Lynn Woods Trail Run - Sunday, October 26, 2008 - 15 K

Ouch. I hurt. My legs, my back, my feet. Today's run was a @#%$. Beautiful as it was, I hit my limit at around mile 6 of a 9 mile trail. Finishing a race never felt so good. The morning was cloudy and cool, and when I set out for Lynn from Brighton I expected a few raindrops. I didn't want to run in the rain, but the prospect of running through some mud didn't really bother me.

The drive was easy, and I enjoyed the quiet peacefullness of Sunday morning on the road. Alone in my car, I listened to music and phoned one of my friends. Since she has a one-year-old, I knew she'd be awake. Both early risers now, we often find ourselves phoning one another not long after sunrise on a weekend morning. Though our lives have taken different paths - she is married with a child and living in the suburbs of NYC, I am single and living in the 'big city' of Brighton - I cherish our conversations. In the same breath we're both adults juggling responsibilities and college kids giggling over gossip. As she headed to a yoga class and I drove towards another trail run, we caught up on the events of the week, our upcoming Girls Weekend in NYC, and silly, inane, giggle-inducing gossip.

I got to Lynn Woods just before 8 a.m. and pulled into the parking lot, which was very slowly filling up. It was damp and cool. I registered (#82!) and got back in my car to shut my eyes and listen to the radio. A few moments of stillness and reminding myself how fun this would be. Anytime I question the run I'm about to do, I remind myself of how lucky I am to have the chance and the ability to do it, and this usually gets me going, no matter how crummy or whiny I feel or how cold or rainy it is.

Pretty soon I saw Ben's truck pull into the lot, so I left my cozy car and hung out with him in the parking lot. Ben is one of the funniest, most good-humored and calm gentleman you could ever meet. He will go to the ends of the earth (and to the Finish Line) for his friends, he can be talked into almost any trail race, and he does a dead-on impression of Milton from Office Space. Ben is the guy you want to hang out with before a run! So in the cool morning pre-race moments, we hung out by his truck comparing trail shoes and drinking Dunkin Donuts coffee (Ben) and eating gummi bears (me). And then it was time to run. Well, almost.

The race was delayed because the previous night's rain and wind had washed away most of the trail markings. As someone with absolutely ZERO sense of direction (I get lost in my hometown), this made me reasonable nervous. So did the race director's repeated warnings that the trail was challenging and anyone who felt even the least bit unprepared should bow out. I could picture myself wandering through the Lynn Woods, lost and lonely, with only a pocket full of gummi bears to survive.....

We lined up at the start and then off we went, across the parking lot, up a hill, and into the woods. My hamstrings and lower back ached already - not a good sign - but soon enough we were darting along the path, hopping over branches and roots, sidestepping large rocks, and dodging puddles and the occasional pile of horse poop. Other than a few short and superficial conversations with my fellow runners, I was on my own. I'd say that I was alone with my thoughts, but I didn't even really think about anything. I breathed in and out, I ran, and I let the natural beauty and solitude of the woods envelop me. The air was clean and crisp and smelled of pine needles and wet leaves and Fall. By now it had even cleared up a little. The trees rustled and the pine needles and leaves and dirt crunched softly beneath our feet.

When I run on Sunday mornings I often joke with friends that I'm "praying at Our Lady of the Holy Running Shoes", because for me running is a spiritual act and has become increasingly so in the past year or two. It is one of few times I experience a harmony of mind, body, and spirit. It is my quiet time, my time with nature, my time with my thoughts and prayers and questions and gratitude. Believe me, when I'm one mile into a nine or ten mile run, I have plenty of time to chat with The Big Guy. And I have time to listen, too, which I am trying to do more and more. Absence of ipod, phone, traffic, etc. gives me the opportunity and the space to open myself - my heart, my mind, my spirit - up and be receptive to what I'm feeling (besides PAIN!) and hearing, and I find that the more I let myself do that, the more receptive I become. It's not that being receptive means getting some answer or message like a bolt of lightening; for me it just means experiencing or imagining what those 'answers' might be and where they might take me. Note: this is why I will never run an ultramarathon....too much time to think!

This particular run hurt - I mean it physically hurt. My body ached in several places and running/climbing up those hills began to take more and more of my energy. Even eating a few gummi bears didn't really help. I'd pop one in my mouth and let it melt away, seeing how far I could run before it dissolved completely. But the physical effort of putting one foot in front of the other occupied my mind, and I kept telling myself to JUST KEEP GOING. I had a mental pep-talk on replay - you can do it, you've done this before, you're halfway there, if you can make it this far you can make it to the end - but I have to admit, unlike on previous trail runs I really hit the "F@#$ YOU!" zone early on. Despite enjoying the woods, I kinda wanted this run to be over. When I approached the one and only water stop and the guy handing out Dixie cups said, "Lookin good! Almost there!" I wanted to punch him.

I pushed along, sometimes with others closely ahead or behind, which felt reassuring, but sometimes for long stretches on my own. One particularly long stretch was unmarked, and I was sure I'd lost the trail. I ran on a single-tread path, at times so obscured by brush and branches that I was sure I'd gone off course. I ran through a mossy, winding, green gully, through mud puddles and across wooden logs shaped into stream crossings. At one point I saw a helicopter overhead and as I heard the whirling blades get closer and louder I thought, that's it, they've sent out a search team. My nervousness grew stronger as I looked ahead and saw no one, looked behind and saw no one. I couldn't hear any other runners and despite keeping my eyes peeled for trail markers, I saw none.

Eventually I popped out onto a larger trail and heaved a sigh of relief. There is a stage of euphoria that is hard to describe...I think for me it happens when I'm out there long enough to know I'm gonna make it, to know that the bulk of the run is behind me, to know that a nice downhill stretch might be ahead. When I emerged from the woods, this is how I felt. It was like flying. I felt strong and alive...at this point I figured I had less than a mile left, and I could handle that. But the euphoria didn't last long...I saw the race director running my way and I was afraid I'd be swept off the course. I wasn't sure if there were still runners behind me, and I feared I could be the last one. "Almost there!" he shouted out, "You're in your last 5K! Two more hills and a hairpin turn and you're done!" HUH?! Was he kidding? I didn't have two more hills in me. I was back in the F@#$ YOU! zone and aching to reach the finish line. I walked for a bit and breathed deeply. I ran a little, and walked a little more. The hills came and went, though with much less ease than I describe it now. I took a wrong turn and saw someone in the distance waving me back on course. I was about to get irritated that the course wasn't better marked when I realized that the person up ahead was Ben. He'd run the 5K, finished long before me, and jogged back on course to run the last 1/2 mile or so with me. THAT is a true friend. I picked up my pace and we ran the last bit of the course together, both lamenting and celebrating its difficulty. Tough as it was, we'd both be finishers.

I crossed the finish line, knowing that my finishing time wasn't one I'd brag about but feeling happy about traversing nine pretty ferocious miles and finishing in one piece. 'cause the joy isn't in the bragging, it's in the running.

Bay State 1/2 Marathon, October 19, 2008
2:02

Today is Christine's 38th birthday. To celebrate, we ran the Bay State 1/2 Marathon in beautiful Lowell, MA. Why Bay State? Why Lowell? I don't know. Good timing? Easy to get to? Scenic? The promise of running faster to avoid being chased by thugs? I know, I know, Lowell has a bad rap. And if we believe everything we read, it's well deserved. But I digress - Christine wanted to celebrate her bday with a race, and I wanted to run another 1/2, so Bay State it was. And for the record, Lowell is not that bad. Some have said it's even going through a "Renaissance".

One of the interesting things about this race is that more than a third of the runners who opt for the full marathon qualify for Boston. A THIRD. It is probably the largest concentration of runners qualifying in a single race. As a result, the front of the pack full marathoners are lean, fast, and serious. we half marathoners maybe a little less so, but I did notice that this wasn't one of those rah-rah crowds. We started, we ran, that's it.

So I was nervous, as usual. I always fret about how much or little I sleep, what I've done the week before (too much? too little? more training? more sleep? less travel? more meditating on why I should not be worrying about training, sleep, and travel?), what I eat and drink the day before (too much caffeine? not enough water? too much water? too much fiber? too much sugar? not enough protein? something I will regret at mile 6?), and what I do the morning of the race. I've done more 13+ runs than I can count, but I still get nervous. I still doubt myself. My last two half-marathons were pathetic disasters (one was post food-poisoning, the other was burnout as a result of overtraining), so to be honest, I was feeling a little less than confident. But it was a beautiful day and I felt okay and I slept fine, so at a certain point we just have to say, what will be will be. Nothing more to do other than enjoy a Sunday morning run.

We left Brighton and drove up to Lowell in the dark. Daylight broke as we arrived there around 7:15 a.m. and we left the car in a parking garage, checking for last minute things like chapstick and bodyglide and ipods and my stash of gummy bears. After picking up our numbers we milled around the high school cafeteria for a while just killing time; eventually it was time to head out to the start line, and it's at that point that I usually have my realization of, "THIS IS IT. Go have fun." I learned a while ago that running sucks when you're pissed off and/or miserable, so ever since then I've reminded myself to just enjoy the run, have fun, and smile. That last one's important - the jaw muscles are some of the more important ones to work out on race day :)

And off we went. Christine and I ran together for two or three miles, but we agreed beforehand that we'd each run at our own pace and if that meant going faster or slower than each other, so be it. So we wished each other good luck and Christine took off ahead of me and I settled in for the next ten miles on my own. The air was so clear and crisp and cool and there I was, just out running by the river on a Sunday morning. It felt so good. I felt empowered and enlightened. Often times when I run I daydream or think about different things going on in my work or my life, but today I just zoned out. It was like meditation. Just running, just being.

At what point do the mind, the body and the spirit connect? At what place are they conjoined? For me, today, they connect around mile 6 or 7. I am absorbed in thought, in prayer, in meditation, in running. I feel alive and vibrant, spiritual and blessed. I know I'm going to finish, and I feel strong.

The double-loop course was actually more scenic than I imagined. We ran by trees bursting with color, old Victorian houses, and a piece of the river that flows over boulders and looks like something you'd see in the New Hampshire woods. The sky was clear blue with wispy clouds and crowds of teenagers had come out to staff waterstops and cheer. If you look there is beauty everywhere...even in Lowell, Mass.

After miles six and seven I just plugged along, ticking off the miles one by one, walking through waterstops and sipping Gatorade, listening to music to keep me going, realizing that by the time my playlist got to the Theme From Rocky I'd be finished. Though I knew I'd be happy to cross the finish line, I was enjoying myself. Soon we were in the home stretch. We passed a sign that said one mile left. I ate a few gummy bears and pushed myself a little harder. We crossed over the final bridge and the ball park was in sight. I knew the finish was near. But they teased us, because the very final 1/2 mile or so involves running around a corner and then behind the ballpark, where you think the finish line will be waiting, but alas, you enter that ballpark and get to/have to run a lap around the bases before crossing the actual finish line. And then that's it.

They gave us medals and water and removed the timing chips from our shoes. They wrapped us in mylar blankets and directed us to the food. I wandered around looking for Christine for a while, and when at last we found each other in the crowd we both had huge smiles on our faces. Christine finished in 1:59, and I finished just two and half minutes after her at 2:02. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday morning and celebrate my sister's birthday. I vote for making it an annual tradition.