Welcome Google searchers and Team in Training people!

Hi! I'm assuming you found this blog because you did a Google search for "Team in Training blog" or something similar. Welcome! I'm Amanda, and I thought you'd appreciate some info about me and this blog.

I started running in March 2009 and ran my first race, a 5K, in October 2009. In November 2009, my mother Pemle was diagnosed with lymphoma for the fourth time. She was first diagnosed in 1995 and has been periodically beating back the monster ever since. Wanting to take the proverbial lemons and make lemonade, I signed up with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training in early December 2009 to run a half-marathon. The farthest I'd ever run before signing up was 4.5 miles.

In 189 posts, this blog chronicles my adventures in running and fundraising from December 2009 through June 2010. I raised $4,060 for leukemia and lymphoma research and ran my half-marathon in 2:19:21, so I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams on both counts. If you're thinking about signing up with Team in Training and wondering what the experience is like, this blog is for you.

Here are a few of my favorite posts:

• "Runners are masochists. Discuss." An early group run in December 2009 in hair-raisingly bad weather.
• "Dog bowl forecasting." Who needs the Weather Channel when you can learn what you need to know about the weather from the dogs' water bowl on the patio?
• "Click." Running at an indoor track with a little help from a lap counter and "The Eye of the Tiger."
• "Running on empty." A girl running on an empty stomach, ready to kill for a bag of M&Ms.
• "Promises worth keeping." A rumination on the four promises that form the backbone of Team in Training.
• "Ten! Zehn! Dyesat! Diez! Dix! Dziesiec! Dieci!" My first-ever ten-mile run.
• "The thinnest of wedges between happy and sad news." Running, good news about my mom, sad news about my common-law father-in-law...getting toward the end of training at this point.
• My extremely detailed half-marathon race day report, in two parts with lots of pictures: Part 1 and Part 2.

Enjoy! Have fun reading, and if you do decide to take the plunge and run or walk an event with Team in Training, good luck and enjoy the ride! It's a fantastic experience.

I guess this is it...

I know it's time to wrap this blog up and move on, but to tell you the truth, I've been dreading this final post to my dear loyal readers who have been following my exploits since December.

First, the news. I am happy to report that my physical therapist rocks. His name is Chris, and one of the first things I saw at the rehab facility was a little bulletin board with a display saying "Go Chris! Boston Marathon time = 3 hours 31 minutes. Great job!"

Ever the consummate conversationalist, my eyes went pie-pan wide as I blurted out, "Holy crap! You ran Boston?!"

He just nodded, amused at my awestruck reaction, and asked me how I'd injured myself. When I started to explain dog agility, he actually cut me off: "Oh, yeah, I've seen it on TV. There's a lot of sudden acceleration and deceleration, a lot of sharp turns--and you use totally different muscle fibers for dog agility than you do for distance running. I'll show you what you need to do so you can go back to agility without hurting yourself again." Oh, and he owns a mutt named Keeley who loves to play frisbee. He takes her to the dog park all the time.

For a second, I actually thought I heard harp music. This guy is clearly the perfect PT for me.

We spent the next 45 minutes doing various exercises for the hip flexors and adductors, and then I got to relax with two big ice packs on my thighs while he got me copies of all the exercises with pictures to take home and do once a day on my own. My next appointment is tomorrow morning.

The only bummer was when I asked him if I could run agility this weekend. He just laughed at me. Next weekend is also out. That's three shows in a row I am missing because of this stupid injury.

This morning dawned migraine-ily. As in, I woke up with a migraine and wanted to beat my head against the wall. Running has decreased the intensity and frequency of my migraines by 80%. It has been a night-and-day change for me and a very welcome one. A few years ago I tried to count up all the days I had lost to migraines and came up with something like eight months!! That is a very long time. Of course, I have only run three times for a grand total of seven miles since the race, so I guess the good effects are starting to wear off. Another reason I desperately need to get back on the roads. I had to cancel an important meeting today and probably won't get an opportunity to reschedule it.

My mom had a throat culture taken to try and discern a possible cause for her window-rattling cough, and it came back as "moderate growth of streptococcus pneumoniae." (Does that mean strep or pneumonia or both?) At any rate, it is susceptible to amoxicillin, and that is exactly what the doctor prescribed for her, so it looks like they're on the right track.

And that's all I've got, which means it's time to wrap things up and say good-bye. I should be back to running in 3-4 weeks, and Chris said I could probably go to an agility show the weekend of July 10th, so although my misery is intense, it promises to be fairly short-lived. There ought to be a happy ending for me, at least.

My mom will have to persevere a little longer to kick cancer to the curb yet again. I would guess she has another one or two rounds of chemo ahead of her after she gets this cough taken care of. However, I have no doubt that she will do it. I just hope she gets a nice long remission out of this. Ten years would be good.

Thank you again to all of you who donated to the cause. I raised a total of $4,060 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society from something like 75 different check/credit card donors, along with many more who made cash donations and donated raffle prizes at my agility fundraiser. The total number of people who contributed is certainly over 100. Thanks to each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart. This has been an amazing experience in many ways, but I am still flabbergasted at just how many people reached out to help, and how many have lost a family member or friend to a blood cancer.

Thank you to everyone who has read along with the blog. It has always been a rather exclusive audience--I think the most hits I ever got in one day was 30--but I really appreciated every comment that you left, every time you saw me and said, "Oh, I really enjoy your blog!" and especially a few of you who said that I inspired you to start or revive an exercise program. Also, whoever was reading me all the way from the Philippines, thank you! I am also not sure who the UK reader was, but thank you as well! (I am getting this information from the little ClusterMaps app over on the right-hand side of the blog.) The German audience is a mix of family and friends, and I probably know the people responsible for 80% of the US hits, but there are definitely a few people I don't actually know personally, so yay for people who don't know me liking my writing enough to follow along! Thank you!

If I start another blog, I will certainly come back and post a link here so you can follow along if you like. And I will post something in a few days meant to help any new readers figure out what this blog is about, maybe with links to a few of my favorite entries. I will leave this blog up for a few years to help future Team in Training folks and other newbie runners who might be wondering what it's like to train for a half-marathon.

Until we meet again, run happy and injury-free, and remember that ultimately, the only reason to run today is so you can run again tomorrow.

Amanda over and out.

"BEHIND." "BEHIND."

I had to get up an hour early this morning to make sure I could walk the dogs, eat, and get cleaned up for my 8:25 appointment with the general orthopedic guy, the one who would surely tell me exactly what to do about my stupid bum leg.

Standing at the kitchen counter at 6:10 drinking and wolfing down a snack almost made me feel like I was going out for a run. (Sob.)

At the last second, I decided to grab my new Garmin and try it out on the dog walk. I managed to attach the new, smaller wristband yesterday, charge it up, and enter the kazillion little pieces of data it wants from new users (gender, weight, height, age, training level, blah blah blah), and I even went outside and watched it pick up satellites fairly readily. The only part of it that's still incomplete is the heart rate monitor. The chest strap that comes with it is a little too long for tiny little me. I had to order a special smaller strap that hasn't come yet.

I got the dogs outside, waited for it to pick up some satellites (not long, maybe a minute or so), and off we went!

"BEHIND," the display immediately said. "BEHIND." How rude! Cheeky, even!

Oh, right. The watch has a feature called "Virtual Partner." If you're the hypercompetitive sort, you can give this virtual partner a pace, and then the screen shows two little stick figures running. One is you, and one is the virtual partner whose butt you must kick. The display shows the two of you and notes who's ahead. Since I set the Virtual Partner for a slow running pace and I was walking dogs, of course I was going to be "BEHIND."

I quickly ditched that screen in favor of one that shows your time, your mileage, and your pace over the current mile. Apparently I walk an 18-19 minute mile with the dogs--when they're moving, that is.

The watch also has a feature called "Auto Pause." If you activate it, the watch will stop counting time whenever you stop moving or whenever your pace drops below a certain level. I had set mine to "Pause when stopped." Walking dogs means you are constantly stopping so that one or the other of them can sniff something, pee on something, sniff something very intently before peeing on it, OR pee on something before giving it a good sniff. You get the idea. It seems like I could never walk more than 15 seconds without one or both of them deciding they just had to sniff that tree or look up at the phone lines for squirrels. And without fail, the watch would give a cheery little "DEE-dee" and show "Timer paused." Once we started again, it often took 5 steps or so before it would sing out "DO-dee" and show "Timer resumed." We repeated this sequence ad nauseam for close to an hour:

• Walk a little.
  
• Dogs stop to sniff and/or pee and/or stare balefully at squirrels.
  
• "DEE-dee!"
  
• Start walking again.
  
• Wait for it...wait for it..."DO-dee!"
• Dogs find something else to sniff. Cycle repeats.
  

I was about ready to smash the watch with a sledgehammer after the umpteenth chirp. But it survived the walk and showed we'd walked 2.8 miles in about 50 minutes.

Now...the orthopedist. I won't name names to protect the moronic, but this guy was a waste of the planet's oxygen. Totally unhelpful, totally uninterested in expressing any kind of medical opinion, and the opposite of a fount of information. My socks have stronger opinions than this guy did. For example:

Me: "So, what would you recommend as far as resuming normal activity?"
Him: "Well, you want to slowly build things up and just do whatever doesn't bother you too much."
Me: "I have a Pilates class Wednesday nights. Would it be a bad idea for me to go to that tomorrow?"
Him: "Well, you can go and just do whatever's comfortable for you..."

Seriously. I could have gotten better advice from a Magic 8-Ball.

But one good thing came out of my encounter with the Medical Bowl of Oatmeal: a PT referral. I think a physical therapist is going to be able to help me figure out how to strengthen my adductors and hip flexors so this does NOT happen to me again. That's what I really want to take away from this rotten experience. I called a PT one of my Team in Training buddies recommended and their office was great. Really well organized, friendly, and they gave me an appointment with the guy I wanted for tomorrow morning. It doesn't get much better than that!

I also promised you a report on my mom's PET scan. Well, the good news is that the cancer is metabolically less active, which means it is getting weaker. But it is not gone. We can't throw confetti and yell "REMISSION!!" quite yet. The bad news is that chemo is on hold again while the doctors try and fix the persistent window-rattling cough my mom has been suffering with for several weeks now. They're not really sure what's causing it. Shocking, I know! Maybe I should send them a Magic 8-Ball of their own...

The week ahead

My race was three weeks ago today. It seems like another life. I haven't run since last Sunday, and I look wistfully, longingly at the runners I see while I am out walking the dogs. (I guess I should be happy that I can at least walk my dogs now.)

I'm a little surprised that I kept going for this long, but I think it really is time to wind up this blog. I will add the last few posts this week. On Tuesday, I'll report on two things: my visit to the specialist, and, far more important, the results of my mom's PET scan. I hope to be able to tell you that she is in remission and has beaten lymphoma once again. That would be a wonderful note to end things on.

On Thursday, I will post one final look at the season and bid farewell to all of you, my faithful, loyal readers (all four of you!), and sometime over the weekend, I will put up a post meant for new people who might find this blog in the future as they Google "Team in Training blog," trying to puzzle out what the experience might be like. I know I certainly looked for TNT blogs in the weeks before I signed up. To my disappointment, I didn't find a whole lot. This blog will tell them all they ever wanted to know and THEN some.

Having a good sulk

Another day, another miniseries watched in its entirety, yawn. I think my butt has worn its own distinct groove in the couch. I can walk reasonably well now--but I still can't run. At all. Not even for the forty-five seconds it would take to finish an agility course.

I could be at a cheap hotel lying on some flimsy bed with scratchy sheets and a butt-ugly bedspread with my dogs right now, maybe watching Animal Planet with them piled on the bed next to me, and looking forward to a wonderful weekend of agility. Simply heaven.

Except I'm not, because I had to withdraw from the show.

I did go ahead and get an appointment with a specialist, although the guy I wanted to see, a guy who came highly recommended and specializes in Sports Medicine, was booked up through June 21. So I accepted some other guy so I could get in on Tuesday, but now I've found out that his specialty is General Orthopedic Surgery. Super!! He will lose all interest once he decides it's not something you typically operate on. I doubt the appointment will yield anything useful.

I suppose I should just stop now under the proviso "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

I'm going to bed.

Serious endorphin withdrawal

Well, here we are at Day 3 of groin pull recovery, and thankfully, I am starting to feel better. Maybe I will even manage to make it to agility this weekend. However, I am reminded that nothing boosts your mood like a nice run or going to Pilates class. I have done nothing more physically demanding since Sunday night than walk to the freezer and back to retrieve or return ice packs. As a result, I have been by turns insufferably cranky and hopelessly morose. Not being able to run or work out stinks.

I have watched a stupefying number of DVDs (three 5-hour miniseries and a long movie) and read three books I got from the library yesterday about sports injuries. Everything I've found says I just have to stick with the ice and ibuprofen until I feel better. Wheeee.

The doctor's office has not called back. Whatever. If I can't get in before Friday, there's really no point in going.

Oh, and my new Garmin Forerunner came yesterday, just to add that extra little poke in the eye. I wonder when I will finally get to use it?

Oh, the irony...

I think sometimes fate just likes to goose you. The universe has a surprisingly black sense of humor.

I have been thinking a lot this week about what will come next for me and my running. I played with the idea of doing another half-marathon this fall and then ramping up to a full marathon in the spring. (I would like to do a full marathon someday, just so I can say I've done it.) However, I quickly decided I didn't want to plunge headlong into another heavy training schedule that was going to eat all my time and take away from my OTHER hobby, one I have not been able to do in competition since Valentine's Day (yes, that's Tika the cyborg running dog in the video):


Since I have had to put dog agility on the back burner for so long, I registered for shows for three back-to-back-to-back weekends starting this Saturday. With that taken care of, I turned my attention back to mapping out my next training cycle. In the interest of cutting my mileage (and training time), I decided to focus on two fall 10K races. The first is actually not a 10K per se, but a marathon relay where one of the legs happens to be 6.3 miles, almost identical to a 10K (6.2, but what's an extra tenth among friends?). That's at the end of September. The second race is two weeks after the first one and is a bonafide 10K on the Towpath, the trail where I spent many, many weekends logging miles for my half. It's flat, it's a non-paved running surface, and there should be some fall color to admire. It could be a truly wonderful race if we get nice weather.

From there, all of the other pieces fell into place. I downloaded a Smart Coach 10K training schedule from Runner's World (it was free, but I think that's because I'm a subscriber). It's a 16-week schedule that begins a week from today and ends the day of the marathon relay. It looked very doable and said I would be able to race the 10K distance in 59:20. The thought of a sub-one-hour 10K thrills me to pieces (shut up, I know I'm a slow runner), so I said "SOLD!" and set it up. My long runs will be on Fridays so they don't mess with my agility weekends. I also signed up for another Pilates class beginning on Wednesday and for private Pilates lessons with Kim and her Reformer on Mondays. Cross-training: check!

The only remaining problem was that my shiny new SmartCoach schedule specified paces for each and every run. Not just "conversational pace" or whatever, but exact minute-and-second paces. I find the easy run paces very slow indeed, but if you're going to follow a plan, you shouldn't do a half-baked job of it. Ergo, I needed a tool that would let me see my pace on an ongoing basis.


Enter the Garmin Forerunner 405CX. Despite screams heard round the Internet about the overly sensitive touch bezel, it has an amazing array of useful features and also includes a heart rate monitor. REI had it marked way, way down this weekend with free shipping thrown in AND there's a $50 rebate expiring today AND I had a little REI dividend cash to sweeten the deal even more, all of which finally pushed me over the edge. I placed my order on Friday.

Remember that. I placed my order on Friday.

Yesterday morning, I ran with Tika again, covering 2.27 miles in 26:29 for another 11:40 pace. I was careful to stretch thoroughly afterward. That was only my third run since race day. I am not in any mood to rush my recovery. And I'm enjoying a bit of semi-laziness before the next training cycle begins.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to agility class, carpooling as usual with my friend Steve and his dog. It was a hot day, so we spent as much time as possible in the shade.

About two-thirds of the way through class, Tika was on a dogwalk (a straight obstacle about 27 feet long) and I was running next to the dogwalk in a nice straight line, when...

Twang! I could feel something slip/twinge on the inside of my left leg, at the very top near the hip--really the same place as my last muscle pull, except on THE OTHER LEG.

This pull also seemed quite a bit more severe than the last one--I had to get Steve to drive my car home, as my left leg was not up to depressing and releasing the clutch (it's a stick). By the time I got home I could barely get out of the car, and any movement involving muscles in that area hurt like holy hell.

After 24 hours of ice and ibuprofen, it still hurts A LOT. I am debating going to a sports medicine clinic. I looked through an anatomy book trying to figure out which muscle(s) it could be, but there are an awful lot to choose from in that area and I really have no idea. One thing is clear: the stretches I am currently doing are not even touching whichever muscle(s) this is.

So all of my fancy plans--the Pilates classes, the dog shows, the paced-to-the-second training runs--are currently in limbo. All because I had the audacity to run in a straight line at agility class. (Which is also how I garnered my last muscle pull.)

I really want to be a runner AND a dog agility competitor. I didn't think they were two mutually exclusive things!!

Amanda gets all thinky

Now that it has been almost two weeks since the race (I am no longer sore and even managed to run some pain-free agility yesterday!), I feel like I have finally had some time for everything to sink in. I went through over five months of training, ran in single-digit temperatures, sent out about 100 fundraising letters and e-mails, organized my own event in February, endured several minor injuries, ran two training races, learned quite a bit about Pilates and its oddly-named exercises and equipment, and ultimately succeeded spectacularly on both the racing and fundraising fronts.

So what did I learn from all this?

First and foremost, although you can't do EVERYTHING, if it is important enough to you, you can do (pretty much) ANYTHING. I think a lot of us suffer from overcommitment syndrome: Activity A sounds good, so we do that, and then someone wants us to get involved in Activity B, so we try that, and then Activities C, D, and E just kind of sneak their way in...sound familiar? And we're rushing from one thing to the next and not really giving any of them our full attention or concentration. But if something comes along that really matters, maybe you should give up Activities C, D, and E for a while and really focus on Activity A. You might surprise yourself with what you can do if you make one thing your absolute priority.

Second, if you push yourself to do something great, you may inspire others to be great too. People do actually watch what you're doing, and if you keep plugging away at something even when it would be much easier to make excuses and give up, you may inspire others to embark on great adventures of their own. Never discount the ripple effect. Needless to say, I did NOT run a half-marathon so I could lecture other people about fitness, but two people started exercise programs because they read the blog and/or my Facebook updates about running and decided they wanted to try it too. And my mom, having been fitted with nice running shoes at the expo, would like to work up to walking a 5K with me. Is that not the coolest thing ever?? I can't wait for the day I can walk side by side with her and finish a 5K together.

Third, it may be a hoary old cliché, but it's still true: No man is an island. Anything truly grand requires other people to support you and help you, and even in this digital age, you're a fool if you think you're self-sufficient. It just ain't so. Humans are social animals, and it is important to be connected to others, not to mention essential for your mental health and sanity. And if you ask for help nicely and with good intentions, people will fall all over themselves to give it to you. I got a lot of help from a lot of people to make it through my training and fundraising, and it still flattens me just thinking about it: all the people who made donations on my site, who sent checks in the mail, who signed up for my agility fun run, who sent encouraging messages on Facebook, and of course, my Team in Training teammates and coaches who ran with me and taste-tested gels with me and talked gear with me...there are hundreds of people who had a hand in this, and none of them had a gun to their head (as far as I know, anyway!). I quit sending Christmas cards a long time ago because I thought I should hand-write a letter for each person, but you know what? I love reading other people's Christmas letters. I'm not offended that they didn't hand-write a letter just for me. (Seriously, what kind of stupid perfectionistic thinking is that?) So this year, I am going to take a small step to keeping those connections alive and send out a Christmas letter of my own. Fair warning: expect several inches of column space to be devoted to my Team in Training experience. :-)

Fourth, there is a genuine, bone-deep, visceral pleasure in running a long distance under your own power--in looking down at your legs pumping steadily away at Mile 10 and thinking, "I came all this way with my heart and my lungs and my legs! This distance that I would normally drive in a car--I ran here!!" Especially if you were not terribly athletic as a child (I played rec-league soccer for a while but abandoned it once I hit high school), it is an incredibly empowering and amazing feeling to make your body, this miraculous machine, show you what it can do. You get so much pride and satisfaction from a good run. There are many people who cannot run because of injury, illness, or congenital issues, so it is a blessing and a privilege to be able to lace up your trainers and feel the wind in your hair.

And finally, we've all heard it a thousand times from our parents, teachers, bosses, whoever: "If you want to accomplish something big, you have to break it down into small, manageable steps and have a schedule. Then, you just focus on each day of the schedule and take it one day at a time." Seriously, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that, I could quit my day job and write fantasy novels or something. We all know it's true, but how often do we actually manage to follow that advice?

Like no other experience in my life, going from "I've never run more than 4.5 miles before!" to "I just ran a 2:19 half-marathon!" with Team in Training made this concrete and tangible for me. I didn't have to worry about running 13.1 miles. All I had to do was look at the schedule and see how far I needed to run TODAY, and do it. Lather, rinse, repeat. And even during the race itself, I never thought, "Oh my God, how am I going to run 13.1 miles?? That's SOOOO far! I only ran 12 miles in training! Oh NOES!" I thought, "Okay, let's get up this hill and around the next corner...ooh, what a pretty view! ...Look, there's the next mile marker already! The next water stop isn't far now!" This is a powerful lesson that I hope to apply to many other areas of my life. Too often, we think about doing something--realizing a dream, going back to school, renovating the house--and get overwhelmed before we even begin. We defeat ourselves before we even get started because the task just seems too big. Like running, life is all about breaking big things into manageable pieces and working steadily through them.

I could go on, but I'd say those are probably my top five lessons learned. Pretty heady stuff.

My dog, future marathoner?

This is Tika. She may look like an ordinary dog, but she is actually some sort of super-canine cyborg.

I decided to take her running with me this morning, just to see what would happen. She's almost 4 years old, so she is certainly fully grown, and she is used to walking 2 hours a day, so I really didn't think a short 25-30 minute run would be beyond her abilities. I was hoping to let my husband sleep in peace--or at least more peace than he would have if I left both dogs behind. (Apparently my two dogs bark and howl like maniacs if I go for a morning run without them. My husband is not pleased by this, as he is generally still asleep when I leave.)

I have never attempted to run with Tika before, and I was a little nervous. If I run around inside the house to get the phone or go to the front window, she barks and either gets in front of me or jumps up and smacks my back with her front paws. And when we go for a walk, we don't so much "walk" as "go on patrol." She is always looking for squirrels and chipmunks, and if she sees a squirrel, she will leap six feet up a tree trunk to bark at it and make it skitter around and curse at her in squirrel-ese. I think she feels harrying the squirrels is her mission in life.

I put on her normal leash and collar, no fancy harnesses or anything, and did my usual walking warmup. She acted a little nuts, as she usually does during the first few minutes of a walk.

And then I started running.

It actually improved her behavior!

She still looked up at the trees, and a few times she started to stalk a squirrel or move toward one, but all I had to do was say, "No, no stalking" and keep running, and she ran right along with me. She generally stayed on my left, maybe a foot ahead of me, and ran with me like she'd been doing it all her life. I think the rapid forward motion toned down her other drives a little. She definitely enjoyed moving at a less snail-like pace, although it was clearly just another walk to her. She stopped to pee a few times, catching me off guard every single time--one second she was full speed ahead, the next she was at a dead stop and squatting, and a second after that it was like she'd never stopped. She did not linger, I'll give her credit for that.

She had no trouble at all keeping up with me and probably would have liked to run faster, but I am still in recovery mode and was trying not to overexert myself. It's surprising how much cardio fitness can fly right out the window in two weeks.

I was watching her carefully and was ready to stop if it looked like she needed to, but we went through Mile 1 fresh as a daisy. About a quarter mile later, a chipmunk ran across the street right in front of us. That pushed every single one of her buttons, and she pulled hard toward the chipmunk, throwing me off balance for a second, but I just kept running, and she quickly realized her only choices were a) continue pursuing chipmunk and get yanked away from it or b) abandon chase, stay with Mom. Thankfully, she chose b).

The next challenge was a short but steep hill. I ran this hill many times in training, and at first I had to walk up most of it, but within a few months, I just had to take shorter steps and slow down a bit to get to the top. Tika had absolutely no problem with it--and surprisingly, neither did I. The slower pace no doubt helped.

We ran through Mile 2 still going great guns and turned for home. I didn't use the timer for this run either, but I did wear my watch and noted the time when we started and stopped. As best as I can figure, we covered 2.4 miles in 28 minutes for an 11:40 pace, which is about where I want to be right now.

So Tika ran almost two and a half miles on her very first try, and she spent most of her time running very nicely in heel or near-heel position! What more could you ask for? The only sign she was at all winded was her somewhat larger tongue at the end.

Here's the part that makes me think she's a cyborg: I drank some water, stretched, changed clothes and had breakfast before feeding her. All of that took 30-45 minutes. The second the last piece of kibble went down her gullet, she ran to the door and looked at me all bright-eyed: "Well, it's time for our walk! Let's go!" It was like the run had never happened.

We walked for an hour, and she was her usual bouncy squirrel-harassing self.

(Why can't I muster that kind of energy?!?!?)

My season and my race, by the numbers

Stop groaning. You knew a post like this was coming! I really wanted to kind of sum things up from a numerical perspective before I get into the goopier "What I learned about life" aspects (fair warning, there will be a post on that too). I also wanted to run the numbers to show just what it takes, in terms of mileage and weeks and whatnot, to successfully complete a half-marathon. Maybe it will encourage future Team in Training people who find this blog and wonder if they can do it. My answer to that remains, "If I can do it, anyone can do it." And as I try and figure out what I want to do next, it helps to see where I have been.

So, here are my weekly mileage totals for every week since I started the blog and ending with the day before the race (when I ran a whopping 1 mile). As always, the week number means the number of weeks left until the race.

• Week 23: 5 miles
• Week 22: 12 miles
• Week 21: 7 miles
• Week 20: 11 miles
• Week 19: 13 miles
• Week 18: 12 miles
• Week 17: 11.5 miles
• Week 16: 12 miles
• Week 15: 8.5 miles
• Week 14: 16.5 miles
• Week 13: 16 miles
• Week 12: 17 miles
• Week 11: 14 miles
• Week 10: 17 miles
• Week 9: 18 miles
• Week 8: 20 miles
• Week 7: 22 miles
• Week 6: 16 miles
• Week 5: 18 miles
• Week 4: 23 miles
• Week 3: 20 miles
• Week 2: 5 miles (injury)
• Week 1: 3 miles

Total (not including the race itself): 317.5

The numbers are really all over the place from week to week. I was injured twice and had to sit out three days after an osteopath visit in December, so that's at least nine days I lost right there. I'm kind of shocked to see I never ran more than 23 miles in a single week. That's really not that much. And I still ran a whole half-marathon and felt pretty comfortable doing it!

Here's another breakdown, listing each distance that I ran and the number of times that I ran it. (The total doesn't quite jive with the number above due to rounding off various distances to the nearest mile.)

Number of miles Total times run Total mileage at this distance

12 1 12
10 3 30
8 6 48
6 7 42
5 3 15
4 18 72
3 28 84
2 12 24
1 1 1

Again, this is surprising, but hopefully reassuring, to any Team in Training hopefuls that might be reading this: half of the total mileage for the season came from runs of 4 miles or less (72 + 84 + 24 + 1). Four miles is not that far! And even among the long runs, six and eight-milers were the rule--there were only four double-digit runs the whole season.

Now, let's sum up my fundraising. I raised a total of $4,060 to take the number two spot for Northern Ohio's Spring 2010 team--not bad! In addition to many cash donors at my agility fundraiser, there were 72 distinct individual donors who donated by check or credit card. The most common donation amounts were 25.00 (donated by 13 people) and 50.00 (donated by 12 people). I still want to send out one final thank-you to everyone, though I'm hoping wedding rules apply here and I get a month to do it. Hard to believe it's been 10 days since the race already. Any donors reading this--thank you so much for your AMAZING support! (And Klaudia, thanks so much for your wonderful card. I really appreciated it.)

Now, indulge me for just a bit longer while I pick apart my race. As you no doubt remember, the only thing that really messed me up was having to stop within the first mile to use the port-a-potty. So:

• Time it took me to reach the start line after the gun went off: 5 minutes, 36 seconds
• How long I ran before stopping: 5 minutes, 41 seconds
• How much time I lost as a result: 3 minutes, 30 seconds
• My time for the first 10K: 1:09:37 (11:12 pace)
• What my time COULD HAVE BEEN for the first 10K: 1:06:07 (10:38 pace)
• My time for the last 11K of the race: 1:09:44 (10:12 pace) YEAH, BABY! NEGATIVE SPLITS!
  
• What my watch said when I hit Mile 12: 2:10:00 (10:50 pace)
  
• How amazingly butt-haulingly fast I finished the last 1.1 miles: 9:21 (8:30 pace!!!)
• My finish time: 2:19:21 (10:37 pace)
• What my finish time COULD HAVE BEEN: 2:15:51 (10:22 pace)
• Average time for all half-marathon finishers at this race (according to Active.com): 2:10:12
• I finished 3370/4748 overall, 1767/3165 women, and 311/488 in my age group. I beat almost half the women!! Awesome!! Midpack, here I come!

My first post-race run

I have to admit it: along about Wednesday, I wondered if I was ever going to feel up to moving faster than a walk after my big race.

I thought about running Saturday, but it was rainy and cloudy.

Sunday morning dawned cool and promising, and I had no more excuses. It was time to lace up my Asics and take my legs out for a spin at last. I was strangely nervous putting on my gear. I made a point of leaving my watch at home--the last thing I needed was a bunch of numbers on my wrist taunting me and/or utterly humiliating me.

I meandered down my driveway and began my normal walking warm-up. The air was cool and clammy and foggy, like an enormous steamed-up bathroom. I had visions of being run over: "Oh, how ironic, her first run out after her race and she gets squashed flat by some BMW driver texting in the fog!"

I walked past the point where I would normally turn and start running. No need to rush this, just take it slow and easy, I thought.

I gave myself an extra minute or two, and then... here goes nothing...I switched oh-so-gently into a second-gear shuffle, just barely faster than a walk.

I am glad to report that there was no sign of my legs falling off or otherwise rendering themselves inoperable. Look, Ma, I'm running! Well, okay, I'm jogging...all right, I'm shuffling. Hey, we can at least agree that I'm not walking!

So how did it feel? It was like meeting a friend you haven't seen in years for coffee and wondering if there are going to be all these awkward pauses in the conversation. The first three or four minutes felt indescribably creaky, but then I loosened up and started to enjoy myself. Somewhat.

After the first half-mile, I felt almost decent. I made it to the one-mile turnaround and started jogging back, still being careful to take my time. The fog was starting to burn off, both from the air and my legs.

About half a mile from the end, I hit the beginning of the long slow uphill that would take me the rest of the way home...and it felt kinda hard.

I slowed to a walk. My breathing was a little heavier than I would have liked, and the effort just felt a little tough. I wasn't in the mood to torture myself, so I walked for forty-five seconds or so, just to catch my breath, and then I started jogging again.

I made it the rest of the way home. One more small victory for the books.

"So, are you sore?"

That's the question you hear the most when you tell someone you just ran a half-marathon. The day of the race isn't that bad, but when you wake up the next morning, and for about the next 48 hours after that, the answer is, "OH MY GOD YES." To which you thoughtfully add, "Now I know why handicapped toilets have grab bars on the sides." My feet and ankles were actually pretty okay. You know what hurt the worst? The outsides of my thighs--probably my vastus lateralis, which Wikipedia tells me is the largest muscle of the quadriceps. So these are what "trashed quads" feel like? 'Cause damn, they really, really hurt. I have to lever myself into and out of a sitting position because they hurt so much.

The dogs don't care how trashed my quads are. They expect to be walked twice a day as always. Every time they pull the slightest bit laterally on the leash, my quads scream in agony. There are times when I can hardly pick my feet up enough to avoid being pulled down onto my face. I mentally compose haikus to my new best buddy, ibuprofen:

Sweet masker of pain
We are BFFs post-race
With you, I can walk

Six tablets a day
Yes, you had me at hello
Help me get through this

And I am just so tired. The only things I accomplish on Monday are breakfast with a colleague, a blog entry, and a shower.

On the bright side, I have decided that every junk food on the planet is fair game. I just ran a half-marathon, and I am going to eat whatever I want all week! "Whatever I want" includes fish 'n chips, French toast, an eclair from the local bakery, Ben and Jerry's ice cream, barbeque chicken wings, beer, wine, Coke, a giant cheese pretzel, a large pizza from Bellacino's, cheese doodles, baby back ribs, and a hot fudge sundae.

Tuesday actually feels WORSE than Monday. I can barely get out of bed Tuesday morning. Walking the dogs? Worse. Sitting down and getting up? Worse. I am still wearing my medal everywhere I go because it's the only thing cheering me up at this point. I tell my neighbor I'm not taking it off until I'm not sore anymore, which means I will probably still be wearing it on Memorial Day. My big Tuesday accomplishment is a nap.

I turn the corner on Wednesday. Waking up and getting out of bed is still unpleasant, but it hurts less as opposed to more. Sitting down and getting up is not fun, but it no longer makes me cry out in agony. After downing a few more ibuprofen, I even manage to take my older dog for his scheduled two-hour visit to the children's hospital where he cheers up the kids. Of course, I wear my medal and show it to everyone who can't run away fast enough.

My core group o' homies, the women you've seen pictures of all season long in this blog, meet Wednesday night at a nearby pub for beer and other delicious fattening bad-for-you stuff. They are all younger than I am, and they claim to be only a little sore or not sore at all. (Ah, the young bounce back so quickly! Or maybe they just lie.) You know what's really exciting? I GOT CARDED!! I'm sure she was just angling for a bigger tip, but yes, the waitress did card me.

My TNT buds enjoyin' some suds

Thursday, I feel better, though I'm still not pain-free, and we are all Facebook messaging each other about upcoming races. So many races, so little time! Steve and Betsy come over for some backyard agility practice Thursday night, and even a tiny bit of running agility with Tika seems to aggravate that muscle I pulled 10 days before the race. Boo!

Friday I am dragging again. I get back from walking the dogs at 9:30 and sleep until noon. Ugh. In the afternoon, I meet a colleague at the bakery and manage to be reasonably coherent for two solid hours. Improvement!

On Saturday, I can honestly put my medal aside. I do actually feel better, finally! I put it on this morning for brunch, but only because there was one more person I wanted to show it to. And I'm going to wear it to agility practice this afternoon, but only to show it off, and then it will hang out on my nightstand for a while until I figure out where to put it.

Soon I am going to have to think long and hard about where I'll go from here, but I just want to savor my accomplishment a little longer...

Not quite done yet...

Although the race is over (and I ROCKED it!!!) and this blog will be winding down, there are still a few more posts I want to make. Only I waited too long to make them tonight, so...

I will try to get the next post up tomorrow.

Amanda's race weekend report, part 4!

Sunday, May 16: Race Day, Part 2!

I've crossed the 10K split in 1:09:37, thanks to my lost time at the start. That comes out to an 11:12 pace per mile. If you take off 3:30, I could have had a 1:06:07 split, which would have been a far more awesome 10:38 pace per mile. For comparison's sake, when I ran my 5K race last fall, I ran 9:40 miles. Running only 1 minute per mile slower over twice the distance is pretty fabulous!

The stream of runners is still surprisingly heavy as we all swing left onto Detroit Avenue, which is, to put it charitably, not the most attractive thoroughfare I've ever seen...oh, who am I kidding, it's butt ugly. Might as well call a spade a spade.

The Western Reserve Rowing Association (amazing, they're not even runners!) came out in force and set up across from The Harp pub on Detroit Avenue at mile 6.5. With a big drum and plenty of spirit, they cheered the runners on. The video is very cute, and you'll see Kelli and Amy at the 3:20 mark (the guy yells "Go Team in Training!" and they wave). You'll also see a running juggler at 4:52. I saw him just after my port-a-potty stop back near the start line.


A little further down Detroit Avenue, there is an amazing group of trash-can drummers on the left. I really enjoy their drumming, and it pumps me up at a time when I'm starting to sag a bit. I wonder if I went out just a little fast on the first 10K. It's not much longer before I see the next water stop--yay! Definitely time for another gel. I had my first at Mile 4.5, and now we are just shy of Mile 8. The morning is still cool, and the apple cinnamon gel seems appealing in the brisk air. I get Powerade and have to waste precious seconds giving it back and hunting up water before I can take the gel. I squeeze and fold and squeeze and fold the packet several times to make sure I get all of the apple-y goodness out of it.

I make the turn onto Lake Avenue, and the neighborhood improves noticeably as we come into the Lakewood/Edgewater area. Not far after the turn, the walk coaches, Anna and Denise, are standing there on the left cheering! They are such bubbly happy people. It is wonderful to see them! Anna (with the green headband and purple gloves) gives me a high-five as I run past.

Shortly afterward, to my great relief, I finally catch Amy and Kelli! Now I know that I am running a satisfactory pace.

The crowd support in this area is fantastic. There are clumps of people for most of the next mile, and they are all clapping and cheering and yelling "Go Team! Go Amanda!" When we swing around the tight turn at Lake and W. 104th, there are fifteen to twenty cheerleaders in matching outfits with gold pom-poms lining the curve, and they all yell "Gooooo Team in Training! Go!" I almost start crying. You know when someone talks about "feeling the love"? Well, I definitely felt it there! Amanda said I was a rock star, and for that entire stretch, I most definitely was.

One more turn, and then we're heading down a gentle hill with enormous oaks shading us overhead. We're coming into Edgewater Park. I am excited to recognize the start of the Hermes 10-Miler course, and just before we head into the park, the Mile 9 gel/water stop is upon us. The volunteers are standing off to the side yelling out their gel flavors like newspaper boys: "Vanilla! Getcher Vanilla right here!" "Orange! Orange orange orange here!" "Choc-o-late! Delicious Choc-o-late!" I give up trying to listen and figure out what I actually want and grab an orange one, even though I am not doing another gel until Mile 11.

The Powerade table is just ahead on the left. Time for salt packet #2 and a cool cup of lemon-lime Powerade. It tastes delicious and refreshing, which means I really needed it.

Miles 9, 10, and 11 are definitely the toughest part of the race. We run only a few hundred yards through the park before turning onto an on-ramp that will put us on the Shoreway, a major elevated highway. The camber on the ramp is terrible, and my hips waste no time in letting me know they're not happy.

Up until this point in the race, I have felt very little pain or soreness--mostly just body parts "saying hello," hurting a bit for a quarter-mile and then shutting up again. One of the books I read during my taper, the Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer, has some excellent advice on the mental side of long-distance racing. The authors suggest you acknowledge pain with a simple, "Hi there, pain. Come run with me for a while." For me, this strategy worked exceedingly well.

The Shoreway section is really tough for several reasons. First, it starts with a long uphill, the only significant hill in the race. Second, it's practically deserted. There are almost no people up here cheering us on when we really need it. And third, the wind! Yikes! It's very stiff, and it's a crosswind blowing off the lake to our left. It feels like there's someone standing next to my left shoulder and shoving me at random moments. It's very disconcerting, and after 9 miles with no wind to speak of, you can't help but notice how you're being blown around. I try getting in behind other people and seeing if I can get them to block the wind, but I can't seem to find the right angle.

I feel lonely and windblown, and my brain is starting to short-circuit a little. My inner jukebox starts playing Linda Ronstadt's "It's So Easy (To Fall in Love)," except it's changing the chorus line to "It's so easy to run for Mom..it's so easy to RUUUUUUNN for Mom!" This loops for a solid half mile and makes me contemplate jumping over the side just to shut it up. ("It's so easy, so easy, so easy, so easy..." AAAAGHH!!)

I pass Mile 10 and look at my watch. I ran a 1:42:08 in the Hermes 10-miler. I am several minutes slower than that today. Oh, well. Up ahead, I see a guy that immediately causes my inner whine machine to shut up. He has a flagpole strapped to his back, and there are three flags on what must be a six-to-eight-foot flagpole. It's like he's a sailboat with a mast sticking out of his back. There's an American flag, a Marine Corps flag, and a POW/MIA flag. Wow. He has run over 10 miles with this giant thing on his back, and now the wind is batting him around like a cat toy, and do you see him complaining?

At mile 10.7, the WRRA, our friends from the earlier cheering station at Mile 6.5, are back! They have a jukebox belting out uplifting tunes, and they are calling encouragingly to the runners. (The song playing as I run by is "Celebrate." "Ceeeeel-e-brate good times, COME ON!") If you watch the video, you'll see the Amazing Flag Guy at 4:14, and then if you watch verrry carefully, you'll see a flash of purple and blue as the camera pans back away from him at 4:24. That's me! If you hit the pause button at just the right moment, you can see me!



Not long after the WRRA craziness, I see two characters in costume on the left side. For a second, I wonder if I am hallucinating, but no--Bert and Ernie are standing there! I put my left hand out as I pass and get rousing high-fives from both of them. Now I can say I have been high-fived by Sesame Street characters during a road race!

Not too much longer, and I see the Mile 11 flag waving in the wind and the Mile 11 water stop! It's time to take one last gel. I have three in my pocket: orange, raspberry, and espresso, with 50 mg of caffeine. I definitely want to pull out the big guns here, so I try to hold on to the espresso gel while I put the others back in my pocket. The espresso gel slips out of my fingers and falls to the ground! Oh no!! I debate just leaving it there, but man, I really need the caffeine, and after two steps, I turn around to go back for it. Runners give me the stink-eye as they dodge me, but I soon have the precious cargo back in my hand and grab some water. Once again, I have forgotten to open the packet before I take the water, so I set the cup on the concrete divider wall between the westbound and eastbound lanes and concentrate on opening the gel.

Wow, does that EVER taste good. I "mmmmmm" appreciatively as I walk and sip water and suck down the gel, and after thirty seconds or so, I start running again. There's a slight uphill grade, but I just keep on keepin' on. This is where I see the best sign of the whole race, and bless the woman for walking along the shoulder and holding it high above her head:

CHUCK NORRIS NEVER RAN A MARATHON

The runners clap and cheer and tell her she is made of awesome.

About halfway through Mile 11, it hits me: Oh my God, I am going to finish this race! I am going to finish a half-marathon! Less than two miles to go! I am going to make it!! Heck, I could probably walk it in from here and still be under 2:30! Wow!! And everything feels a little easier, a little smoother, a little more relaxed. Maybe it's just the caffeine kicking in, but I feel content and at peace. Life is good, and this is great.

Off to my right, there's a large brick warehouse, clearly 70 or 80 years old from the look of it, and it has a name emblazoned across the top in old-fashioned letters: "THE BINGHAM CO." I smile and think of John Bingham, whose marathon strategy is "to finish [the race] the same day I start." I think he'd be very satisfied with how I'm running this race. I am having so much fun and really enjoying the experience.

As I close in on Mile 12, I check my watch. In training, I only ran 12 miles once, and I covered the distance in 2:12:03. I'm hoping I can beat that today. As I sweep by the "MILE 12" flag swaying in the wind, I glance at my wrist: 2:10:00 flat. Awesome!! I could still come in under 2:20 if I really rock out the last 1.1 miles.

We exit the Shoreway the same way we got on it, only this time we're going down the ramp, not up it, and then sweeping to the right while the full marathoners continue to the left. To make sure no one gets confused, they've put a giant light-up construction sign in the road. Instead of the usual "LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD" or "NIGHT PAVING 10 PM - 6 AM," it says "MARATHON TURN LEFT. HALF MARATHON TURN RIGHT." Angela was worried about this split before the race, but the huge lights make an impression on even my addled brain, and I take off to the right.

There's a crowd of people just past the split, and a huge cheer goes up as a big pack of us streams by. For a moment, I wonder if my dad might be here somewhere. I haven't seen any of my family at all yet. Wouldn't it be ironic if my parents came all this way to watch me race and I never even saw them? That would suck.

The last water station is just ahead. The course analysis guy on Friday told me it was only 3/4 of a mile from there to the finish. I wouldn't mind a quick drink of water, but all the volunteers holding cups are yelling "Powerade! Powerade!" "Where's the WATER??" I ask one of them. "Up at the corner," she says, gesturing onward. I look where she's pointing and don't see anything. What the heck?

To my unbridled delight, Coach Rob and Coach Paul are standing on the right at the turn onto St. Clair. "Great race!" says Coach Paul. "You're doing a fantastic job!" By this point, I am equal parts euphoric and demented, so I give them both huge high-fives and shout, "I am kicking this race's ASS!!" and tear off around the corner, all thoughts of getting a drink forgotten.

I'm just over halfway down St. Clair when my heart leaps. My dad!! He's on the left! I see him and he sees me! I break out into a huge grin and start waving. He grins and waves back and then aims his camera and shoots rapid-fire as I go by, click-click-click-click-click-click-click, a digital machine gun!

Hi, Dad!!

That was just the boost I needed at the end. I pick it up a little more. This is so exciting! I'm almost there! I turn the corner onto East 9th, the road where this wild journey began over two hours ago. People are clapping and cheering and yelling "Go Amanda! Lookin' good! Go Team in Training!"

I come around the last corner and there are hundreds of people behind the white barriers, cheering and clapping.

Cheering. Whooping. Hollering. For me. (Yes, I suppose there are a few other runners there, but they are irrelevant.)

I can see the massive finish line banner. It's two hundred yards away.

There is some huge orchestra score coming out of the loudspeakers. It sounds like a movie soundtrack, and in a way, it is. It's the soundtrack for Amanda Kicks the Half-Marathon's Ass Even Though She Hasn't Been A Runner For Very Long And OMG This Is Not A Dream, This Is Really Happening! (The long title would make it hard to put up on movie marquees, however, no doubt depressing box-office sales.)

The soaring music and the crowds of people and the finish line and the announcer just--I am *this* close to bawling my eyes out, but choking up makes it impossible to breathe, and I need to keep breathing to keep running, so I pull it together and take my last steps from runner to half-marathon finisher, from hopeful to champion, from promise made to promise kept.

Even though the pictures tell a different story, I feel like I am the only person there, the only runner for miles, and the world around me fades to perfect stillness. It's just me and my heartbeat and my footstrikes and the red glow of the timer. A couple more steps...I throw my arms up in triumph, fling myself across the red and blue plates.

I did it! I did it! I did it! I just ran a freakin' half-marathon! I stagger over to a person handing out medals, remember to stop my watch while he hangs one around the neck of the person in front of me, and then bow my head to receive my prize. To his credit, the man manages to wind the medal past my visor and sunglasses, which I am still wearing, and let it drop perfectly around my neck. "Congratulations," he says, a serious man in a suit. "Thank you," I choke out, and then I walk away from the finish and can't quite stifle a few sobs. A man puts a banana in my hand, I grab a cup of Powerade, a bag of pretzels, and a bottle of water, and then I remember I am supposed to go check in at the Team in Training tent.

I get to the back of the chute and start to make my way through the crowd when I see a purple shirt standing off to the side. It's Mike!

"Mike!!" I yell, and he sees me and grins. I throw my arms around him and start crying. "Mike, we did it! We really did it!"

"You just spilled Powerade all over my shirt," Mike says, but he seems more amused than annoyed. "Are you crying?"

***

My dad eventually finds me at the TNT tent, and much picture-taking ensues!

Ta-da!

Check out ma bling, yo!

No banana has ever tasted THIS good!

Three proud half-marathon finishers and their medals!

Front of medal

Back of medal

Special Team in Training pin goes on the ribbon

When I got home, there was a lovely congratulatory plant from Betsy and Steve waiting for me on the patio! Thanks!!

My official time was 2:19:21!! I did it! I am a half-marathoner!

Amanda's race weekend report, part 3!

Sunday, May 16: RACE DAY!!!


After going to bed at 9:30 PM, falling asleep around 10, and spending a while staring at the ceiling between midnight and 1 AM, the radio alarm nearly makes me jump out of my skin when it goes off at 4:30 AM. No sooner have I leapt out of bed and turned it off than my watch alarm starts beep-beeping insistently. My husband merely turns over and goes back to sleep.

It's here! Race day is finally here! The day I've been training for since November has finally arrived! The first order of business is to move all my clothes into the bathroom, after which I take my race-morning Excedrin and start pounding back the water. Next, I put on most of my race gear, hanging the sunglasses and visor on the hallway doorknob so I'll remember them as I head out. The roll of BodyGlide I received as TNT swag way back in December is completely used up by the time I finish slathering my thighs (shorts chafing is BAD, BAD stuff) and feet, being especially careful to cover my bunions and the spaces between each toe. BodyGlide is white and smeary--like a less greasy version of Crisco. Friction is the enemy that creates blisters, so a little Crisco-y gunkiness is a small price to pay to keep it at bay.

Look, I can dress myself! Unfortunately, I wasn't smart enough to put my contacts in before I set the self-timer and took this picture.

Now comes the daring part of my pre-race prep. The coaches told us over and over again not to mess with our routines on race day, and John Bingham's bulleted list of things to remember at the end of the race prep chapter reads exactly as follows:

Remember:

• Don't try anything new on race day.
• Don't try anything new on race day.
• Whatever you are feeling during race week, it's normal.
• Don't try anything new on race day.
• Pay even more attention to what you eat the week before the race.
• Don't try anything new on race day.
• Staying hydrated all week is as important as hydrating during the race.
• Don't try anything new on race day.
• Don't try anything new on race day.

The only problem is, my pre-race meal consists of two scrambled eggs and half a toasted buttered bagel. The restaurant hotel downstairs doesn't even open until 6:30. Clearly, the only alternative is...

...to set up the griddle and scramble your own eggs on the bathroom counter. I am scared to death I am going to set off the smoke alarm, but thankfully, I don't. Even on HIGH, the griddle cooks the eggs more slowly than I am used to at home, putting me a little behind schedule, but the eggs taste just like they are supposed to. Yay!!

Next, I have to toast a bagel. Now I am REALLY scared I'm going to set off the alarm, but luck is on my side, and I don't. (Mom cleaned out the crumbs from the bottom to prevent this. Thanks, Mom!) I butter and eat half of it, just like at home. Yum! Then I cut the other half in half, slather some peanut butter on it and top it with some banana slices, and voila--an Elvis bagel! This is what I eat closer to the race start so I am well fueled. I put the Elvis bagel in a baggie, check everything through one last time (gels: check, bottle of water to drink on the way: check, throwaway sweatshirt and gloves: check, and visor and sunglasses: check.), kiss my husband good-bye, and head downstairs to our meeting point, a fountain in the hotel lobby.

Even though we were told to report at 5:30, no one seems to care that I am five minutes late. The whole area is awash in purple and alive with nervous chatter. People are guzzling water, nervously adjusting their bibs, re-affixing tape with their names on it, and taking Sharpies to the backs of their fellow runners' legs.
Kelli helpfully writes "FIRST TIMER" on the backs of my legs--and immediately after she finishes, I realize I should have had her write "FOR MOM" instead. D'oh! Amy gets her legs marked with "CANCER SUCKS"--a sentiment we can all agree with. I stand around with my Sharpie legs and munch on my Elvis bagel, nibble by nibble, until I look down and realize I am about to eat my fingers. Did it taste good? I couldn't tell you, but I have consumed it. Mission accomplished.

Before we leave the hotel to walk over to the start line, we swarm the fountain for a group photo:

GO TEAM! I'm at the back left, next to the lady with the light-colored visor.

It is 6:15 by the time we leave the hotel. The gun is at 7:00, less than an hour away! It's a glorious morning, nice and cool, though it looks like the sun is coming out. Darn, I was hoping it would stay cloudy. It is nippy enough that I am glad to have my sweatshirt and gloves on. After just a few blocks, we turn a corner and see the masses of runners milling around. Staying true to my race-day routine, I immediately get in the first port-a-potty line I see.

That doesn't look so bad, right?

This is why it's so important to get in line IMMEDIATELY.

I am in and out of the line within 15 minutes, and since the potties are three blocks away from the start line, I decide to walk over to the start line with my brothers and sisters in purple rather than get back in the line again. (Remember the part about not changing your race-day routine? I always hit the port-a-potty twice before the gun. This is going to come back to bite me in the butt.)

Before things get too busy in the start area, Lindsey and I pose for a picture.

Soon, the start area is packed to the gills with people stretching back three blocks from the actual start line. My posse of purple people is about two blocks back. There's a 50-ish guy with the spectators on the sidewalk nearby holding up a sign that reads, "I'm here to watch my daughter's first time. Is that weird?" We all laugh at that one.

Shortly before the gun, a woman launches into the national anthem, and we runners slowly fall silent as we realize what is happening. Her voice shimmers off the storefronts and lobbies on either side of us, and the great mass of runners stands still and solemn as stone. Elbow-to-elbow with my fellows, I lift my face heavenward to see a deep blue sky interwoven with lacy filigree wisps of divinely white cloud. I gawp at the sky and feel the woman's vibrato rise up from the pavement through the bottoms of my feet and think I might spontaneously combust of happiness.

I did it. I am here. My parents are here, my husband is here. The weather is nigh-on perfect. I have trained to the best of my ability and am ready to race. I even got my pre-race food perfect. Everything is perfect. Everything...except...I really need to hit the bathroom one more time...

Then the gun goes off.

See the short skinny guy with the red shoes, white singlet, and sunglasses? He ends up winning the marathon.

The running peasantry in the cheap seats doesn't even begin to move for about 30 seconds, and then there's a lot of stop-and-go action. It's like LA at rush hour. It takes me 5 minutes and 36 seconds just to reach the START line. I remove my sweatshirt to make sure the timing mat at the start line (where the red and blue metal plates run across the road) can read the timing chip embedded in my bib, and then there is no stopping me!

CHARRRRGE!!

A nice closeup of me heading down the first hill

I'm just jogging along, starting to warm up and make sure everything's working, when we get to the bottom of the hill and make our first turn. There's a band there, and they're playing "Wipeout." Which I hope I don't do on course.

I'm next to some Team in Training people I don't recognize, and we're just trotting along in silence. Just after the turn, I see a group of port-a-potties off to the right, set well back from the course so that most people aren't even seeing them. The line looks pretty short. I might as well lose the time right at the beginning when I'll have the whole course to make it up...

I wish the purple people good luck and veer off to the port-a-potty line. My watch reads 5:41 when I get there. Wow, I ran for five whole minutes without stopping! Oooooy. As always, even though there are only three people in front of me in my line, it moves slower than all the others. By the time I am jogging back to the course, my watch reads 8:54. When you figure in the extra seconds on either end of my watch-gazing, I've lost three and a half minutes. But I feel so much better, and now I am ready to race! I ditch the sweatshirt and will remain in short sleeves the rest of the way. I stuff the garden gloves in my pocket.

Amazingly, the photographer got me again just as I returned to the course. You can see the Rock Hall in the background, and that purple lady in the foreground of the picture? I talked to her for a minute on my way by! She and the other lady in the picture were both walkers.

There are two nice things about starting at the very back of the pack: first, you are constantly passing people (and this continued for pretty much the ENTIRE RACE--very few people passed me, but I passed a boatload of folks), and second, you get to say hi to all your teammates on your way by! I really liked seeing everyone and saying hello. The very first one I saw (who I actually knew) was Renee, who was very easy to pick out in her bright pink windbreaker! Shortly after Mile 1, I saw Brittany, and let me just say, no one pulls off runner sunglasses better than Brittany. She had these really cool orange-yellow ones that she simply OWNED.

Coach Rob and Coach Paul were at the top of the hill and looked surprised that I was so far back, but I quickly explained why and they wished me good luck.

This is two miles in, where we turned the corner to our first bridge, the Lorain Carnegie Bridge. I'm not in this picture.

It's a long, wide bridge, and I finally feel like I have the space to breathe and think and find my stride. I think about Amanda and Anonymous and Jill and Susanne and Dorothee and look out over the water. It's a glorious morning and I am enjoying myself.

About halfway up to the bridge there is a hilarious group of people on the right pretending to be a "hair band" and playing air guitar in time with the music coming out of their boom box. (I can't paste the picture here because it's from the Cleveland Plain Dealer, but trust me, it's cute! Click on the link to see it.)

Somewhere on the second half of the bridge, I see Liz. "How's your hip?" I ask her. "Good!" she replies.

We come off the bridge and into the Tremont neighborhood.

See? They even welcomed us with a banner! And there is also a water stop, which is a good thing because I'm getting a little thirsty. I feel great, though, so I'm not going to break out a gel until the next stop at mile 4.5. I glance at my watch and am not too unhappy with the time, though I can't remember what it was now.

I turn onto West 11th and someone's got a boom box blasting "You Really Got Me" as I go by. I LOVE that song! I do a little fist-pumping in time with the music as I pass. There are lots of people lining the streets since the weather is so nice, and I am getting tons of love from the crowd, mostly in the exhortation "Go TEAM!" although some people also call me out by name. I LOVE the attention and try to thank the people who cheer me on.

Look, it's Ty! I catch up to him somewhere on West 11th, and boy, is it nice to hang with another purple jersey for a while. Plus, he's not a slowpoke, so I know I am getting closer to the pace I want to be at. We chat a little about nothing in particular until we hit the next water stop at Barber and West 25th. I break out a Tropical gel (with 25 mg of caffeine) and move to the side and walk while I chug it down. I really need to remember to get the gel out and open BEFORE I take the water. It is really tough to open those Hammer gels with your mouth.

Ty is stopping to do the salt here, so I move on ahead, though I'm sure he'll catch me again at the next water stop, and to my delight, while motoring down West 25th, cruising past the Mile 5 marker, I see two familiar purple people running side by side--Angela and Lindsey! God, is it good to see them!

"What's wrong?" Lindsey asks. "You're not supposed to be behind us!" I explain again about the whole bathroom thing, and we hang together for a little bit before I start to push on ahead.

The next water stop is just before Mile 6, and it is here that I am going to "do the salt" and have some Powerade. I have wrapped my salt packets in some tin foil so they don't end up all soggy and sweaty, but I didn't count on having to carefully unwrap the foil with clumsy runner fingers that have been on the road for a good hour now. I have to come to a complete stop and concentrate to get my salt packet out. I tip back the salt, hastily down the Powerade, and call it good.

Ohio City was AWESOME. There were lots of people out cheering, and they had wonderful signs.

I liked this one even though I wasn't doing the full marathon. Other good signs included "If it were easy, I'd be out there with you" and "Those shorts make your butt look FAST!"

"You look like a pro, not a first-timer!" says a familiar voice behind me as we head up West 38th. It's Jan (and he's talking about the "FIRST TIMER" Kelli Sharpie'd onto my calves)! This guy is amazing--he has done 13 events for Team in Training and just did a triathlon two weeks ago. He's "just" going to run the half today. Oh yeah, just a walk in the park! I grin and tell him how much I love the crowd support, and that I really do feel like a rock star! "If you think this is good, you should do Akron," he says. "That makes this look like nothing!" And on he goes...

This is Jan. If you squint, you can see me in the back--look for the purple jersey and blue visor.

I am grinning like a fool. I am having SO MUCH fun! Up ahead are the blue-and-red metal plates to mark my 10K split. I've made it nearly halfway through the race--just 11K more to go, or about 6.9 miles, and I'll be done! It's hard to believe the race is nearly half over! But where are Kelli and Amy? I haven't caught them yet! Will I see them in the second half, or am I hopelessly behind?

As I approach the timing mat, I see a photographer poised up ahead. It's nice to actually see one for once, and I give him a giant grin and a thumbs up on my way by.

(Will Amanda catch Amy and Kelli? Has she run too hard in the first half trying to make up for the time she lost in the port-a-potty line? Will she beat Oprah even with this setback? To find out, tune in to Part 4 of Amanda's race weekend report!!! )