doing it amish style

I had set 4 goals for my second (real) half marathon, the Amish Country Bird-in-Hand Half Marathon, 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).

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.

I parked my car in the Smuckers Farm field (don't know if it's that 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.

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.

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!

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. 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.

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 peaceful. 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.

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 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...).

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).

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!

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).

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.

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.

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.

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!!"

2:15:25

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.

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).

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!

game time

I'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.

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 (read here). 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.

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.

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?

even if i'm last

The old joke goes: What do you call the person who graduated at dead last in their class at med school? DOCTOR.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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).

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.

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."

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.

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.

This morning, I read this quote on my friend Heather's facebook page (she's aiming for a 1:50 half time this morning).

"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

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.

memory lane - my first half marathon

As I prepare to run my third half marathon, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane about my first distance race...

The BackStory

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.

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...

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).

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!

RaceDay

My goal time was to run the half in 2:30 ~ and I beat my goal time!!! I ran in 2:25:33!!! 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.

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 "Team Jill."

Glenn got up with me at 5:00 am to drive me to Philly in 23 degree weather, 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.

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.

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 a group of fraternity brothers 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.

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!! 3 years ago I couldn't have run a mile...and now I just ran 13!

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, "Mommy, I so proud of you!"

no excuses

My best friend Pat had a saying a while back when he was busy changing his lifestyle and losing weight, "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.

Of all the weeks for excuses, this was one for me.

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.

By the time 4:00 rolled around you could've stuck a fork in me, I was done.

No excuses.

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!").

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.

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, Jill L. is a runner. And I've got just enough crazy to run even when my battery is empty.

IN 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.

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.

My hill is called by me the "Big Ass Hill."

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.

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.

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.

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...

...but this morning, I conquered her. I ran up Big Ass Hill and then, just to show her that *I* am the boss, I did hill repeats on the steepest 0.1 of Big Ass. In your face!

the Fonz

When I run, I often look like The Fonz.

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.

Nope. There's nothing that exudes "cool" or "trend-setter" when I run.

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.

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.

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."