My Perfect Recovery

Take It and Run Thursday this week is all about rest and recovery. That topic was definitely on my mind while I was sweating through Saturday's 20 miler, and I got to thinking about my perfect recovery.

(By "perfect recovery" in this case, I mean a recovery time that I can reasonably expect to get. My true perfect recovery, which involves Ewan McGreggor massaging my feet while singing songs from Moulin Rogue and wearing his Obi-Wan costume is, unfortunately, harder to arrange.)

I finish my run about a block away from my house, then walk the rest of the way home while looking at my (amazing) splits on my Garmin. I pull an ice cold bottle of Gatorade (purple) out of the fridge and down it gratefully. Steve and Jack have left a note saying they've gone out for pancakes and are proud of me. I grab a protein bar to get some food in me right away, then go upstairs.

I leave my sweaty clothes in a heap on the floor, then ease into a cold bath, which I truly believe helps aid in a faster recovery. I read a brand new issue of Runner's World as I shock my muscles into healing.

Then it's time for a hot shower. The water washes away all of the grime of my run, and I lather myself up with a liberal amount of shower gel, so I smell delicious. I put on a recovery outfit of a comfy running-related t-shirt and if I'm feeling fancy, gym shorts, with a warm, fluffy pair of socks.

Just as I'm dressed, Steve and Jack return home. "Mommy! Did you have a good run?" Jack asks, then tells me that he's tired and wants to take "a little rest in MommyDaddy room and watch a movie." We put in one of his favorite movies, one that I'm not too sick of yet, and snuggle under the covers.

Steve brings me a sandwich and a big glass of ice water. The man makes the greatest sandwiches known to man, taking the time to blot the lettuce and tomato so the bread doesn't get soggy, layering the meat and cheese carefully so that each bite is perfection. Amazing craftsmanship, truly.

After I eat my sandwich, I drift off to sleep. Jack tries a half-hearted, "Open your eyes, Mommy," but mostly focuses on cuddling his little body up to mine.

Once the movie - and my nap - are over, I'm ready to face the rest of the day, a day that hopefully involves Ewan McGreggor.

Glowing Like a Horse

Saturday morning was my final 20 mile training run in preparation for the marathon. The crazy guys at FIRST schedule a total of 5 20 milers, but I am going to change the last one to 18. I think that 4 20 mile runs should more than prepare me for 26.2, and my good friend Tom at Runners' Lounge thinks the big 2-0 is unnecessary. I'm still glad I hit as many 20's as I did, because it really builds my confidence. The reason I'm backing off the last one is that I don't think I need it, and I want to avoid the prospect of injury or overtraining.

The fact that Saturday's run was a horrifically sweaty experience only sealed the deal.

I thought it would be a pretty decent little run. It wasn't too hot outside. But as our friend the cliche tells us, it's not the heat; it's the humidity. I was the sweatiest person who ever lived.

You may think I was just your standard level of sweaty. Soaked ponytail? Check. Able to wring disturbing amounts of sweat from my wristbands and clothing? Check. Sweat stinging the eyes. Check. Sweaty, yes, but you're not impressed yet.

Well, how about the fact that, during the course of my run, I lost five pounds*? Still not sufficiently horrified? Okay, you asked for it.

At mile 14, I noticed that my shoes and socks were as wet as if I'd stepped in a puddle. They actually made squishing noises as I went. And Internet? I did not step in a puddle. The sweat dripped down from my legs and pooled into my shoes. I debated whether or not to stop at home to get dry socks and ultimately decided it was worth it so I wouldn't have the world's biggest blisters killing my really cute black peep-toed heels at my high school class reunion that night.

Friends, this post has a purpose besides just to gross you out. There was also a lesson learned in there. I'd stashed five bucks in the pocket of the Ridiculously Short Shorts, but it was so sweaty that I was embarassed to spend it. Next time? I will put that bad boy in a plastic bag.



*I had heard that giving birth was the fastest way to lose a great deal of weight really fast, but running 20 miles in the sweltering humidity was even faster. And just in time for my high school reunion!

Three

Oh, sweet Yoda in the swamps of Dagobah.

Jack now has THREE tigers.

There's Roary, who has been Jack's faithful companion for a little over two years. Then there is newcomer Emmy, Roary's Mommy. Emmy, you may recall, used to be named Susie, but Jack changed it to Emmy for no apparent reason. Roary threatened to change his name to Johnny, but Jack just laughed at him.

Then, Steve and Jack went to the mall last night, where they visited a third tiger. Jack quickly decided that she was Roary's little sister, Nicey. That's Nice with a Y at the end, which is so steadfastly Jack's favorite name in the entire world that I am resigned to the fact that I will have at least one grandchild named Nicey some day.

Nicey joined Roary and Emmy to read books, and when it was time to say goodbye to her, Jack dragged his feet and Nicey started to cry.

Jack explained to Steve that he, Roary, Emmy, and Nicey would all be sad if Nicey couldn't come home with them. That she would be all alone in the store with no other tigers. That she should be part of our family, and that it would be wrong for her to go home with some other family.

Steve is not made of stone. He bought Jack the tiger.

The question now is one of logistics. Jack can carry all three tigers around with him, but that would be a vastly increased level of Crazy, even for Jack. Steve is trying to reach a compromise in which only two tigers at a time go out with Jack, while the third, assigned on a rotating basis, stays home to hold down the fort.

We'll see.

Halfway Down the Stairs

Take it and Run Thursday is all about "the middle" this week. The middle part of a training program is a tricky place to be for a runner. The beginning is great. You're in those opening throes of excitement, full of enthusiasm. And the end is cool, too. You're tapering, and that race is within sight.

But the middle? There's a lot of potential for ho-hum. That initial glow has worn off, and although you're building up miles, your distances aren't exactly amazing, rock star amounts. I actually wrote about that feeling when I was training for the trisko a few months back. I had just finished a training run of eight miles, and my pace was, you know... fine. Not bad, not great. The distance itself was okay - not an easy three, not a challenging double-digit distance.

Finishing a run with a feeling of malaise isn't a good recipe to want to get out there and run again, you know? What's the best cure for these middle training week blahs?

A healthy dose of perspective.

The easiest thing to do is to talk to a non-runner. I was at a party on Saturday, talking to some non-running friends, about what we'd done that day. I said that I'd gone running, just fifteen, then ran errands, blah, blah, blah.

They stared at me in amazement. "You ran fifteen miles today? If I did that, I wouldn't even be standing up right now."

I realized that was true - the distance I'd run, which was just in the middle for me, in the middle part of my training program - was something that most people I know (other than you damned BRF's, throwing off the average) could not do. It truly was an accomplishment. In fact, each and every run is an accomplishment, a gift. The middle is actually pretty cool. I can look back at where I've been, and confidently see where I'm going.

And because most things can best be explained by Muppets, I give you Robin, with A.A. Milne's "Halfway Down the Stairs."

Ladybug Day

Today was a big day for Mr. Jackson W. Crazypants. The little man has been promoted from the 2-3 year old class at school (the Turtles) to the pre-K class (the mighty Ladybugs). Jack has been looking forward to being a Ladybug for months. There are no school-aged kids at Jack's school, so the Ladybugs are the big time. They have their own playground, they get to go on cool field trips, and most importantly, Jack is convinced that they learn a lot. Jack is eager to learn how to read, write, and speak more Spanish, and he knows that being a Ladybug will make it happen.

All the way to school, Jack and I talked about what his new class would be like. There's a racetrack around the playground for bikes. And lots of different books and toys, but still his own cubby for Roary and Emmy. He'd be reunited with his friends Cara and Emma, and his buddies Mason, Nico, and Cameron would be moving over with him.

As we rounded the corner to get to school, Jack declared, "Ladybugs, here I come!" He also informed me that today, he would try to make some new friends. That if he went up to somebody on the playground and said, "Hi, would you like to play with me? Would you like a new friend?" they would probably say yes. (They probably will, and I wish that it was that easy for grown-ups.)

Jack led the way to his new classroom, and I was immediately struck by how the teachers really do make the kids feel a bit more grown-up. His first responsibility when he arrives is to check himself in. He has to put his picture on the "Who's Here Today" board, but his name in the red basket, and then sign himself in. He picked up the pen, made a decent attempt at a J, then spelled out "A-C-K" as he wrote various scribbles on random parts of the page. Hey, he's getting there, and J's are hard to make.

After quick hugs and kisses, he was happily sitting at the table drinking juice.

Jack had been in the Turtle class for over year, which is a long time if you're only three and a half. If he had been clingy or sad or missing Miss Missy (say that three times fast), it would have been perfectly understandable. But instead, he was excited about this new chapter in his life. He looked at it as an adventure. And that makes me incredibly proud.

Marathon Dreams

With 39 days to go until the Quad Cities Marathon, I have already started dreaming about the race. That usually doesn't happen until much later, so I don't quite know what all of this is going to mean for me. Am I more nervous? Is it a good sign? I know that my feelings about this one are different from last time. Instead of thinking, "Wow, can I really run 26.2 miles?" I am thinking, "How strong of a PR can I get?"

Last night, I dreamed that it was the day before the race. I was going around trying to find as many sources of carbs as I possibly could. Pancakes, bread, pasta - mmm! I was also making an effort to drink water and Gatorade all day.

A few weeks ago, I had one that was even better. My brother and I both ran the marathon (which might actually happen and would be awesome). I used a strategy that I've been considering - wearing my Garmin, but not looking at my pace. When I ran the trisko in the spring, I couldn't get coverage for the first half of the race, probably because of the ridiculous storm. As a result, I just ran at a pace that was comfortably challenging, which I think maybe made me run faster than I would have. Anyway, that's what I did in my dream. Andy finished in 3:00, and I finished in 3:03.

Obviously, that's not going to happen. But it was a lovely dream.

In the dream, my first thought upon seeing the clock was just WOW. But that was immediately followed by, "I am going to have to start saving my money for a trip to Boston." Because if I ever qualify for Boston (like a certain other Betsy I could mention), baby, I'm going.

Battle-Fight

For those of you who wondered how I'd fare in a head-to-head lightsaber battle-fight with my young Jedi, I give a dismissive, "Pfft."

Internet, please. I have been preparing for this since I was a kid, making a lightsaber from a stick and practicing my duals in Jedi training with my siblings.

I can take this kid down any day of the week.

The Agony of De Feet

Next weekend, I will be attending my 15 year high school reunion. Yeah, I know, Internet - I look so fabulous that you can't believe it's not my five year. Anyway, as we are all aware, the point of attending one of these soirees is not to reconnect with old friends, to recall fond memories, or to hit the bar, so much as it is an opportunity to look absolutely freaking fabulous.

Running, of course, goes a long way in making that happen. Thanks to our favorite sport, I weigh just five pounds more than I did when I was sixteen. I bought a dress for the event that looks great on me. It's a halter style, showing off the strong shoulders that cross-training sessions in the pool have given me. Running has elmininated both my gut and my butt, so the fact that it's a jersey knit is not a big no-no. And it's short, showing off my runner legs (though not RSS short, thank Yoda).

But, as you pan down past the hem of my dress, you reach a problem. While the rest of my body is a runner's body, so, too, are my feet. And though I may wish it were so, the dress does not look good with running shoes or moon boots which might cover up my unsightly hooves. Alas, it calls for something that does, in fact, expose my feet.

I pretty much beat the hell out of my feet with running. They are callused, with hideous patches of dry skin that flake off in sheets. I keep my toenails cut ridiculously short, so as to keep them from turning black and falling off. My current shoes created a battle with blisters that I think I have, for the moment, won. Several of my toes are now old man toes, thick and yellow. There is a clear sock line, despite my careful application of sunscreen. The only good thing I can say is that, at least for the moment, I do not have athlete's foot. For the moment.

When reunion time comes, I am basically going to put a bow on the pig - that is, get a pedicure, paint my toenail stubs a shiny red, and hope that no one looks too closely at the wreck beneath the red paint.

But red paint or not, I am still me. The very first thing I'll tell the pedicurist will be, "Keep my calluses, please. I'm a runner."

Baby's First Swear

It's moments like this that make a mother's heart swell with pride. Jack has learned his very first swear word. That word is damn, and already I can see how it will serve him well in the years to come. Jack has learned some of the many uses of this new tool.

Exclamation. When out for a nature walk with his Poppa, Jack tripped over a tree root and said, "Damn!" My dad managed to not laugh.

Adverb. "Mommy, this pillow is too damn noisy." To be fair, that pillow as really damn noisy.

Adjective. "Where's my damn binky?"

It should be noted that if you are asking, "Where's my damn binky," chances are that you are, in fact, too old for a pacifier.

I know, I know; all of you are wondering where Jack might have learned this new word, but is that really relevant? I don't think we need to dwell on that do we?

Yeah; you guys figured out he learned it from me, didn't you?

Damn.

Country Roads, Take Me Home

My long run last weekend was a lot harder than it usually is. Not because of the distance (it was a 20 miler, but my third of this training season, so it felt surprisingly comfortable in that respect), but rather because of logistics. Steve and I were in Murphysboro, Illinois, my hometown, to retrieve Jack from my parents.

It's hard running in an unfamiliar setting, and I honestly wasn't sure how I was going to run 20 miles in Murphysboro - it's really small. The last time I tried was at Thanksgiving, when I decided to do an explore run, feeling flexible on the distance, but wanting to cover a decent chunk of mileage. I went all the way across town, through a park, and back to the house and discovered I'd only done a 5K.

My dad suggested that I go to Lake Murphysboro State Park, where there is a 4 mile loop that I could just do five times, "but it's hilly." I drove through it to see just how hilly it was. The park was beautiful - trees everywhere, glimpses of the lake... but it was so hilly that my Achilles tendons were like, "Lady, no. You've got to be kidding me." Okay, fine - but I'll be back there during my unofficial cross country season in the fall.

I decided to wing it, doing three six mile loops, with stops back at the house for water or Gatorade, then a two mile loop.

As I started the first loop, it became quickly evident that Murphysboro is not designed for runners. There were no sidewalks, and the shoulders weren't especially wide, either. I ran facing traffic and felt like I had to keep dodging pickup trucks. I ran on some random country roads, and it was really pretty - trees, little ponds, deer - and people who looked at me like I was crazy. Unfortunately, I also saw a lot of trash on the ground, including an empty case of beer next to a home pregnancy test box. Classy! I had to slightly modify my planned course when a bunch of dogs chased me.

Six miles down, and it was time for the second loop. I ran across town, then turned in a direction that I was hoping would lead me to some decent empty space. A few turns later, and I discovered myself under a huge blue sky, facing one of those Stealth Hills. The kind that is not steep, but is very, very long. I hit eight miles and noted my time for Nancy's Olympic Challenge - 1:25:33. I ended up at Lake Murphysboro, where I saw the only other runners I encountered the entire time I was out. They gave me a look of started recognition, as I suspect they weren't used to seeing other runners out and about. Oh, and trash report? Condom wrapper. I like to think that the people whose story began with the beer and home pregnancy test was concluded with that Durex wrapper, that they learned their lesson.

I hit Stealth Hill after Stealth Hill and comforted myself with the idea that the way back would be downhill. Turns out it wasn't - heading back, I saw another Stealth Hill. I told myself that if I hadn't noticed it sloping down, it shouldn't bother me sloping up.

As I ran back for a drink, an old man in a pickup truck called out his window to ask if he could run with me. "Sure," I said. "Come on out." Then he got a good look at the Ridiculously Short Shorts(tm) and said, "You sure look good out there." Still got it, baby! Sure, he was a semi-creepy old man, but I take what I can get.

It was time for the third loop, and my dad had suggested that I run to the high school, that it was about three miles away. Unfortunately, he miscalcuated - it was only two. I did my best to add some distance on by wandering around the athletic fields, but no such luck. I just wound up with a bunch of cut grass stuck on my legs.

I ran to a park for the final portion of my run, hit 20, and felt incredibly proud of myself for finishing it up despite the odds against me. I celebrated by diving into the swimming pool in my running clothes, which highly entertained Jack.

I may celebrate further by getting myself a present.

Jack Wasser's Big Adventure, Part 2

Since Jack took off for the wilds of Southern Illinois on Tuesday, I've been keeping in touch with him with daily phone calls.

The kid is having a freaking blast.

Every day, he talks my ear off, all about how he went swimming three times, went on a hike with Poppa, has a new Lightning McQueen sleeping bag there, played with his glamorous older cousin Devin's old toys, and on and on.

There has not been a single hint of tears or "I miss you, Mommy."

This is a good thing. Because meanwhile, Steve and I have been having a great time, too. Things are awfully relaxed here, and I have time to do things like put cages around my tomatoes before work, sit around and read a magazine, fold laundry without a "helper," and go for long walks with Steve.

I think that Jack's Big Adventure will have lasted the ideal amount of time. He's having lots of special grandparent time, Steve and I got a break, and although none of us are pining for the other, we will all be happy to see each other later today.

There is just one hazard to having Jack spend all this time with his grandparents. Mr. Jackson W. Crazypants is now the proud owner of a lightsaber. A lightsaber of his very own was an inevitable purchase that Steve and I were attempting to delay. We'd point to the "Ages 4 and Up" on the package and lament that he couldn't have one yet. Not because we thought he'd hurt himself, but because we dreaded spending every waking moment of our days having "battle-fights" with Jack.

But now, battle-fight we will. Steve went to Target last night, and now all three of us have lightsabers.

Three by Six

Yay! It's time for Take It and Run Thursday! This week, Tom and Amy challenged us - nay, dared us - to give a running memoir in exactly six words.

I have been a runner since I entered my first 5K when I was ten years old. So, I am going to cheat pay tribute to my lengthy running career by writing a memoir for the three eras of my running.

That's right, I said eras. I'm in a grandiose mood today.

During my teens, my running was defined by one man, my high school cross country coach, the appropriately named Coach Quick. Quick had very high standards for his teams, and I know that we worked harder and had longer, tougher workouts than many of our competitors. Varsity runners would start the day with a 6:00 AM practice, a simple 5 mile road run. After school, there would be a mix of road runs, hill work, and brutal track workouts. I averaged 10 miles of running a day. On weekends, we could have stuck close to home and creamed our competition in local meets, but instead, we woke up pre-crack of dawn to travel to the Chicago suburbs to compete against the best teams in the state.

That hard work got results. All four years that I ran for Quick, our teams (both boys and girls) won our conference, regional, and sectional championships, qualifying for the state meet.

From Coach Quick, I learned not to cut corners. I learned that a hard workout wouldn't kill me, and that, in fact, after I got over wanting to die, I'd feel amazing. My memoir for this time would be:

Running hard. Running with the best.

In my 20s, I did a lot less running than I had in high school. I think I was a bit burned out, and the prospect of running for my college's cross country team was unappealing. And after graduation, I was awfully preoccupied with my horrendous, soul-sucking first job, cutting down on my time for running.

Still, I'd go to the gym and see disturbingly thin girls pounding away at the stairmaster, looking miserable, and probably figuring that their workouts earned them the right to add some fat free dressing to their evening meal of lettuce as a special treat. That's not how I do things. Instead, I'd lift weights for a while, then go out for a three mile run. Why did I run then? Not for extra salad.

Running so I can drink more.

I turned 30, and a few weeks later, had Jack. Unless you've experienced it, it's impossible to describe how parenthood shakes your world. I realize now in a way that I never understood before how, if you let it happen, taking care of that baby can easily occupy every minute of your time, every thought in your head, every ounce of your soul. As a woman, you become invisible, because if you walk into the grocery store holding a baby, nobody looks at you; they look at the baby. You are a faceless Mommy.

That's not a good way to be.

There are a million articles in women's magazines about how important it is for a new mom to make time for herself. None of them were appealing to me. If I went and got a pedicure, I felt guilty for spending the money on something so completely frivolous. Take a nice bubble bath? Not so relaxing when you can still hear your baby crying.

But one thing that I felt absolutely no guilt about doing was going running. I mean, come on: I was exercising. Losing baby weight. No way could I feel badly about that. And when I was out running, I wasn't Jack's Mommy; I was Betsy.

Running became a way for me to forge my own identity, completely apart from being a wife and mother. My new inner strength, resolve, and dedication allowed me to fulfill a lifelong dream of running a marathon. My memoir for this time of my life?

Running lets me be me again.

Jack Wasser's Big Adventure

For ages now, my dad and stepmom have been talking about how great it would be for Jack to come stay with them for an extended visit. My nephew has been doing that for years, and I know how special that time is both for my dad and Vickie and for Devin. The question to me, really, was when Jack would be ready for a solo trip.

Then, a few months ago, Jack announced, "I have good idea, Mommy." That is, that he would go visit Mawmaw and Poppa, stay there by himself, and then Mommy and Daddy would come get him after "a couple whiles."

Well, okay, then.

My dad drove up last night, and this morning, he and Jack took off for Jack's big vacation. Steve and I will drive down on Friday, spend the weekend there, then take Jack home.

The little man was VERY excited this morning. He and I were eating breakfast, and as soon as he saw that Poppa was putting his stuff in the car, Jack told me that he was "all full," clearly sated from three bites of Kung Fu Panda waffles. Next thing you know, he'd gotten dressed in lightning speed and was in the car, blowing me kisses and hugs.

I know he'll have a great time with his grandparents, and I know that we will miss each other. The only thing I don't know?

What on earth am I going to do with all of this free time?

Ridiculously Short Shorts 18 Miler

Internet, I am starting to believe that all of this running might be good for my legs. Even more astonishly, it seems to be good for my perception of said legs.

Witness: when I discovered that the photographer at the Bix had taken the classy "up the running skirt" shot of me headed to the finish...



my immediate reaction was not to be horrified by the gigantic size of my thighs. Instead, I thought that, while they are enormous, they looked really muscular and strong.

Such delusions, or, if you prefer, increased self-esteem, can be blamed for my decision to purchase the Ridiculously Short Shorts (RSS), which made their debut on Saturday's 18 mile run.


*not my legs. Obviously.

I remain a total Skirt Convert and love my running skirts beyond all measure. However, on incredibly humid long runs, my skirts have been reduced to a sodden mess, clinging to my legs and threatening me with chafing. It's amazing what the fear of chafing will drive me to, because lo and behold, I found myself actually wearing IN PUBLIC, a pair of Ridiculously Short Shorts that are shorter than any shorts I have every worn in my entire life.

The verdict? Once I got over my fear that one of my butt cheeks would escape and greet the world, they were quite comfortable. Almost like wearing nothing, which obviously I almost was.

My time was excellent, perhaps spurred on in some part by my desire to go home and put some pants on. Goal pace: 10:31 per mile. Actual pace: 10:29 per mile. Score!

Besides running with the lower half of my body almost completely exposed, I employed a few additional strategies that helped me.

• I drank Gatorade in addition to water.


• I put the Gatorade and water in a cooler with ice on my front stoop. For the entire 3 plus hours I was out on the road, my drinks stayed icy cold, which was bliss.


• Lately, I've been running my long runs in loops of about six miles. Run 3 miles out, then back home for a drink/Gu/whatnot/walk break. This time, I took short walk breaks every three miles, which made my breaks at the six mile points much shorter.


• I packed a bag of Sport Beans in my Amphipod. I ate half of them at mile 9 and half at mile 15. I think they really gave me a boost.

Report Card

It's time for Take It and Run Thursday, and Runner's Lounge has challenged us to "look back, look ahead" at our running in 2008. Sounds like time for a report card.

My goal for running in 2008 was to take my running to the next level. My non-running friends didn't get it. "You ran a marathon," they said. "What else is there?" To me, the main differences were in training - and in attitude.

For the first time since high school, I incorporated speedwork into my training. I love my track workouts and look forward to them. I have to admit, I am not such a fan of my tempo runs. They're really hard for me, but I understand their benefit, so I'm going to keep at it. For my last tempo run, I broke from form and listened to a podcast instead of music, and it really helped. I was so engaged in the story that I was able to distract myself effectively from the fact that it was blazing hot, horrifically humid, and I was running pretty fast. That might be my plan moving forward.

I am also proud to say that I've kept up my running during the winter better than I ever have before. I've never been a fair weather only runner, I do tend to slack off when the weather gets cold. But this year, I kept at it - in rain, in snow, and most recently, in hail. Honestly, it's not about suffering for me. I suffer more, mentally, at least, when I don't go running.

I added a new distance to my resume - the trisko (half marathon, if you're still calling it that). I can find something to love about any distance, but I am a big fan of the trisko. It's long enough to be challenging, but short enough such that the training doesn't take up quite as much of my life. I will definitely be running the trisko at the Quad Cities Distance Classic every Mother's Day from now on. I am also hoping to find an earlier trisko to run, maybe in April, next year.

I'm paying closer attention to my diet - or, to be more accurate, I am not seeing my running as an all-access pass to eat whatever I want whenever I want. I didn't gain any weight during my training last year, but I made frequent trips to the coffee place down the street from my office that, according to my extensive research offers the finest chocolate chip cookies in all of downtown Davenport. I haven't had one of those cookies in ages, snacking instead on almonds, fresh fruit, and other annoyingly virtuous items. I don't think I've lost any pounds, but I can see a difference in how my stomach looks, which is always a good thing for those of us who've given birth.

I've added weight training to my regimen, but I have to admit that I've been slacking off lately. Work has been ridiculous and... well... this entry is about looking ahead as well as looking back, so Internet, I promise - I am going to go lift at lunch today.

Then there's the mental aspect of things, which I suppose goes hand in hand with the rest. When I saw a doctor over the winter for a nagging knee problem, he repeatedly described me as an athlete. I was immensely flattered, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt like the description fit. I may not be ready to win any age group awards yet, and I'm not fast enough to qualify for Boston, but my running is a huge part of who I am and is very important to me. That makes it easier for me to go to bed early, eat good foods, and generally take care of myself. It gives me the ability to tell the very nice race director who I met at the track on Tuesday that his 5K sounds like fun, but that it doesn't fit in with my training program right now.

Looking ahead, I have tremendous confidence about my upcoming marathon. Last year, I was thinking, "I'm pretty sure I can do it," but this year, I know I can. I already feel like I am mentally and physically able to turn in a solid performance and get a PR. Remind me of that when I start in on the taper madness, okay?

After the marathon is over, I am declaring the rest of the fall to be cross country season. After the Bix, Tom and I reminisced about how much fun cross country season was. It brought back great memories of the cool weather, the feeling of running on dirt, the beautiful scenery in the woods, the challenges of the hills. I am going to seek out as many cross country style races as possible, culminating, of course, in the most fun race of all time, Living History Farms.

Sure, it'll be tough, but I can handle it. I'm an athlete.

Especially if I lift today.

What the hail?

As soon as I set foot outside yesterday, headed home for a track workout, I knew I'd be in for some challenging weather. It was hot and so ridiculously humid that my hair immediately switched itself to afro.

"Okay," I thought to myself, "I can do this. I'll just drink extra water, wear lightweight clothes, and extend my rest periods if I need to."

Little did I know that while I would have trouble with the weather, that trouble would be of a totally different nature.

I ran to the track (and can I say again how fabulously convenient it is that the track is exactly a mile and a half warm-up away from my house), and as soon as I got there, the sky ripped open and it started pouring down rain.

I was immediately soaked when the high winds kicked in. And then, I swear, even though it had been hot, it started hailing. I can't prove it, but I suspect that Ming the Merciless was responsible.



What's a girl to do? That's right, Internet: I kept running. Two sets of six 400 meter repeats at a 2:00 pace.

I was totally drenched, with that squishing noise in my shoes as I headed home. It had been so hot outside that when a car drove by and re-drenched me with water (nice), it actually felt like bath water.

At last, toughness points achieved, I reached Stately Wasser Manor. I expected to be greeted with, "I can't believe you actually went running in this weather. Woman, you are crazy," from Steve.

Instead, there were two fluffy, clean towels waiting for me.

Race Report: 2008 Bix 7

As I've mentioned before, the Bix 7 is my hometown race, and one that I'm extremely proud of. Incredible turnout, elite runners, and a course packed with spectators. Every once in a while, someone will find out that I'm a runner and will ask if I'm going to run the Bix. Please: there is no way I could live in the Quad Cities, call myself a runner, and not run this race.

Looking back on this year's run, I have admittedly mixed feelings. I finished it in 1:06:58, which is a PR for me (as far as I know - I have no idea how fast I ran the race back in high school). But honestly, I know I could have done better. My times for a 10K and a trisko definitely indicate that I can keep up a faster pace than I did. But I started in a slower pace group than I could have (which I'll explain), and that definitely cost me. I looked at my Garmin splits after the race and discovered that I ran the first mile in 12:something and the last mile in 7:40. That's not what I call a negative split, that's what I call clear evidence that I wasn't running hard enough in that first mile. Next year, my goal will be to finish in an hour or less. My goal for this minute is to keep my race experience in perspective.

My Bix experience started on Friday afternoon. Several of my co-workers were also running the race, so we walked over to the race expo to pick up our packets and check out the expo. I ended up buying a Bondi band, which I think I like, and a totally cute t-shirt. It's brown and says Marathon Girl in pink. The buzz and excitement were definitely building.

Friday night, Steve and I took Jack to run the Junior Bix, which for him is a 70 yard run. Jack was really, really excited about the race. He was excited to run his fastest, to see the other kids, to wear his race number, and on and on - the kid talked non-stop about how cool it was going to be.

Because Jack's mommy is a runner, unlike most of the other kids there, he was not wearing his 2008 Junior Bix t-shirt. We runners all know that not only would that be lame, but it's bad luck to wear a t-shirt for a race you have not yet finished. Instead, he had the cachet of wearing his 2007 Junior Bix shirt, making it clear that he is a sophisticated veteran runner. I won't go completely crazy and have him wear a technical fabric until he graduates to the half mile distance.

Jack opted to have Steve be his race support, so I waited on the sidelines to get pictures. There were more people crossing the finish line in tears in the two-year-old division than you'll probably see in any marathon. When it was finally Jack's turn, he tore off down the street, leaving Steve in his dust. He had a look of absolute joy on his face that made me incredibly proud. Jack spent the rest of the night showing off his finisher's medal. There's no doubt about it: my boy is a runner.

My other boy - that is, my husband - is less emphatically a runner. Steve likes running, but it's something that he doesn't have a lot of time for, thanks to his many other interests. Leading up to the race, he really didn't feel adequately prepared. In the two days prior, he must have changed his mind a dozen times about whether he'd go the full seven miles or just do the Quick Bix, a two mile version of the course. On Saturday morning, minutes before the start, he made his decision: he was going for it. As Steve explained later, "I'm not a devoted runner, but I love the Bix."

I am at the (obnoxious) point in my running where a seven mile run - even on a hilly course - is not a big deal to me. It is a big deal to Steve, and it makes me proud (a word I seem to be using a lot in this post) to know that even though it was going to be difficult, he wanted to go for it.

So, on race morning, I was feeling good. The streets were packed with runners. Steve was ready to make a bold move. And what could make me feel even better? Meeting up with Amy and Tom of Runners' Lounge, of course. The four of us chatted, enjoying that delicious pre-race anticipation.

When it was time to line up for the start, I opted to join Steve, even though he was in the start group behind the one I was slated for. He made the tough decision to run a really challenging race; the least I could so was start with him. And as a bonus, Amy started with us, too! (Tom left us in his dust to hang with the Kenyans and Ethiopians, I think.)

The gun went of and... nothing happened. It was probably a good 10 minutes before we actually made it to the starting line. But there were so many people there that I lost both Amy and Steve before the race even started.

My first mile, as I said, was slow. I was stuck in a giant wall of humanity making its way up the very steep Brady Street hill. I couldn't have run faster if I tried (and I did). By the time I hit the second mile, I'd woven around enough people that I was able to pretty much hit my stride.

Mile three brought with it some of the worst hills. But I was also able to engage in some excellent people watching as I saw other, faster runners headed back to the finish. It gave me quite a lift to see Tom, huge smile on his face, give me an encouraging wave. On the way back, I was happy to see Steve in around the same place where I saw Tom. He and I cheered for each other and gave each other a high five.

In miles four and five, the hills, of course, continued. I was still feeling pretty fresh, so I started picking off runners who were more tired. In the last two miles, I was able to really turn it on. I'd focus on a runner about 100 meters ahead of me and take her down. As in, "I'm coming for you, Pink Hat." I kicked it to the end for a strong finish.

And then, it was time for the post-race party! First things first: I grabbed a popsicle, root beer flavored, and among the finest creations on God's earth. Then, I headed to our designated meeting spot, the flag pole. The first to join me was Tom. I was happy to see that the smile I saw before hadn't left his face, and he vowed to never miss another Bix again. Yay, a new convert!

A few minutes later, a tired looking Amy joined us. She glared at me at first, but once she got talking about the crowds, the great running t-shirts she saw along the way, and the ample junk food, she perked right up. Steve joined us next, drooping at our feet and eating chips for energy, followed by fellow Lounger Dennis and his brother Devin.

Running the race was fun, but hanging out afterwards with friends was even better. We all took advantage of the post-race junk food buffet. I went to get a second popsicle and learned that they were all out of root beer, so I had to settle for grape. "It's a motivation to run faster next year," explained the volunteeer. "We had a new flavor this year, raspberry, but those went fast." I now have a fabulous mental image of all of the Kenyans and Ethiopians crowded around the truck scarfing down raspberry popsicles. And then there was this.

Amy: Do you know what they have here? Twinkies! When was the last time you had a Twinkie?
Tom: About ten minutes ago.

Amy and Tom promised to come back for more Bixes in the future, which made me very happy. And I told them before, and I'll say it again so the whole Internet can hear me: if you guys do a Runners' Lounge booth at the expo, I'll take the day off work to help.

Tough All Over

Runners are the kindest, most supportive, most helpful, sexiest people in the entire world. That is, with each other. When you are the one who's struggling, you aren't nearly as good to yourself.

There have been many times that I've struggled with a run. It's hot out, or I have a cold, or I have to be on the treadmill, or I'm a little sore, or I'm just not in the mood. Whatever the reason, I have just suffered through a workout.

That is when the nagging and self-doubt come in. As I gasp through my run, my thoughts turn dark.

What is wrong with me? I should be able to do this, no problem. I suck. If I can't finish this run, then how the hell am I supposed to run a marathon? There's no way I'm going to get that PR I want. Why am I even doing this to myself? I should just quit.

It's that negative self talk, rather than the cause of the bad run (the heat, my sniffles, whatever) that really make things tough for me. Hot weather will cool off, but bad feelings can linger.

My number one piece of advice for the topic of "The Tough Stuff" on this Take It and Run Thursday is simple:

Everybody is allowed to have a bad run.

When I have a bad run, any time that negative self talk starts to creep in, I remind myself of those words and change my thoughts to something else. I have also found that reading the blogs of my BRF's helps a lot - if all those runners listed on my blogroll and hanging out at Runners' Lounge, people whom I respect - can have a bad run, then so can I.

The Accidental Brick

On Saturday, I believe I attained all of the qualifications needed for the title of Total Bad-Ass. Never mind that some of them I did unintentionally.

I began with a 20 mile training run, which included some delicious hills. It was once again so hot and humid that I was able to literally wring sweat out of my running skirt (sexy). I found out later that, despite working hard to stay hydrated, I lost four pounds in the process. Yikes.

At mile 18, I was near my mom's house. I have been enlisting her as course aid in these training runs, and as usual, she had a bottle of water waiting for me. Yay, Mom! I had the genius idea that I would finish up my run in her neighborhood. Then, she'd give me some kind of delicious post-run fruit, a glass of cold, cold water, lots of adoration and compliments, and a ride home - by way of Starbucks, where I'd get one of their new protein shakes.

The only problem with this great idea was that I didn't actually tell anyone about it in advance. Which meant that there was nobody home when I went knocking on the door looking for adoration, compliments, snacks, etc. I was about three miles away from home and in no mood to do any more running - or walking - if I could avoid it.

So, I went into their garage, grabbed my step-dad Doug's bike and helmet, happy to see that his water bottle was full. I found a piece of Jack's sidewalk chalk and wrote a quick note:

I took your bike. Thanks.
--B

Mom and Doug came home and thought their bike had been stolen by someone very polite. Then they figured out that B stood not for Burglar, but rather for Betsy.

I survived the experience and figured I did not need to do any cross-training on Sunday.

Fuel for Thought

There was a time not so long ago when I pretended not to have any responsibility for what I ate. Unfortunately, I'm not talking about when I was pregnant (in that case, I maintain that a force greater than I insisted on my eating ham sandwiches, ice cream, and gummy worms). I'm talking about those months post-baby, in which I'd go to Starbucks three or four times a week, order a latte and a scone, and tell myself, "Well, that's not such a healthy choice, tee hee, but how bad can it be?"

The dual combination of Weight Watchers and gettng serious about my running forced me to acknowledge exactly how bad it could be. And, in the case of those scones, it was very bad indeed. If you're using their Points system (which I loved and highly recommend), you are allotted a certain number of Points a day, which are based on calorie, fat, and fiber counts in your food. And one of those scones represented over 90% of the points I was given for an entire day. They're good, but they're not that good.

My primary rule for what I do and don't eat is very simple:

It has to be worth it.

On one side of things, that rule points me to food that will make me strong and healthy for running. It draws me to our good friend the carbohydrate and causes me to snack on things like almonds and fresh fruit. It makes me choose lean sources of protein and encourages me to look at the labels on the food I buy to make sure that my bagels have a decent amount of fiber in them.

That rule also keeps me from suffering in the name of eating healthy. Fat free cream cheese can go to hell - that stuff sucks, and I'm not going to eat it. I'm not going to eat a salad made with iceberg lettuce because it's bland and flavorless. I am not going to eat rice cakes, which I don't like, when what I really want is chips. Because you know what? I would eat the rice cakes, but it sure would not make me stop thinking about the chips, so I'd wind up eating them anyway. Wouldn't it have been better to just buy a small bag of chips, feed the beast, and be done with it?

I scoff at the diet advice that tells you that if you want chocolate to just eat a "fun size candy bar." As far as I'm concerned, those little candy bars are just big enough to make you mad. If I eat those, what, three bites of Snickers, it does not really satisfy me. Instead, it makes me want three MORE bites. I'm better off not having any at all.

And when I do indulge in something less healthy, babies, I am going to do it right. If I want a chocolate chip cookie, I'm not going to eat a cardboard-flavored Chips Ahoy cookie; I'm going to bake one of my famous Job Interview Cookies. That's right - these cookies are so good that they once got me a job. It's worth the effort and it's definitely worth the calories.

If food is fuel that keeps me running, I'm using high-octane all the way.