Half Marathon Training Recap Week 7: Shamrocks and Jogging Strollers

At the end of my week as a pirate, I had an 8 mile long run scheduled for Saturday.  I had made the decision awhile ago to move it to Sunday to align with the 2 mile Shamrock Shuffle in Manchester, NH that I was registered for.  Somewhere along the line, probably before I started my training plan, I thought it was a good idea to push my 35 pound toddler in her 22 pound jogging stroller (if you did the math right you came up with a total of 57 pounds) during it.  This would mean I would run 6 miles before the race and then 2 miles during it so that I got my 8 mile long run in that weekend.

6 treadmill miles pre-race!  

Brilliant, right?

It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be but it did require a fair bit of planning.  I had to make sure I got up early enough to get 6 miles in before we left and we had to get to the start line early because our 3 year old ran in the kids' Leprechaun Dash beforehand.  We did it and everything went off (nearly) without a hitch.  

And the Leprechaun Dash?  Yeah, that was hell.  It was a mess of 50-75 children under the age of 4 running 100 yards.  Doesn't sound terrible but then you throw in some barricades that kept you from getting to your kids after the race and now you're just doomed.  I won't lie, there was a brief period of time that Scarlett wasn't being watched and was for all intents and purposes "lost."  Luckily, she stayed with her classmate who also ran the race and who's parents were also searching for him so she was safe. Plus, the race organizers wouldn't let any unclaimied kids out of those same barricades that were keeping the frantic parents out.  Whew!

After the Dash we lined up at the way back of the pack that was designated for strollers and walkers.  There was a fair number of us lot of us.   I gave Scarlett a pep talk, really she had the easy part of just sitting there, and then we were off.  Well, after about 2 minutes of shuffling to the start line we were off.

This was the first race I've been in where I didn't wear my headphones.  I hate the thought of listening to myself breathe, but this time was different.  Since I didn't care about a PR (it was a 2 mile race and I was pushing a stroller) I was able to just take in all of the race atmosphere.  I overheard other runners/walkers supporting each other, parents encouraging their children to pace themselves, the cheerleaders cheering for the runners as they went by and even the drum corps that was stationed in the middle of the one and only hill to encourage runners to keep going.  It was great!  I even got to hear Scarlett quip, "Mommy, why you no running?" as I struggled to push nearly 60 extra pounds up said tough hill.  Once we made it back to Elm Street where the race started, we had the extra encouragement of the St. Patrick's Day parade spectators who were already lining the street.  Scarlett was so quiet that I knew she had to be soaking it all in.

At the start of the race, I told my husband, Matt, "I'll see you in 25 minutes!'  Even though I can run a 9 minute mile, I didn't know what I was capable of when pushing a toddler in a stroller.  Lo and behold, I surprised myself by finishing in 21:23!  Even after 6 miles and pushing all that extra weight, I was cutting in front of the regular runners just to keep up the pace that my legs wanted me to go.

Even though fitting in my long run and coordinating it with this little race was an extra headache, I really enjoyed the family atmosphere.  I've already told Scarlett that we're doing it next year, but she's got to run with me!  Maybe I'll even get Matt to join us too.  

Fat Kid Running

I've always been fat.

I've always struggled with my weight.

I wasn't lucky enough to be born skinny. My family's fat genes are prevalent and I've slowly learned to be OK with that.

It's a part of who I am but it does not define me.

As a child, I didn't start to get chunky until the first grade. My guess is that sitting at a desk at school all day coupled with being greeted at home by a lonely mom, I am an only child after all, with a bowl full of ice cream as an afterschool snack contributed to my childhood obesity.

My poor nutrition wasn't the only reason I was overweight. One of my favorite activities as a kid was watching TV. When we weren't watching one of my many kids shows, we were watching one of my mom's favorites.  It was our thing. It's what we did together. Some parents tossed around a ball with their kids, my mom watched tv with me. As I got older I used to pretend I was sick so we could stay home to watch the The Price is Right.  I  did this a lot since i struggled at school and I had a hard time fitting in and making friends. It didn't help that I was very self-concious of how much fatter I was than the other kids.

One of the worst things that I had to do at school at least once a year was run a mile. Nobody enjoyed doing it especially as the summer months approached and it was hazy, hot and humid every day, but for  a roly-poly elementary school student whose pants are always tight, it was even worse.

It should come as no surprise that I barely survived these yearly torture rituals. I have vivid memories of our gym teacher giving us 8 pennies and instructing us to run around a set of cones 8 times. Each time we reached the start we were to give her a penny until we had none. I always started out just alright, but it didn't take long for me to be huffing, puffing and sweating like a pig in the boiling sun. I was miserable.  I hated those damn pennies, but they weren't the problem.

I'm pretty sure there were several years that I technically didn't finish the mile because I gave up quickly and resorted to walking.   Class often ended before I could walk my way to the finish.

Needless to say, it was upsetting to me to always be last and to be known as the fat one when all of my classmates could finish the mile run before class was up.

The year I thought it would be funny to cross my eyes in every picture on my birthday.

I wish I could say that early on I was so upset by this that I confided to my parents and they started instilling some healthy changes, but that's not how the story goes. Both of them have battled with obesity for most of their lives so they were pretty unclear on how to go about it with their child. I know it upset my Dad who was athletic as a kid having played football and basketball in high school.  He tried to make me be more active but it just made me feel worse about myself. It was like admitting something was wrong with me. My mom, whose health suffers to this day thanks to her unhealthy and sedentary lifestyle, saw no problem with it. I was fat, unhealthy and lazy from an early age and that's just the way it was.

Years later, when we had to repeat this mile challenge in high school I got it done in 18 minutes.  I was dead last.  Again. That number has stuck with me for some reason nearly 20 years after I graduated.  Was I embarrassed?   Absolutely. Did I change anything about it. Nah, not really.

Flash forward nearly 20 years and my fastest mile to date after 7 months of training, as a 38 year old I might add, is 9 minutes - half of the time it took me when I was much younger and my body could recover a lot faster.

You have no idea what this means to the fat kid that is still inside of me.

5th grade.  UGH.  

Just the other day I went out on my first group run with my running group. It was an easy 3 mile out and back course. Everyone there was running at different paces. Some runners ran/walked. I was quietly reminded of those awful mile runs in school and the shame and guilt I felt about my weight and lack of physical fitness at such a young age. I was always in the back of the pack, struggling, sweating, wishing someone would throw me a SunnyD and a Devil Dog, you know for recovery purposes. 

This run was different. I didn't know anyone, really, and they didn't care what my abilities were. We were all there to support each other. The plan was to run and then celebrate with drinks after.

It started easy enough. I popped in my headphones and started up my Half Marathon playlist. I had barely run all week so my legs were well rested and they just wanted to run. 

I managed to get ahead of the pack early on and I just took off. I hadn't wanted to run all week. I was hoping this run would give me my mojo back.

Me on my 18th birthday.  

Not only were my legs strong but my lungs were powerful. With every step I became faster. Every once in awhile I would look back to see where everybody was and they were far behind.  In fact, only 3 women were in front of me out of their 30 plus women that attended. They ended up being too fast to catch but that wasn't the point. I was running as fast as my legs could take me.

I was running fast.

At the 1.5 mile mark we were to turn around and run back to where we started.  When I did, I ran by the other women in the group.

And guess what?  They smiled at me. They laughed. They cheered me on. I think even one of them called me "speedy."  Me, the fat, slow and lazy kid being called speedy?  Wow. What an incredible feeling to be thought of like that by strangers.

But that wasn't even the best part. I was HAPPY just to run. Me, happy to run and not completely miserable wishing that the torture would end so I could go back inside and sit down. I enjoyed myself and what my body could do. There was no shame or embarrassment about what my body couldn't do. I was proud and in awe of all I had acomplished and all that I was capable of doing. I wasn't holding myself back anymore because I was the fat kid. I was running as fast as my body would take me that day. It was glorious.

Even though I was never able to catch up to the 3 women in front of the pack, I was the first person to arrive back to our meeting point after them. I enjoyed giving kudos to them and to the women who followed me.  

I've put in a lot of hard work during the last 2 months of my half marathon training and even though this wasn't a race, I was incredibly satisfied to be ahead for once.

Guess what?   That fat kid inside of me is a runner now.


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Why I Won't Cuddle My Daughter Anymore

For this week, I naively rearranged my half marathon training schedule so I could capitalize on the predicted sunny and warm spring weather. That meant Monday and Tuesday were rest days with a few rounds of strength training.  I enjoyed the downtime and was even able to perform the Food Intolerance Test my nutritionist gave me. Life was good and everything was going smoothly.

Then I had to put my 3 year old daughter to bed.

Over the last several weeks I've grown to dread our once private and pleasant Mommy - daughter cuddle fests in her big girl bed. She would tell me all about who hit and pushed who in her Nursery Class and I would listen with rapt attention. Then something changed. She became wild at bedtime and our cuddles turned into kicks and headbutts. It was painful. I barely endured it. I secretly didn't want to cuddle with her anymore.

Ahoy, mateys!  It's a pirate's life for me.

This particular Tuesday night was no different from the rest. She went bonkers at bedtime.  All of my questions to find out the events of her day were answered with silly noises and nonsense. I finally sang her the bedtime song she's had since she was a baby: "Soft Kitty" from the TV show The Big Bang Theory. At the end I leaned in for one last kiss and it was met with the most horrific pain I've ever felt. It took everything I had to not scream and fling obscenities at her. I managed an, "I'm all done with this!" before I stormed out the door and slammed it behind me.

I ran into the bathroom to quickly wash my face in the hopes of alleviating some pain. It almost helped.

I jumped into the shower and tried to forgot that my 3 year old just punched me in the eye.

Only, she didn't punch me in the eye, but I didn't know that yet. Even when I woke up at 3 am with a swollen eye that dripped tears like a leaky faucet I didn't think anything different, just, "Wow, she got me good!"  At 5:30 am when my alarm went off and I quite literally stumbled out of bed and couldn't open my right eye because of the blinding pain, I started to get concerned.

I told myself and my husband that I just needed some ice and ibuprofen and I'd be fine. Don't worry about me. I've got this. I even straightened my hair with a burning hot flat iron with my eyes closed thinking I'd still be going to work.

I'm in total control. I've got this.

2 hours of icing my eye and 800 MG of ibuprofen later and I was ready to relinquish control and give up. Somewhere around the 1 hour mark I had called work to let them know I'd be a little late, "Oh no big deal, my daughter punched me in the eye and I'm blind now."

 It was now time to wave the white flag and call the doctor's office.

After explaining my situation and admitting that just maybe, maybe my daughter didn't just punch me in the eye but she actually scratched it, the nurse told me that I had better come in to get checked out and not to drive.

1 mile walk from hell, but we met a cat.

Luckily, my father lives only a half hour away so he was able to drive me to my appointment which was a good thing because by that point the only way I felt good was to lay down with my eyes closed. The dangerous part about that was my 3 year old, who was home with me, knows how to open doors. She kept begging me to go out and play. As tempted as I was to kick her out of

the house for beating me up, I silently thanked our landlord for installing a deadbolt and crawled back to the couch.

The doctor confirmed my suspicion - I had a scratched cornea.   When putting Scarlett to bed she hadn't punched me, she scratched the outer protective layer of my eye and left a good sized abrasion.

The remedy was an eye patch, eye drops and a follow-up appointment in 2 days. Oh, and no work or driving for the rest of the day. Sounds great, right?

Needless to say, the rest of my day was spent watching kids' TV shows and "relaxing" while watching my 3 year old with my eyes closed. Because I'm stubborn as hell, we managed to take a 1 mile walk around the neighborhood which I almost instantly regretted.

 And I thought I was going to run 7 miles that day!

"Mommy, I'm a pirate!"  Glad you think it's funny, kid.

A very sweaty 5K 3 days "after."

In the end, (a lot of) wine was consumed, a candy bar was eaten and I resumed normal activities the next day. By Friday, I was running again and that same day I found out the abrasion was completely gone. Who knew the eyes heal so quickly? 

I know you are all wondering if I still snuggle with Scarlett at bedtime anymore and the answer is I do not. She knows she poked mommy in the eye and it made her a pirate for the day, which was not as fun as it may seem.  She's not happy I won't cuddle in her big girl bed anymore but she knows that when she learns to settle down we will try again. Until then I simply sing her our bedtime song, give her a kiss while I hold her hands down to her sides and then quickly flee the room because this Momma is no dummy.

Running On Empty

Tonight, I had a mini-meltdown a few minutes after walking through the door.

It's a beautiful, sunny, nearly 50 degree Spring afternoon and my training plan calls for an easy 5 miles. This is a no brainer.  I should go home, do what I need to do as quickly as I can so I can lace up my running shoes and just run. Duh.

But like an unruly toddler I can't. I won't. You can't make me. I'm tiiiiiirrrrreeed. 

Why?  Our little family had another non-stop busy weekend. One of those weekends where I had every detail planned down to the minute and if anything veered off course it would have derailed us and of course, led to complete disaster. OK, maybe I'm being dramatic but you get the point.

Toss in the fact that I work full time, have a three(nager) and I've been dealing with some medical issues lately (I was at the doctor's office 4 times in a week) plus I can't seem to sleep longer than 5 hours a night (hello, adrenal fatigue) I'm as one friend called me "a hot mess." 

5 easy miles ain't easy when you are this tired and just over it.

Am I going to beat myself up over this?  The perfectionist in me will a little. Sure. Did I give myself a pep talk into trying to go for a run?  Oh yeah, didn't work. Don't care either. I'm that beat.

I'm running on empty.  My body and my mind need a break and a rest.

I started this journey to be a better version of myself, but to be a better wife and mother too. I can't do that running on empty. If I had gone on that run tonight I guarantee I would have felt better at some point but I would have felt lousy to come home to see my overtired daughter who had a rough day at school sobbing for her mommy while my equally overtired husband, who works his butt off for this family every day, trying to console her.  That kind of situation isn't good for anyone.  By not running tonight I'm still putting myself first.

Tonight, I'm hanging up my running shoes and snuggling with my family because right now that's what I need more and I'm alright with that.

I'll run tomorrow. I'm OK with that even if I am changing The Plan. I might even run better.

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