6DVnjAx16oFI3Mlwfni7uBAqWzp4/s1600/no-excuses.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdLXvVGE77BBQN866iySL9Mvxy2IZ0f-XvjkfTZR6lubH7V6Pts_JLg_wi_pd9urB7wJaBPl05ChUj_xTM7tLqe67Xt7ZXoB7zaOeMoFauDDBNUZ6DVnjAx16oFI3Mlwfni7uBAqWzp4/s320/no-excuses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520973385419103970" border="0" /></a><br />My best friend Pat had a saying a while back when he was busy <a href="http://wiffgems.com/fatguys/?page_id=18">changing his lifestyle and losing weight</a>, "NO EXCUSES." No excuses to cut a workout short. No excuses to order fries not salad. No excuses to skip a trip to the gym.<br /><br />Of all the weeks for excuses, this was one for me.<br /><br />My training plan had me on for a Tues run of 3 miles, Thurs run of 5, and Sat run of 7 miles. Monday, however, I was in a fender bender which gave me a mild case of whiplash. There would be no run on Tuesday. By Thursday, I was feeling better, but I didn't want to push it and had limited time: 2 miles was all I could do. Last night, my allergies acted up in a big way and I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep. Today was super busy with kids games and work, and I was exhausted and my eyes & nose were a faucet.<br /><br />By the time 4:00 rolled around you could've stuck a fork in me, I was done.<br /><br />No excuses.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6_PpIaUEcYpAWZ9Q2T_D8GKNRSWv2o80GxuPPDaz2oA4WyKHfa5kRSz_SD87Hhx7vsa4eKdv_HUIP5ZrUEWxbFraogR2WWjLkXlo3hBQ1KRdCT3ZwMzNzDlDq-QxAJw0W7BF5wcDcTc/s1600/m&m.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6_PpIaUEcYpAWZ9Q2T_D8GKNRSWv2o80GxuPPDaz2oA4WyKHfa5kRSz_SD87Hhx7vsa4eKdv_HUIP5ZrUEWxbFraogR2WWjLkXlo3hBQ1KRdCT3ZwMzNzDlDq-QxAJw0W7BF5wcDcTc/s320/m&m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520973597396951682" border="0" /></a>So, on went the running gear and I munched a handful of M&Ms. Then Glenn and I set out for a run (he did the first 2 miles with me; aside: I so love running with my husband! My pace is slow because I'm just chattering away and he's like, "Stop talking!").<br /><br />At 2 miles, Glenn turned around for home and I plugged on. I mapped out a new route through a development and I came to this spot where I could take the easy way out and log just under 5, or I could push it. No excuses. I did the loop.<br /><br />All in all, I ran 6 miles on a day when few would've done so. Car accident. No sleep. Kids with games. Work. Plenty of reasons not to run. Except, <a href="http://relaxedrunner.blogspot.com/2010/05/jill-l-is-runner.html">Jill L. is a runner</a>. And I've got just enough crazy to run even when my battery is empty.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-7946674349025645882010-09-16T09:49:00.002-04:002010-09-16T10:01:54.286-04:00IN YOUR FACE!Runners have a love/hate relationship with hills. We love how we feel when we get to the top - such a fantastic accomplishment that driving around in the cool comfort of your car hides from you. We love how strong we know our legs are getting, pounding up a steep grade. But, we HATE them - we hate how much harder they make us work, how we huff, how we struggle, how our stride goes from gazelle to gopher.<br /><br />Runners respect hills so much that we even name them. Hills in major races get named by the runners who strive up them towards the finish line, like Heartbreak Hill on the Boston Marathon. But we name even the hills that are around our homes, the hills we are so familiar with we know each pothole, the dog at each home along the way. A friend of mine has named the hills she runs on in Central Park "Hell Hill." I've run that one with her, and the name is well deserved.<br /><br />My hill is called by me the "Big Ass Hill."<br /><br />Big Ass Hill is a long, slow half mile of a pretty steep grade through a beautiful McMansion subdevelopment near my cul-de-sac. It begins 1.6 miles from my front door and goes up, and up, and up, and then levels of so that it's almost flat (but not) and then goes up til the road ends.<br /><br />This summer, in the high heat and humidity, I avoided Big Ass since it was tough enough to breathe in the thick, sweat air on the flat roads along the corn and dairy farms.<br /><br />But now, it's time to run her again. I signed up for the Amish Half Marathon, a scenic 13 mile run up and down and up and down the large rolling hills through Lancaster...hills are in my future.<br /><br />Last week I attempted to run up Big Ass Hill - and she beat me. I couldn't do it. My legs and lungs gave out half way up...<br /><br />...but this morning, I conquered her. I ran up Big Ass Hill and then, just to show her that <span style="font-weight: bold;">*I*</span> am the boss, I did hill repeats on the steepest 0.1 of Big Ass. In your face!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-80127089554014036352010-09-07T11:12:00.003-04:002010-09-07T11:27:10.580-04:00the Fonz<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqO12qnuuK5WvjjiWBgKODzSl8ShLXhMfRYPRgCGwiJnPvRCKxw24aGmytLGrXBToASjaBjcpoKpv3QJ2YJ0rC1uSz3G43eythCGolATsSNPs5HHOrGu7RsCzzghohHt0KPdp9kqIOZo/s1600/fonzie.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 165px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqO12qnuuK5WvjjiWBgKODzSl8ShLXhMfRYPRgCGwiJnPvRCKxw24aGmytLGrXBToASjaBjcpoKpv3QJ2YJ0rC1uSz3G43eythCGolATsSNPs5HHOrGu7RsCzzghohHt0KPdp9kqIOZo/s320/fonzie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514191672093967618" border="0" /></a><br />When I run, I often look like The Fonz.<br /><br />I don't mean that I resemble Arthur Fonzerelli, white t-shirt and leather jacket and super awesome hairstyle. Actually, if Fonzie were to need to run for some reason (though, most certainly he wouldn't run, but saunter down the road) but if he did, you can be sure that Fonzie would do so in the most cool manner possible - I bet he could even pull of running 26.2 without breaking a sweat in that jacket of his.<br /><br />Nope. There's nothing that exudes "cool" or "trend-setter" when I run.<br /><br />When I run, my hands take on the Fonzie pose. Passing cars must think I'm a stumbling, trotting hitchhiker, my right hand always out there, looking for some Good Samaritan to take pity on my huffing & puffing self and load me into the cool interior of their back seat, saving myself from having to make my way back home.<br /><br />When I become conscience of that I am channeling my inner-Fonzie, I try to make my thumbs behave normally, but that makes the rest of my arms behave weirdly. Then I run like I've just been given these 2 new limbs to try out, and they are all wavy and floppy and I don't seem to know what to do with them.<br /><br />So, if you see me turtle-trotting down the road, thumb out, know this: I'm not trying to bum a ride. I'm just saying, "Aaaaaaayyyyy."jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-24040396898368029772010-08-19T09:33:00.002-04:002010-08-19T09:40:03.037-04:00sshhhh...be very, very quiet, i'm hunting...I think I'm very close to capturing the elusive Ms. Mojo. I caught a glimpse of her Tuesday morning while I was running, and all day yesterday she haunted my thoughts like a desire for chocolate cake - only better (running doesn't make you worry about your thighs like a nice, moist hunk of dark cake will).<br /><br />When Glenn got home from work, I did something I rarely, rarely do - I ran back to back days. I didn't run much on Tuesday, and that run left me feeling both elated, satisfied and still wanting, panting for more. Yesterday was a deliciously cool day...so I went out for a run.<br /><br />And there I came across her, my mojo. She's still a bit shy - after all, I'd been ignoring her for a while. But I think she's ready to come home.<br /><br />And I'm ready to run again today. I won't go, I don't want to do too much too fast...but I've got that longing ache in my soul to be out there, sweating and trotting along the side of the road, just me and the wind.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-3684998739622083062010-08-17T08:05:00.000-04:002010-08-17T14:55:29.497-04:00where has all my mojo gone?<p>Geesh. You think I could be a grown-up and get out there and do my runs because 1. I crazy love running (I do) 2. it's so good for me and 3. I'm a runner. But no. I actually have to have a race that I'm signed up for to get out there and make it happen.</p><p>In the past month, I've run a handful of times. I ran 1.8 miles a few days after pacing my friend <a href="http://relaxedrunner.blogspot.com/2010/07/lone-ranger-gets-by-with-little-help.html">Tara at her ultra</a>, I ran twice the following week (3.1 miles a piece), ten days later I ran in the Epilepsy 5K Race with a slow 5k time (31:14). That last run was nine days ago...<br /></p><p>I'm feeling flabby fat and lazy...something that my belated honeymoon cruise to Bermuda didn't exactly help with (fancy French food every dinner, full-fat breakfasts, sushi every evening...). Though I had every intention of running while on the cruise - I even said so to Glenn at least twice, "I want to run tomorrow and need to do that in the morning" - still, nothing.</p><p>So, I'm finding a fall race and signing up.<br /></p><p>Who ever said running was cheaper than a gym membership was dead wrong. Or *WAY* more type A than I am, because I need a goal to push myself towards. Apparently, that goal will either be a race on October 2nd or one November 6th, both of which go through the lolling hills of Lancaster County, past Amish farms and other quaint sights. </p><p>I'm looking for my mojo. If you see her, please send her home. I went out this morning and ran around the neighborhood, trying to find her, and I swear, I caught a glimpse of her heels, kicking in high glee just ahead of me fading in and out of the fog as I chased her.<br /></p>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-41604066950639741982010-08-05T08:11:00.002-04:002010-08-05T08:25:38.059-04:00a missed runThis morning, I missed my run. Actually, I haven't run all week, but this morning was the first day that I had made a plan to run, rather than doing the "if you wish it, you will run" philosophy. I woke up at 6:15 and lay there slowly easing into being awake, letting the last vestiges of a dream seep away. I climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Glenn, grabbed my running clothes and shoes, opened the door and saw...<br /><br />Claire.<br /><br />Standing there in her Ariel jammies, sleepy smile on her face and a book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Watch Your Whiskers, Geronimo Stilton</span>, in her hand. <span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>"Read this to me, mommy," she said.<br /><br />I told her I was going for a run, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">very </span>early, and she should go back to bed. So, she climbed in while I was in the bathroom, changing...and thinking...<br /><br />I crept into Claire's room and snuggled up to her on the bed. And as I lay there, I realized this would be my last morning for a while that I would get to snuggle her. Tonight, Claire goes back to her daddy's house for 3 weeks, the rest of the summer custody schedule. I'm going to miss these chances to snuggle her, and not just over the next few weeks...Claire's doesn't wake up hardly at all (knock on wood) for snuggles any more.<br /><br />So, I snuggled my Bunny. And missed my run. This means that my hope of going sub-29 for my 5K race on Saturday is out the window (too many missed runs) and I probably won't run sub-30 either. But, I got some good snuggly love in with my daughter and that is even better for the soul than a run.<br /><br />Oh, and if you'd like to make a donation, I'm running for the <a href="http://epilepsyrunwalk.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=334144&lis=1&kntae334144=8B629AA673164C04973C26B1B1CFA2EC&supId=298603434">Epilepsy Foundation </a>on Saturday. My friends have a beautiful little girl who is 6 years old and has epilepsy. When she was a baby, the doctors removed the right side of her brain to diminish the severity of the seizures. She's a sweet, mischievous little girl and a nice playmate of Claire's. If you've got $5, you can give it <a href="http://epilepsyrunwalk.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=334144&lis=1&kntae334144=8B629AA673164C04973C26B1B1CFA2EC&supId=298603434">here</a>.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-9080604495710251622010-07-27T10:57:00.003-04:002010-07-27T11:18:53.785-04:00the let down reflexI am experiencing let down.<br /><br />That post-running event malaise that comes over any runner once they run the race that has been marked on their calendar for months and has loomed in their minds with a capital R.<br /><br />My capital-R race wasn't even one that I paid an entry fee for. However, it was the race that divided my summer into two halves, before the Lone Ranger when I'd be pacing Tara and after the race. Before the race, I was consistently running, making sure to log plenty of miles each week, to run at a good pace, to take few walk breaks, all so that I could be a helpful, worthwhile pacer (not a slow, lazy pacer who was an annoying slug next to the speedy hundred mile gal). After the race...well, there isn't anything on the calendar except a weekend trip to Massachusetts and a honeymoon in Bermuda (which isn't to say, I'm not extremely, fantastically excited for my belated honeymoon, because I am: pink sands, turquoise waters, mai tais, long walks with the love of my life...perfection). I guess I should say, there is no Next Race on the calendar.<br /><br />So, I've run twice since the Lone Ranger, a 1.8 mile run and this mornings 3.1. Not much.<br /><br />I guess even this relaxed runner needs a purpose, otherwise I move beyond relaxed and into sloth.<br /><br />So, I'm signing up for a 5K race - the Epilepsy Run/Walk - in Harrisburg on August 7th. I'll get to support a cause that is important in the life of some friends whose little girl has epilepsy. And I've given myself a new goal.<br /><br />Sub-29.<br /><br />Think I can do it?jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-17827948193322206782010-07-23T07:58:00.003-04:002010-07-23T09:23:05.604-04:00The Lone Ranger gets by with a little help from her friends<span style="font-family:verdana;">A few months ago, Tara, a "virtual" friend of mine (i.e. someone I only know via online, social networking sites), planned on coming to </span><st1:city style="font-family: verdana;" st="on"><st1:place st="on">Philadelphia</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family:verdana;"> to participate in an ultra race and she needed some runners to pace her. I signed on for this gig, even though I had little idea what "pacing" someone really meant.</span><br /><p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal">In the last few weeks before the race, <a href="http://www.20in24.com/lone-ranger-ultra-marathon.html">the 20in24 Lone Ranger Ultra Marathon</a>, things started to get real. Real, as in I'd agreed to run 16 miles with <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> even though my longest runs ever in my entire life were 13 miles. Real, as in someone was depending on me to run long enough and possibly fast enough so that she'd make her goal (running 100 miles). This was a bit scary for me, since I generally run only for me, and I'm a bit of a slacker. <a href="http://mommysarunner.blogspot.com/2010/07/lone-ranger-rr.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+MommysARunner+%28Mommy%27s+A+Runner%29"><st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> is no slacker</a>. (Here's Tara's own blog...)<br /><br />However, on Friday July 16th, I wandered the house gathering all sorts of items I'd agreed to bring to the race: a scale, pompoms, hydrogen peroxide, scissors, markers, chairs, blankets, coolers, a foam roller, pillows...My car was packed to the gills with so much stuff that neighbors must have thought I was preparing for an apocalyptic event rather than camping along the banks of the Schuylkill River.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGNe_YYAwOId_OBhFqpMfHWHjyw9EqINSONmMQsG-yRZ9RCtlvkMkOaOD_7wcFqFmhCKLFFLH50WYI97E4w6hxKU_2oMOsJOvz2rlTKJwCk7kgLK5KxCQwjxWrm-A2XDX7QacI5-TN_0/s1600/July+2010+ultara+race+028.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGNe_YYAwOId_OBhFqpMfHWHjyw9EqINSONmMQsG-yRZ9RCtlvkMkOaOD_7wcFqFmhCKLFFLH50WYI97E4w6hxKU_2oMOsJOvz2rlTKJwCk7kgLK5KxCQwjxWrm-A2XDX7QacI5-TN_0/s320/July+2010+ultara+race+028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497083950905832082" border="0" /></a>When I met <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>, I was so excited - here, in the flesh, was my virtual friend! She sounded just like I thought she would and was just as cool in person as she seemed online. I also got to meet Bethany, captain of Team Ultara (our pacing/support team), and Anna, a good friend and fellow relaxed runner. The four of us went over gear and race strategy, had a pasta dinner, and went to bed early.<br /><br />By 8 am on Saturday, the four of us were setting up camp behind the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Philly</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Art Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Up went our tent, we unloaded all our gear, and killed time until it was close enough for the race to start. Finally, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> took off running, and Team Ultara had about 75 minutes of time to kill.<br /><br />Honestly, I think I was pretty disorganized as a support person for <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s first 2 laps. I wasn't expecting Tara - this funny, smart, laughing person - to transform into this lean, mean running machine. Man, was I impressed! <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> flew in to the transition area, told us what she needed and was gone before I could count to 21. In fact, on lap 2, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> didn't even stop for fuel, water, electrolytes - she just kept running!<br /><br />But, by lap 3 Bethany, Anna, and I had our assignments. We decided zone defense was our best offense. <st1:city st="on">Bethany</st1:city>'s role was to QB - talk to <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>, find out about fuel and needs. Anna was on water duty. My role was to get <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> to drink her Ensure and refill her electrolytes. Truthfully, we were pretty awesome at it! Like a well oiled pit crew, changing tires and getting our racing machine back out there to burn rubber (ok, I've mixed quite a few metaphors, but you get what I'm saying).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2v4Mjx0S_MYFnHEDGcg2JNmspB90d2uRbUpnRxj0ug6a5__dG9rnn9YCqdkc9M-LZMg46pMt146sR6yxhhpR5bro4Ckjkuue7L95ym1tXJFs0mn6pu6_faAPgdi60fGPE9lVXMXVZECE/s1600/ultara+crew.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2v4Mjx0S_MYFnHEDGcg2JNmspB90d2uRbUpnRxj0ug6a5__dG9rnn9YCqdkc9M-LZMg46pMt146sR6yxhhpR5bro4Ckjkuue7L95ym1tXJFs0mn6pu6_faAPgdi60fGPE9lVXMXVZECE/s320/ultara+crew.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497084138570189842" border="0" /></a><br /><st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> is such a fighter! She often has to battle a wonky stomach, and the heat and some hidden gluten had her insides all messed up. She looked like hell after lap 3 - like she'd run about 70 miles instead of 24. I couldn't imagine her running in that condition for another 20 miles, never mind her goal of 80 more. But, once her stomach settled down, she just dug in and ran on. And on. And on!<br /><br />As I soon discovered, there are two sides of being on an ultra runner's team: the pacing side, and the support side. The support side is what I've been describing - checking on nutrition, water intake, asking about blisters or chafing. Then there is the actual running with your runner, the pacing.<br /><br />I was <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s third pacer of the day and got to run with her at about 9 o'clock at night. Pro: it's dark and the heat is seeping away. Con: it's my bedtime.<br /><br />I'd been practicing pacing in my head for the last couple of weeks. Each time I'd run, I'd pretend I was with <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>, and asking her questions. "Did you take your electrolyte tablet?" "How many calories do you need this loop?" "What do you want in your handheld?" I had to get myself ready to run with the focus not on me and my body, but on Tara and her body.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOcsy-vTuC31HQC-pppqdG9azb3wHM7qEUqhCPls0WCaHYYnQ6-85jQqvTUtqkc6iiqmNbsdrvxt2MA-eBzeRW49aEwTxxHziuMvk4VSxb6YM95vWXA5h8SfmQs95DzhRn2YKkKZoYfM/s1600/July+2010+ultara+race+034.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOcsy-vTuC31HQC-pppqdG9azb3wHM7qEUqhCPls0WCaHYYnQ6-85jQqvTUtqkc6iiqmNbsdrvxt2MA-eBzeRW49aEwTxxHziuMvk4VSxb6YM95vWXA5h8SfmQs95DzhRn2YKkKZoYfM/s200/July+2010+ultara+race+034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497084477679218162" border="0" /></a><br />Turns out, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> sort of hit the wall on my lap. Which is to be expected. She'd been running for 11 hours straight, no breaks. Other Lone Rangers would run a lap, hang out in the air conditioned exhibit hall or at their tent site, then do another lap. <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>, she planned to be on her feet, moving forward, for 24 hours straight. No stopping.<br /><br />This lap was one of <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s longest, timewise. We walked quite a bit, especially while she was eating. At one of the aid stations, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> wanted Coke in her water bottle and the volunteer was so confused. <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> kept saying "I want Coke" and the volunteer would say, "Gatorade or water?" over and over again. The volunteer filled a dixie cup with an inch of Coke and set it in front of <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>, and then looked at me with this expression like "your runner is losing it" and asked me if she should put water or Gatorade in the water bottle. "COKE" I said, and then explained to the incredulous volunteer, "Coke has calories and caffeine. It's what ultra runners need."<br /><br />I have to say, running at night in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Philadelphia</st1:place></st1:city> was pretty cool. We were running along the Schuylkill River, with Boathouse Row all lit up, sparkling in the cool night air, a gorgeous quarter moon hung low in the sky a lovely harvest gold color. Generally, Philly isn't safe enough to run in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Fairmont</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> at night, so this truly was a unique experience. I even saw two hookers and their pimps, who looked a bit put out by all the lights, runners, and volunteers on bikes, scaring away the johns.<br /><br />Tara and I kept going over the math in our heads: how many miles she had yet to go to reach 100, how many hours she had yet to accomplish this task. The math said she had it nailed, with up to 2 hours to spare.<br /><br />When my lap with Tara was done, I passed her off to Anna, explaining how <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> was doing (feeling really tired and not wanting to eat). <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s watch had died and she wanted her back-up which was at the campsite. She and Anna took off running, I hauled our refueling gear from the transition area to the campsite, found the watch, and jogged off to find them. I mean, how fast can one girl run after already completing 67 miles? Turns out, pretty fast! I had to sprint for about half a mile to catch up with them, blowing by a few younger guys, who were impressed with my super speed. When I turned back around to head to the camp, they were shocked that I ran all that way just to pass off a watch..."it's for my runner" I said, feeling very proud of Tara.<br /><br />Then, I went to the hotel for a nap. When I woke up at 4:30 and checked in with <st1:city st="on">Bethany</st1:city>, she reported that <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> was on lap 11, at the three mile mark, and her feet were killing her. They were going to stop at mile 4 where there was a small medical aid station to check out her feet. The good news: no blisters. The bad news: <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s feet hurt so much she couldn't run at all. They walked. At mile 5 they called me to come pick up <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> - we had to get her to the main medical tent because something had gone very wrong with her feet.<br /><br />There we were at the medical tent, ice bags surrounding her feet, and the doctors told <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> she was done. She had contusions on the bottoms of both her feet. "But I'm in 3rd place," <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> said, "Do you think I can go back out and walk?" They looked at her like she was nutz. Doctor #2 said, "If you were repeatedly hitting your head on the wall and your head hurt, what would you do?" "Stop hitting my head," <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> said dejectedly. "Yeah, but," <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bethany</st1:place></st1:city> chimed in, "if you were in 3rd place in the Hitting Your Head contest, you might do it one or two more times, right?"<br /><br />When the doctors became more involved with another runner, Team Ultara made our getaway. I drove <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> back to the 5 mile mark, dropped her off at 6:55 am - she still had 3 hours to go and even walking slowly could finish several more miles. <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> had on my flipflops, the biggest shoes we had for her tender feet. She took mincing, little steps with <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bethany</st1:place></st1:city> on one side, Anna on the other. I parked a mile away...30 minutes later, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> arrived at mile 6. I was thrilled with the time she was making. I whooped and hollered...I joined the Team as we walked with <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>. I read to her all the texts I'd received from our awesome Running Moms group, and <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> laughed at their outrageously loving support of her.<br /><br />Each step was a battle for <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>. We knew that 3rd place was gone. We knew that 100 miles was gone, too. But even knowing this, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> kept going. Step. Step. She wouldn't quit. When walking became difficult, she actually crawled in the grass along the path, giving true life to the Dean Karnazes quote, <em><span style="visibility: visible;" id="main"><span style="visibility: visible;" id="search">"Run</span></span></em> when you can. <em>Walk</em> when you must. <em>Crawl</em> if you have to. Just never give up.”<br /><br />After walking with <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> for half a mile, I ran back to the car and drove it to find another spot to park, just in case. And about ten minutes later, I got the call from Anna, "<st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s done. Come get her."<br /><br />Part of me felt such sadness over this, <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>'s goal that she trained for over 5 months, her dream of 100 miles in under 24 hours set aside. And yet, I was in complete awe of her - her determination, her courage, her faith in herself, her strength and will.<br /><br />Final tally: 92.5 miles in 22 hours. <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--> <!--[endif]--></p>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-36800860703392258012010-07-21T08:43:00.000-04:002010-07-21T14:21:41.339-04:00Running off the beaten pathRecently, I participated in the following exchange at a sporting goods store in Harrisburg.<br /><br />Me to young girl working behind the counter: Do you have Gu?<br /><br />Young girl: What? Goo?<br /><br />Me: Do you have Gu or, um, Clif Shots?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL39iMlgxwzW3mqxRGMNMYgFZ7utsZ-tmZOY45bA2i92kWIFothzM_pvljQgcO47iUxb9B5xJay7FB6AvVpnLKw4cQ4I2vcHsWj8fR0zw5wnzyd9uvI_wGvOcSitUbaR6hvboW-7Ilaec/s1600/woman-thinking-thought-bubble.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL39iMlgxwzW3mqxRGMNMYgFZ7utsZ-tmZOY45bA2i92kWIFothzM_pvljQgcO47iUxb9B5xJay7FB6AvVpnLKw4cQ4I2vcHsWj8fR0zw5wnzyd9uvI_wGvOcSitUbaR6hvboW-7Ilaec/s320/woman-thinking-thought-bubble.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496424563254210098" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Young girl: Shots? (I could almost see the thought bubble over her head, like in a cartoon, with a tequila bottle and a shot glass next to it, maybe sitting in a sticky pool of mysterious goo.)<br /><br />Me (now rather frustrated): No, not goo - you know, energy gels. For running. Gu.<br /><br />Young girl: Oh, those things in packets? No, we had a box but it expired so we threw it out.<br /><br />That, in a nutshell, is what it's like doing a specialized activity in the heart of Pennsylvania. I'd made a special trip to this local chain sporting goods store in Harrisburg because I was pretty sure that the smaller stores in my hometown wouldn't have anything specialized. I'd once made a trip in my town to the sporting store for running socks, but the closest they had were "cotton" socks for working out.<br /><br />In my previous life - when I didn't get the chance to run alongside gorgeous cornfields after stepping out my front door - there was a running store 5 blocks from me. And another running store 10 minutes away. And another running store 25 minutes away. Filled with dozens of pairs of running shoes and knowledgeable staff who knew about which shoe to give an over-pronator with well-defined arches and plenty of options for fuel from gels to chews to bars.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_R0z0EY-Qx8GaSGxjs3Rw9-XmgjJ347v6EGYKbJkh0Bd_2pIYtVlCliR81fwtGCE95kEwMR7AmgFMh1r5MIoiRsj44saXYfV4_GTthZ2KE-Z8mhtMcQRJjAWM2FnfCEpcds_ZWLuz0iU/s1600/corm.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_R0z0EY-Qx8GaSGxjs3Rw9-XmgjJ347v6EGYKbJkh0Bd_2pIYtVlCliR81fwtGCE95kEwMR7AmgFMh1r5MIoiRsj44saXYfV4_GTthZ2KE-Z8mhtMcQRJjAWM2FnfCEpcds_ZWLuz0iU/s320/corm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496426075782570722" border="0" /></a>But now, running - and all the gear, the shoes, the clothes, the energy gels - that accompany this sport I've fallen in love with - is a unique pastime, not well understood or supported off the beaten path. Trade-off: no running stores, but running with corn. Not bad, really.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-83347075743994351122010-07-10T19:44:00.002-04:002010-07-10T20:12:19.606-04:00ice ice baby...Last weekend, after my long run of 6.5 miles, I decided that I wanted to do an ice bath.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sbrtv.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/feet-in-ice-bath.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 322px; height: 241px;" src="http://sbrtv.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/feet-in-ice-bath.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Now, to most of the population, let's say 99.2%, the above statement sounds so ludicrous, like an anti-sado-masochistic form of self-torture (anti, because there can be no pleasure found sitting in an ice bath, can there?).<br /><br />Of the remaining 0.8% of the population, 0.6% shudder knowingly, nod their heads, and understand. The other 0.2% I think actually enjoy ice baths. There have to be a few real wackos out there.<br /><br />Ice baths are the realm, I suppose, of those athletes who have pushed themselves far enough and need the cooling relief that ice provides sore and overused muscles. I write that a bit self-depricatingly since I don't really lump myself in with "athletes" like Lance Armstrong or Kara Goucher. But, in this case, I guess I fall into that category, at least for ice baths.<br /><br />Here's how my ever first ice bath went. I arrived back at home after my run sweating so profusely I left an icky schmeery mark on the glass of our front door. My legs felt great, but I pushed them a bit, and for once, I actually <span style="font-style: italic;">had time</span>. That, really, is the key element to taking an ice bath. I need time, say an extra 20 minutes, to perform this ritual and since I'm a slow runner, the 20 minutes adds onto my already climbing number of minutes I'm occupied with the activity of running in some way.<br /><br />Anywho, I grabbed all the ice in the freezer - 2 whole trays worth - and head upstairs. I run the cold water into the tub about half way and crack the ice into the water. Then I lower my legs into the cold-ish water.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blog.makezine.com/ice_2.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 187px;" src="http://blog.makezine.com/ice_2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have this crazy mental snapshot of me, sitting there in 5 inches of water with about 40 ice cubes floating around in there with me, melting pretty quickly in my cool bath. I'm pretty sure that when Paula Radcliffe takes an ice bath, she's got way more than 40 ice cubes. I've gotten the water temp to luke-cold, I think.<br /><br />Claire comes into the bathroom and sees me in a tubby and gets <span style="font-style: italic;">sssoooooo</span> excited, in the way that only 4 year olds can get excited about a bath. She puts in baby dolphin and mama whale, 2 ponies, and a boat and takes off her clothes. She ignores all my warnings about how cool the water is, until she's standing there in the water with me. "Mommy!" she yells, eyes super-big, "you forgot the warm. Let me turn it on for you." I don't let her, so she just settles in to the cold-ish water, hands me mama whale, and gets me to play with her.<br /><br />That was last week. Tonight's bath went a little better. I had 5 whole trays of ice cubes and I felt only a little less silly than last week. I huddled under a purple bath towel for warmth and read 11 pages of a book.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-82932677057281656832010-06-27T08:43:00.003-04:002010-06-27T08:53:18.890-04:00kicking and screamingEven though I packed my running clothes and THOUGHT about running while on vacation, somehow, vacation had other plans.<br /><br />Wednesday, the fam and I toured the Freedom Trail in Beantown, walked a few miles...after a delicious dinner, Claire and I fell asleep about 8:30, and I forgot to lay out my running clothes. Early the next morning, I was awake in the hotel room, wanting to go downstairs to the fitness center, but I couldn't. Trying to find my clothes would've disturbed everyone - including a 4 year old who was all ready wiggling awake.<br /><br />Thursday and Friday were busts too - too much good times with my girls and Glenn, too much beach fun and lobster, pools and swimming. Saturday morning was my best time for a run and I DIDN"T WANT TO GO! My parents took the girls out for breakfast, so I had a perfect morning to run, but I lay around on the couch in my jammies until well past 10. I knew I should run, I knew I wanted to run, but I just didn't feel like I had the energy to run.<br /><br />But, I went out and brought Glenn with me. I went out because I said I would - I wanted to run to celebrate my friend Kari being a year cancer free; I wanted to run because my friend Paula is racing her first Ironman this weekend; I wanted to run because I knew how much I'd love it when I got back.<br /><br />But the first mile was hell. I was kicking and screaming inside the whole time. I didn't want to run...booooooooo....My poor husband, who I dragged along with me, I brought him into this too. Mean jill.<br /><br />And then that perfect moment happened - it was very brief, just a few minutes of running where my stride felt good and my breathing was good. This was followed by another 15 minutes of wondering why I was out running when I could've been sitting on a couch drinking iced coffee and not sweating my arse off.<br /><br />When Glenn and I were done with the run, we were both happy - happy for the run to be done, but happy too that we went out, made ourselves do it, kicking and screaming the whole way. Sometimes, a run is just like that. The next one will be that much more enjoyable, and that's what keeps me going.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-38686800913280821832010-06-22T12:27:00.003-04:002010-06-22T15:22:01.555-04:00packing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfan0SEGm6F89rX4EfDcd1QmVIAnw62AudioqIFkSV1IDa7ekW1_f4Tea2RAnC9Tzf4T7vUb5XyTprIa8V7EDp81KCSHrQg90_B-vqjgQgzZDDn6fme5THUtbLWXPgtSjAQaRB44ZA_1M/s1600/suitcase.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfan0SEGm6F89rX4EfDcd1QmVIAnw62AudioqIFkSV1IDa7ekW1_f4Tea2RAnC9Tzf4T7vUb5XyTprIa8V7EDp81KCSHrQg90_B-vqjgQgzZDDn6fme5THUtbLWXPgtSjAQaRB44ZA_1M/s200/suitcase.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485636956076487410" border="0" /></a><br />I'm heading up to Massachusetts with the family for almost a week of vacation. Last night, as I was setting out my week of clothing - shorts, tanks, sweatshirt for the cold nights - I had this separate pile of clothes.<br /><br />Sarah asked, "What's that for?" pointing at the black pile.<br /><br />"Oh," I said, "that's all my running stuff." Yeah, the majority of my running clothes are black.<br /><br />"You're going to run?" then after a pause, "will you run up the sand banks?"<br /><br />Near my sister's home are these HUGE sand banks left over from decades of quarrying. Huh, I thought, now THAT would be a great hill work out!<br /><br />"Maybe I will. We can all go for a walk and I'll run up and down those hills." Sarah just smiled, like I was a little crazy.<br /><br />Which I am...only crazy people lay out their running clothes FIRST when they are packing for a trip. Only crazy people hone in on the words "jogging path" when they are reviewing the deck layouts of the cruise ship they will be on for their honeymoon. Only crazy people get excited when they know there'll be a fitness center at the hotel they are staying at because it will mean fitting in runs will be a bit easier in the family vacation.<br /><br />Guess you just gotta love me!jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-7409345918940699742010-06-18T18:20:00.002-04:002010-06-18T18:40:24.831-04:00REAL runners milestoneYesterday I went out for a perfectly lovely 7 1/2 mile run. The weather was made for a nice long run - warmish and sunny, but not humid and there was a slight breeze. I put on my running skirt and a pink striped tank top, filled up my water bottle, and drove to one of my favorite places to run, the Lebanon Valley Rails to Trails.<br /><br />The running skirt I have is a Kohl's brand - so it's kind of a knock-off from the "real" sports wear like Adidas or Nike. Last year, when I bought the skirt, I loved running in it. Gosh, I felt all cute and feminine.<br /><br />This year, once it was warm enough to go for a run in my skirt, I discovered something - or several somethings. Those <a href="http://relaxedrunner.blogspot.com/2010/06/seven-pounds.html">seven pounds</a> I wrote about in my last blog, they made my running skirt (the inner shorts part) rather tight around my now bigger thighs. And not just tight...but the squeezed out flesh now rubbed together. Niiiiice.<br /><br />But, still I pressed on, wearing my skirt on hot days because, well, I don't have the running wardrobe I dream about. For warm days I have 1 skirt and 1 pair of running shorts and 1 pair of cotton bike shorts. Slim pickins.<br /><br />So, yesterday, as I was saying, I wore my running skirt for my run...and yes, I did feel my thighs compressed in the undershorts squeezing out like puffy sausage. I also felt those inner thighs rubbing together but I was able to ignore that dreadful sensation.<br /><br />Overall, the run felt great - a picture perfect summer day. I saw 8 bright red cardinals on my run and countless other birds that I have absolutely no idea of their names. The trees danced in the wind, I gazelle-jumped over a decapitated mouse, and the only music I listened to was of birdsong.<br /><br />Back at home, I took a much needed shower. Boy, did that water feel awesome as it rinsed off all the sweat and dead bugs stuck to my skin...until...it happened. The water reached enough of my thighs and I SCREAMED! Ow ow ouch!<br /><br />CHAFING. Real, honest to God chafing, something that in my four years of running I had never experienced before. And I have to say, I do hope I don't experience that again.<br /><br />However, I do feel like I've achieved some great and necessary milestone, and I feel all the same kind of pride I did when I would receive my latest Girl Scout Merit Badge. Because I earned it. Yes, I did.jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4388913802544753870.post-52675335618672256662010-06-15T11:56:00.002-04:002010-06-15T12:03:39.541-04:00Seven poundsI am ignoring you, delicious looking chocolate cake. Yes, I know you are less than 15 feet away, so close my left arm tingles with the held-back energy as I resist reaching out for you. My eyes are focused on the convener of the meeting, but ever so often, I find that suddenly, there you are, floating tantalizingly before me. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTCp5T7ixQOn-UJbzA-HJOtpGK-8AwMq-za8glmFDCjcnawF34_3BOrK3Lm1KBLmQN_ymHIjQVv-40CPvjns6XZ8CjQaYlBdmpn64Y8fC4fjg50nKWipjmDcW7TVGw9Dix0p9iOxu33c/s1600/choc_cake2.gif"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTCp5T7ixQOn-UJbzA-HJOtpGK-8AwMq-za8glmFDCjcnawF34_3BOrK3Lm1KBLmQN_ymHIjQVv-40CPvjns6XZ8CjQaYlBdmpn64Y8fC4fjg50nKWipjmDcW7TVGw9Dix0p9iOxu33c/s200/choc_cake2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472254581205853602" border="0" /></a>I stick a piece of sugar-free (but sweet) bubble gum in my mouth, which is supposed to help me ignore you, but it doesn't. I still want you, chocolate cake.<br /><br />Why do I struggle to resist your charms, you ask? Because of 7 pounds.<br /><br />Seven pounds I wish would disappear. Seven pounds that are welded on to my bellyhipsthighsbutt. That's not a huge amount of weight, I know.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO1KfdUToiq6s4Ij20DMKf8GJ9NJj1UMy0MMEcS7_7vMy37LJTjnuUgXbHNX8LmPYb0oPhjkVgr3ZZLyxKIYhvPFKrWdwNpSp493z-YcbQcoDYRuK8qYDNDpn9oatlo3AIj7EA2CfKe6E/s1600/fat+me.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 108px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO1KfdUToiq6s4Ij20DMKf8GJ9NJj1UMy0MMEcS7_7vMy37LJTjnuUgXbHNX8LmPYb0oPhjkVgr3ZZLyxKIYhvPFKrWdwNpSp493z-YcbQcoDYRuK8qYDNDpn9oatlo3AIj7EA2CfKe6E/s200/fat+me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472254116105309522" border="0" /></a>Five years ago, when I started this "healthy living", when the number on the scale screamed out OVERWEIGHT and I battled to make exercising and eating better my new normal, I had a number in mind.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">125</span></span><br /><br />That's the weight I want to be. I've been there - actually, for two years I was way below that number (but that was too thin) - but slowly in the past year and half, I've crept upward.<br /><br />My one saving grace is running. Without running, my love for chocolate cake - and food in general - would have me well past 160 pounds, as I was 5 years ago. Running - and the occasional salad and missed cookie - keeps me at the curvaceous weight of 132. On the days I run, it is much easier to ignore the ridonkulously delicious peanut-butter-and-chocolate donuts from our local bakery (or, at least, only have 1 instead of 3 or 4).<br /><br />Now, I know these 7 pounds aren't horrible. Glenn likes my curviness. And with these extra few pounds, I can once again wear my favoritest skirt ever, the greeny one with the cool flower appliques.<br /><br />Since I can't seem to get rid of my love for beer & buffalo wings, chocolate and strawberry pie, and second helpings, I'm trying to make peace with 7 pounds. But ONLY seven pounds...jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011183731155493041noreply@blogger.com1