I am officially a half marathoner!

Well, I did it! I am officially a half marathoner and I am pretty proud to be able to say that after starting running only three and a half months ago! I met my original goal of running a sub 1:45 half marathon with a 1:41 but wish I would have ran faster. But, as you all know, that’s the challenge of athletics and I can’t wait to run one again to have another shot at a faster time.  

A couple months ago I decided to run the Snohomish River Run outside of Everett, WA. It was a small race, well organized and flat and the timeline seemed to work for me. I didn’t want to run a huge race for fear that the sheer number of people and largeness of the event my crush my tiny little runner soul that’s still blooming. I was hopeful that the day would see sunny skies, or at least no rain. Training, as you might have read in my previous blog posts, went pretty well and was a really exciting experience for me. Leading up to the race, I would have bouts of nervousness or self-doubt but really didn’t get super excited or nervous the day of. This was actually a tad bit disappointing as I wanted to feel SOMETHING for the thing I had been working for. Swimming was this same way; race time was met with a sort of calm. I would think about a certain goal or time and feel butterflies or the swooshing and overwhelming feeling of doubt but otherwise felt rather ‘ordinary’ about the whole thing. Better than being a ball of nerves, I guess? I cut out alcohol and absurd amounts of sugar for two days before the race (I know what you are thinking – woah) and for the most part hydrated and attempted to lay low on the day before the race. Instead, I found myself scrubbing the bathroom and returning items at the mall out of pure boredom. A girl can only watch so many movies! The weather for race day was still calling for cloudy skies and a high of 52, which I was totally comfortable with. I prepped for my day and was early to bed for a 5 am wake up.

Wake up to a shrieking phone. Turn the damn thing off. Stumble to the shower and let the warm water wake me up. Make oatmeal, one scrambled egg, and some hot Nuun. Chug a water bottle. Pack up last minute essentials. Pile on three coats and a pair of winter pants. Leave house with tired boyfriend at 6 am. Drive for an hour. I curse that it is raining. Wonder how in the hell you will stay warm for an hour and half until the race starts. Reluctantly leave warm and dry car wondering what in the hell ever made you even think of signing up for something so miserable as you saunter over to the bus that will ferry you to the start.

Hiding from the rain, but not the cold.

Yep. Raining. And even though I was wearing THREE warm jackets, I felt so ill prepared. Just this morning the weather was still partly cloudy, I thought. What on earth did I do to deserve this? And poor Joel; I was misled in thinking it would be a warm morning doubled up with the fact that I thought there was a coffee shop nearby when in fact there was not. We wandered through the race area and found an umbrella to stand under to escape the rain. I total questioned my thought process in doing this; I was about to run 13 miles (something I haven’t ever done before), it was raining and cold (I hate being wet and cold), I didn’t feel like standing up let alone racing and everyone else was smart enough to stay at home or not sign up. Then, I get a text from Casey (our CFO at Nuun) that he had shown up and not so willingly admitted he was ready to run. He had wanted to run a half marathon, had hurt his foot the week before but signed up in hopes that Snohomish River Run would be his chance to get that goal crossed off his list. Now, I had a posse. It was Joel, Casey and me. I felt a little bit better that there was someone I would know out on course in the event that something went really wrong. I sat huddled under the tent clutching my hand warmers before going for a brief jog looking like a purple Michelin man in all of my jackets. I put on my race number, stretched a bit and kissed Joel goodbye. Now would be a great time to say how thankful I am for this guy; he planted the idea of being an athlete again into my head, supported the idea, has listened to me whine, congratulates me on pretty much every work out and picks me up if I am pissed off at how poorly I performed, if there is anything I say I need he is willing to help me get it, he woke up early on his one day of sleeping in for the week to drive me to a race and stand out in the cold rain for two hours to greet me at the finish line – in short, he’s an angel and without his support this would be a much different post.

So, Casey and I meandered our way up towards the front of the start line to around 8 minute pace. Luckily, I was starting warm. Having had Scleroderma and Reynauds for a couple years now I have learned a few tricks that seem to work for keeping symptoms at bay (for the most part); I wore a lot of layers, I warmed up in layers, I kept my head warm, I wore gloves and I kept foot warmers in my shoes directly on my feet for two hours until right before I started running. I felt good starting out! I ran with Casey for a little bit but wanted to start at an 8 to hold and then speed up a bit. After about ¾ a mile, I bid farewell and took off. I felt good. Focused on calm breathing and running tall and found a groove.  I also thought it was cool I could run in the middle of the road and even on the wrong side of the road – RULE BREAKER.

About mile 3, I came up on a heavy breather with headphones in (you know the kind – has no idea how much noise he’s making) and he sprints to keep up. This annoys me for two reasons: first off, let me just pass you and I promise I won’t tell anyone (if that’s what you are fearful of), and secondly you are throwing off my pace by attempting to sprint every ten seconds to keep up with me. So, I put in a good 20 seconds of effort and pulled away from my neon-heavy-breathing friend. Then, cows. We run by a pasture full of cows mooing their heads off. It was cute, I felt like they were cheering me on with their stink and noise. My tummy was a little unsettled so I was trying to calm it down and came up to a water station. I wasn’t planning on taking water until mile 5 or six with my gel, but I grabbed a cup in an attempt to ease my tummy. I squeezed the top of the cup together with minimal sloshing and held it up to my mouth to take a swig. Instead I poured most of it all over my face and self and choked on what did make it into my mouth. Well, that didn’t work too well, I thought to myself. Onward and upward. I found a guy to duck behind who was holding a good pace for me, and settled into a nice rhythm until just before the turn around. He slowed up a small incline, and I passed him to keep on with my pace. Sure enough, here comes my neon clad heavy breather friend. By this time, I was annoyed. He was pounding his feet and his breathing right behind me was unsettling. And then he made a surge past me where he stayed for about 10 seconds before falling back once again. He hung on to my back, let out a toot amidst all of his effort (he probably didn’t hear with his headphones), and then fell back off.

I readied my gel for consumption as I checked out my watch. I was happy with where I was. I wanted to maintain 7:30s until the last two miles (ideally) where I would then spend whatever I had left. I took my gel, washed it down with a better attempt at drinking some water and kept on running. I liked all the people cheering for others and did the same. It made me feel better and almost felt like I was cheering on myself. About a mile after the turn around point we were back in the open and a little exposed. It had been raining on and off but I had managed to stay pretty warm. Now there was a slight breeze, and the rain/mist was getting to me. I was starting to cool off and other than running faster I couldn’t manage to keep warm. I was shaking my arms and working on picking up my knees. I was really happy with my fitness though; my heart rate was still pretty low and my breathing was easy. I just couldn’t pick up my legs. I tried not to panic and kept working on running tall, breathing and picking up my knees. I start to feel my turnover slow as my stride seemed to shorten, and my pace started to fall off. I comforted myself in knowing I had so far done well, I would still be under my original goal and just told myself to maintain 8s. It started to rain more and I got colder; my shoes were drenched and my legs were cold to the touch with the rain and breeze. I was pretty disappointed with my body; I knew I could run faster but just couldn’t manage. My legs just wouldn’t go anymore.  I attempted 15 second intermittent efforts to try to find fire, but found it was resulting in more tightness in my legs. My calves were pulling on my shins and my right hamstring was tight. Finally, I started to recognize some of the landmarks out of the clouds and rain and knew I was close to the start line, which was going to be about ten miles. I hoped Joel would be standing there so I could see him and hear him cheer; I figured this would give me a little energy for the last 3 miles. I stopped looking at my watch and just paid attention to my legs and arms and breathing. Coming up, I saw a little kid all bundled up on the side of the road who saw me running. I didn’t have anyone around me, but he said ‘way to go runner! You are almost done!’ and I said ‘you want to finish for me?’ to which he just curled up and laughed. Damnit kid, I was serious. I saw my Joelybean standing up about 300 meters from me and saw when he noticed me. I heard him yell and cheer and saw his phone out taking video. Gosh, I hope I look semi decent so I can show it to other people, I thought. I have always thought I was a relatively ugly runner, and my ‘athlete’ face doesn’t help me much in that department.

Running towards Joel.

 

Running away from Joel, and passing a lady.

 

I ran away from Joel, but for good reasons, and rounded the corner. Secretly, I hoped I was almost done and my watch distance was off. Sure enough, I round a corner into a parking lot and see that the half course continues out on a paved path. I kept on and told myself to just try to pick up the legs a little bit. The path was rolling (barely) but the slight inclines killed me! It’s like I immediately stopped moving every time I had to run downhill or uphill. I tried to pay attention to the faces of the people running by me the other way who were on their way to the finish line; I was searching them for some kind of answer, some kind of secret as to how to make these last three miles clutch. I saw pained faces, I saw pumping arms and tense hands, shuffles and high knees. I started to think a little too much, but I was just trying to keep myself company. What I wouldn’t give for a glass of wine right now. Dang, I just started running and here I am, running a half marathon. How much longer would it take me to get down to a 1:33? Could I do this after a swim and a bike? If you’re curious, the answer was: Hell yes! When would I run another one? How can I plan the race out better? Is my nose running or is that rain? What workouts do all these fast kids do during the week? Do I look as unflattering as I imagine I do?

Eventually I reached the turnaround point where I jokingly begged the guy in his car making sure we all ran around the cone for a ride. He declined. And just when I was feeling bad about not being able to run faster and sprint to finish for the last 3 miles, neon clad heavy breather man with his heavy feet passes me. I tried to keep up, but let him go. I couldn’t keep on anyone and resolved to keep behind the other people who weren’t sprinting to get to the finish. I rounded a corner and could see the finish arch. Quick, look pretty. So I wiped my nose and ran on in past a cheering Joelybean. I finished with what I am sure is a terrible finish line face and attempted to walk on to the ladies handing out water and space blankets (well, that’s what they look like) and suddenly my legs wanted to give out. Ok, guys, I know you just ran 13.1 miles but let’s keep the party going. The announcer yelled out my name (cool!) and followed it with an ‘awesome!’ Yeah, announcer man, I am awesome. Eventually my legs moved on through the finish chute and Joel gave me a big hug and kiss and congratulated me on a solid run. I really wanted to sit down, so I did. Then I was like, wait, I can’t get up. Casey finished just behind me (we cheered for each other on the course every time we had a turnaround) and wandered around to find warmth and food before deciding to actually leave.

Flyin' by.

All done. Running makes me look skinnier, according to Joel.

DONE!

Modeling my blanket.

Comin' in hot.

Love this picture of my finish - note: time not accurate.

But not before I performed this little number: http://youtu.be/Rlf6nx-b5Zg

We waited a good 45 minutes for the bus shuttle to pick us up, and after a short 2.5 hour journey home I was finally able to take a hot shower and lay in my bed tucked under my warm covers!

 

Now that I am done and have been able to take a nap, I can reflect on my first running race. I ran a 1:41:43 with a sub 8 average pace , over three minutes faster than my original goal time! I am really happy with this, but even during the race saw areas I could definitely improve on. My overall strength as a runner can improve, which will only come with more miles. I definitely think my ability to pick up the pace towards the end could have been better (I thought I would be good at this) but who knows, that could have been due to some external factors as well. I could use to keep working on my fueling process and really hammer down what works. I think getting more miles under my belt will help my body adjust to the shock of the end of the race and will help my brain plan the whole thing out before beginning. I had a hard time stomaching thinking about the whole race because it seemed so big to my brain, like it was too much to handle. So I broke the race down into thirds, which seemed to work. I think my overall fitness level will continue to improve, and I want to continue to work on my endurance. I plan on putting my suit on a few times a week and hoping in the pool for some yardage as well as hoping back on the bike. I also plan on taking up some methods to help soothe my tight muscles and relax (trigger point and yoga) as well as doing some strengthening a few times a week. I do NOT like conventional weights and prefer more of a fast paced semi-cardio workout that targets individual muscle groups and works on balance at the same time. I do believe that as I continue to hone things down and focus even more energy and attention on my fitness, I will not only be able to break a 1:40, but will improve my stats in the water as well as on the bike.

 

But for now I will relax, stretch, eat whatever I fancy and drink some wine because:

I kicked ass in my first half marathon! 

 

Born a Swimmer. My story: Part I.

I know I have mentioned it a few times that I was (am?) a swimmer, and I am sure I will continually make references to it in the future so I thought I would give anyone and everyone a little background as to where I come from. I think its a pretty good story and is at least entertaining, even if you don't know me. I feel like my stacked shoulders are a dead giveaway to my swimming past, or maybe it’s my bad coordination. Or perhaps the fact that I have had four shoulder surgeries and will no doubt have more. Whatever it is, I thought I would provide people with the story of my swimming career. But no, I don’t want to start where things get interesting, because then you would have no idea about the ten years before that!

My mom was a swim coach in her younger years and swam herself for training. While I was busy becoming a human, I swear she swam so much that I picked up on the soothing feeling of the water. After my incredibly late entry into the world (sorry, Mom) she started coaching another season of boy’s swimming. I went to my first swim meet at two weeks old. My dad sat with me all meet in a quiet room, but I am sure that I was throwing out butterfly arms and breastroke kicks every once in a while. I was always around water, and my mom said I always loved being in/around it. I guess I went off the high dive at the age of three, something I don’t know if I could do now. I was a little fish.

Just calculating splits in my tiny little head.

 

I take that back, I was comfortable in the water... unless it was cold.

 

Thankfully, my parents had a wonderful swimming fashion sense for me as a babe.

 

Setting records for my age group.

Ever the little active human, my parents had me in all sports I was interested in. Track, gymnastics, soccer, cross country skiing, downhill skiing, swimming. To be honest, I didn’t excel at anything. I am sure my parents thought they had a dud athletic child on their hands. I saw myself in videos and I know I missed the coordination gene. Even now, I would bet good money against me catching a ball. I can't dribble a basketball and walk at the same time. See, my parents were stud athletes in their own right (and still are). My mom grew up in the 70’s and really challenged the gender equality line when it came to sports. She ran like a gazelle all the way to Cornell, where she was a member of the collegiate track team and ran some respective times. After her collegiate career ended, she moved out west and quickly found cycling, triathlons and soccer. She had joined a women’s soccer league with some of her friends and upon showing up to the first day of practice saw this guy with his shirt off rounding up the ladies. Enter my dad, an all-around athlete who sharpened his athletic skills with any one of his five brothers while growing up and played rugby in college. He had also taken up cycling as a mode of transportation after moving out west from Delaware and enjoyed hiking, climbing, triathlons and clearly women’s soccer. While their first encounter was my mother slide tackling my dad, their relationship made some drastic improvements and their first date was timing at a swim meet (seriously, go figure).  Much of their early years revolved around racing (crits, triathlons, meets, etc.) and traveling. Even after having me join the Wheeler gang, they continued to train with me in tow. So when they saw this gangly girl with a ratty pony tail out there running around, I am sure they wondered if I would be better off as a chess champion (challenging in its own right, no doubt).

My soccer picture. Don't hate me for being cute.

My mom got a little excited when she found that I both enjoyed running and seemed to do well at long distances. Anything much shorter than a half mile and I would trip over my own feet (again with the coordination). She worked to expose me to her former lifestyle while I participated in all the other sports I could find. Downhill skiing was too much work – they wanted me to BREAK going down hills, which wasn’t my style. I would rather just go straight down like an arrow and have my dad catch (tackle) me at the end. And let’s be honest about gymnastics, it was all about the foam pit and trampoline. Cross country skiing was fun, but the two hour commute to be with the team every weekend was a bit killer for my parents. Soccer was basically just a swarm of kids running around a ball kicking eachother’s shins and maybe once in a while, the ball. I think one of my first goals was me scoring against my own team. And then there was swimming. While I was a natural in the water and totally comfortable, I definitely lacked talent. I was easily distracted and could have cared less about laps. I was so small and I am pretty sure I was in the first heat of everything for the first 7 years of my swimming career.

I joined a local swim team after taking some swim lessons at the age of 5. Like every other child but maybe a little worse I gasped for air every chance I got, clung to the lane line in the deep end and was confused at starts from blocks. Swim meets were more about the amount of sugar I could consume and carefully timed naps with intermittent gameboy playing, and practice was a fun time to practice my bobs and squeal with my friends before sitting in the hot tub. Swim suits hung off of me and I was so tiny I hardly excelled at any stroke; I even struggled with floating (I am still a sinker). I am sure I had some good swims in there, but I never stuck out to any one as a champion and associated being disqualified with getting Dairy Queen ice cream on the way home. I think I eventually made A-Champs, which was our regional championship for Inland Empire Swimming (IES). I remember that those meets were SUCH a big deal when I was little - prelims AND finals with actual medals! Our team made a big deal to make kids excited for championship meets with a pump up week leading up to the meet. I still remember my first Regionals meet at King Aquatic Center (KCAC). My mom drove my bony little butt all the way over to Federal Way in the spring for me to race two events: the 50 back and 50 free (oddly enough, also my best events years later). I was normally one of a few kids from the Eastern side of the state, and we normally kept to ourselves with our parents in the stands. I just remember being completely overwhelmed by the pool. It was THREE pools, and was so deep everywhere. The facility was huge! Coming from a pool that was 3 ft deep, this was a drastic change. KCAC was SO COLD for me when I was so small (seriously, my knees were the biggest thing on my leg and people thought I didn’t get fed enough). My mom would go out for a jog and bring me back a hot cocoa after warm ups to, well, warm me up. I don’t think I made finals my first Regionals, but when I did make a finals it was like woah, I am in the big leagues. My mom used to laugh at me on the blocks. No, not in a mean way! I was just SO MUCH smaller than all the other girls in my age group and I was so dang skinny! I didn't have any special racing suits because they were too expensive and I just didn't 'mature' very quickly. But, I was still always so happy at meets. I liked to stand behind the blocks and try to socialize. And seeing as how I was normally one of two or three swimmers that my team had taken to the meet (or none) I was totally oblivious to what I was supposed to be doing. I just liked snacking and swimming and snoozing. Swimming and snacking and snoozing. I honestly don’t think I broke a record ever and probably only ever made qualifying times in the 50 free and 50 back because I was so small and skinny I could snake through the water.

One of my first meets at Federal Way. Nice foam lined goggles.

Basically what I am saying is that I wasn’t that great. Even on a tiny team in Eastern Washington (where swimming struggles as a sport), I wasn’t that great. Had I been anywhere else, I am sure a coach would have talked my parents out of letting me pursue swimming. While I really liked the water I just didn’t show much talent at all. As I rounded the middle school age, I had narrowed down my sports. I liked running, but there wasn’t a club program anywhere, so I only did track on my school team. I excelled, but it wasn't the kind of challenge I wanted. Plus I had the worst bone structure problems being the growing weed that I was with size ten feet, so I rarely practiced anyways. I still look back on these days with complete envy: I never practiced, didn't train, and ran faster miles than I could dream of now (5:32). I was really enjoying that, but liked swimming more. I also liked soccer, but didn’t want to sacrifice swimming and meets for far-away soccer tournaments. Also, I struggled with the all girl team aspect (funny, I still struggle with that same atmosphere). After all, I was the smallest girl on our soccer team and could often be found near the goalie just hanging out and kicking grass. I was kind of given an ultimatum; I had to pick one sport. I just couldn’t maintain all of them. So, I chose swimming.

And I immediately regretted that decision for a really long time.

 

My baby brother

I know swimming isn't really related to travel at all, but its still fun to talk about for me. Lately, I have missed swimming a lot and want to re-enter the swimming world, if only for a few masters swims. I raced a bit a few years ago off the couch and impressed myself with what I am still able to do. But I still have a lot of close ties to swimming, and while my racing career is long gone (like seriously, a decade) I get to continue to watch my brothers and many friends careers take off. So because I might post about swimming in the future, I figured I would lead in with why it means so much to me and my family.

 

If anyone knows me really well, they know what a role swimming has played in my life. I was born loving the water and went to my first swim meet at the ripe old age of two weeks. My mom had me in the pool before most babies were crawling, and I never stopped.

 

They put me in the most embarrassing swim suits though. Its amazing I kept with it.

 

My parents put me into swim lessons along with all the other activities you put kids into to try to wear them out before bed time. Soccer, gymnastics, track, cross country, 4-H (yeah, I grew up on a farm), you name it. I don't think my parents ever expected my brother or I to really become swimmers. Both my parents were amazing overall athletes, and my mom secretly hoped I would always be a runner. I loved the water, but I hated practice. And when I was young I was so DANG little that the talent just wasn't there. I never qualified for much of anything and looked like a twig in comparison to other swimmers my same age. 

 

Pipsqueak.

 



Eventually, I started to get more serious about swimming and started to qualify for meets. Believe it or not, I used to hate backstroke (which ironically became my baby, pride and joy).

 

And then, suddenly, everything changed. I started to grow a little bit, and I managed to qualify for so many meets. I started setting records and traveling all over, and even had internationally ranked times for my age group. I was a member of the Junior National team and started to really see where swimming could take me. I swam some amazing times (ALL of my best times were either sick or not tapered) and was only training an hour and a half five times a week. Things really started to come together and my swimming future started to lay itself out. I had my family at almost every meet cheering me on, which was my biggest support system. Being stuck in a tiny town and a program I had already outgrown with a terrible coach, I was so glad I had my family along for the ride. I qualified for Trials and was certain with proper training I could make the final heat. And then there was the fateful Saturday practice... Trials was my last swim meet at age 16.

 

But anyways, that's a totally different story. But it leads in to the meaning of my post. The whole time, my little brother Ian tagged along to all my swim meets. He started swimming because it was what he was around all the time and who doesn't want to follow in their older sister's footsteps? I always remember his cheers - very distinct little brother cheers - 'go, thither, go!' He had a problem with his 's' when he was little, and it just kind of hung around. I even remember at meets how he would try to get as many autographs as possible. He even snuggled up to Lenny Krayzelburg at US Open. Anyways, the kid was a champ. My swim meets were his swim meets. When I was at Trials, he was SO excited. Even when I went to college, he was always so happy to talk about the team and who I trained with. Gradually, he got a little faster. See, he was a 'late bloomer' like his sister in that we have really only gotten better with age. Had I continued swimming, I bet my best years would have been in my early 20's. He joined Tacoma Swim Club, found his calling in distance free and never really looked back.

 

Its been a rough road for him, but then again, that's life. He choose to swim at University of Hawaii, but it didn't quite work out. Finding himself a little lost and more anxious about swimming than in love with it, he swam at Trials last year (2012). I was so proud of him for making it. What big sister gets to cheer on her brother, just as he did for her 8 years before!? After the meet, he was trying to figure out his next step. He really loved open water and while he wanted to continue pursuing that, the real bread and butter was in pool swimming. I reached out to my old coach Mark Schubert from USC who I had stayed in touch with, and Mark was willing to train Ian without hesitation. And, they hit it off. Ian moved to Huntington Beach with the support of our parents and me and the last year has gone so well! I am so excited to continue to watch him swim and grow and can't wait for what this year has in store for him. I can't believe 10 years ago he was the tiny kid running around Long Beach looking for autographs while his sister swam. Ian, I think you've hit the jackpot. This is it, bud. Enjoy it because you've earned it. 

 

Way, way, WAY proud of my little brother. I am so happy to play a support role in his swimming career. Now, to actually race in the same meet or open water. This summer?