I Survived!

And not only did I survive, I reached my goal: finish the marathon in less than 5 hours without walking. I finished in 4:55.23 and only walked through water stations. I don’t think that counts as walking because I never mastered the art of drinking from a cup on the move. Besides, everyone else walks through water stations when you are as slow as I am so it would have been practically impossible for me to run around thousands of people who come to a screeching halt for Mountain Blast Powerade. But I digress.

Overall, the weekend was so much fun. Friday morning my friends Wylie, John, Kelly, Mark, and Melissa all flew to Reagan in Washington, DC. Friday afternoon we picked up our race packets and bib numbers and wandered around in the expo for a while. Then the whole group of us went out to dinner at Otello for some yummy pasta and carb-loading.

Wylie and I spent the weekend at Wylie’s friends Ben and Sarah’s apartment. Saturday we relaxed and stayed off our feet as much as possible. The guys watched a football game, I read a magazine and we played a game of Trivial Pursuit. We cooked some pasta for dinner. (By the way, now that the marathon is over, I’m not eating pasta again for a while!) Saturday night we all tried to go to sleep early but a high-speed-chase-car-jacking outside the window provided us a little entertainment.

Marathon Day (Sunday) we all got up at about 6:00am, I suited up in spandex, a long sleeved shirt and sweats, iPod, and crazy gooey carb supplements. We walked to the subway and got off the train at the Pentagon. From there, we had to walk to the starting line about a mile away. I remember thinking about how ridiculous it was that this mile didn’t count towards the 26.2 miles we actually had to run.

The starting line was just outside of Arlington National Cemetery. The process of starting a marathon can be best described as one long line. I left Wylie at the bag check line and headed for the port-o-potties line. I waited for about 20 minutes to go to the bathroom. During the singing of the national anthem I as in the port-o-potty. I hoped that this was not some kind of indication of how the rest of the afternoon was going to go.

At 7:50 I made my way through some of the 30,000 runners to the flag where the people who planned to finish the marathon in about 4:30-5:00 hours waited for the starting gun. At exactly 8:00am (the marines are punctual) the howitzer fired and we were off! Well, someone was off, back were I was, we started shuffling forward towards the starting line. I fell into step with a young woman about my age. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I told her “Good luck.” She exclaimed, “You too! I have been trying to run this for three years... and I just got back from Iraq!” I thought about my path to the marathon, how I got up so early in the morning to either run before my meetings, my classes, or before it got too hot. I remembered trying to find new running trails because if I ran the Boulder Creek Path one more time... I remembered my anxiety before long runs I didn’t know if I could get through, and all the different muscle aches, pains, and abnormalities and I realized that these things are not insignificant, but they were compared to what this young woman could have been doing for the last several months. She and I crossed the starting line together, wished each other well and I picked up my pace and jogged away from her.

The crowd was so thick over the first 4 miles that I didn’t even see the mile markers. Fortunately, I wasn’t looking for them yet. I think it would have been a bad sign if I cared about where I was so early in the race. I was also highly amused by the clothes being ejected from within the mob. We would all be bobbing along in a big mass and suddenly a pair of pants would come shooting out of the crowd and onto the sidewalk. A few steps later a long sleeved shirt would shoot out. Not to be left out, I moved closer to the edge of the swell of runners and waited for a break in the spectators. Then, I launched my long sleeved t-shirt over the four rows of runners that separated me from the sidewalk. Unfortunately, I didn’t time this right and ended up hitting a very surprised middle-aged lady right in the face. I cringed and shouted, “sorry!!” but I’m not sure if she heard of me. In my head, I promised to think of her in a few hours when I assumed I would be in a lot of pain.

I was surprised at how quickly the first eight miles flew by. According to the computer chip on my shoe, I ran them very slowly but they seemed to go by quickly. When I am running, I often think about how a year and a half ago that I was training to run a 10K (6.2 miles). I smiled to myself about how I never thought I would be able to tackle this kind of challenge.

I crossed the 13.1-mile mark (half way point) and figured it was time for a short break. I spotted a bathroom, pulled over, did a little stretching and splashed water on my face before setting off again. I was pleased with how I felt at this point in the race, but this was the first time that I realized how far I had left to go.

Around mile 15 or 16 I was starting to get uncomfortable. I did most of my training on dirt trails and I was starting to feel the constant pounding of the pavement in my knees. About this time, I also saw someone with a sign that read, “Way to go Lindsay! We love you!” I have no idea who these people were, but since they spelled my name right, I figured they were there to support and cheer me on. I waved at them. They gave me a confused look but they still waved back. I imagined that they were trying to figure out if I was the Lindsay they were looking for since most of the people running with me at the time looks like they had been stuffed into the washing machine for about 3 hours.

The lowest point of the race was just past mile 20. My longest run until that Sunday was (only) 20.5 miles and the unfamiliarity of this uncharted territory unnerved me. Just before this mile marker we finished our lap of the national mall and passed in front of the capital building. After mile 20 the course took us back from DC to Arlington, VA. Up until this point, the crowds lining the race course had been so thick and wonderful there were points where I was trying to listen to my iPod and I couldn’t hear the music over their cheering. I couldn’t help but think about the fact that this was an entirely different kind of marathon for these folks. Over 70,000 friends and family members filled the course, many of them tracking their runners on GPS and moving from place to place on the course to see their runners several times. This created a very strange dejavu effect for me as I kept seeing somewhat familiar people holding very familiar signs several times.

Anyway, around mile 20 we started across the bridge back to Arlington and the crowds disappeared. The bridge was totally empty except for us runners, who were mostly walking by then, many of them limping or carefully stretching every couple of steps. I moved slowly past these tired, sweaty people for the length of the bridge which seemed to go on forever but was really only about a mile and a half.

At one point about mile 22 I thought about crying. My knees ached and I had developed an ache in my right hip. I was tired, tired of running, tired of eating GU, tired of drinking Powerade, and tired of jogging through these stumbling people. The thing was, I was also thirsty. At this moment I put more thought into whether or not to cry then I ever have before. “Would my tears dehydrate me?” I wondered. “Will they be blue like commercials… wait, no that’s Gatorade… I wonder if Powerade does that too…” This line of thinking went on for a while.

After we finally got across the bridge we dipped down into Crystal City. The crowds thickened and the street narrowed. A fraternity was holding a sign saying, “you’ve run 23 miles, have a drink!” while they handed out Dixie cups of beer. A friend of mine told me that beer at mile 23 was actually a fantastic idea no matter how counter-intuitive that was. She said that it provides great carbs and dulls the pain just enough. The frat boys were on the other side of the street though and I couldn’t muster the energy to cross over several runners to get there. I also thought that by that point, if I tried to change my pace, I would just tip over.

I can’t explain what happened when I hit mile 25. It might have been the fact that I was so close and just wanted to have the whole thing over with, it could have been the crowd cheering us on, it could have been the fact that other runners were running again and I’m ridiculously competitive, but I really picked up my pace. I started passing people on the right and the left. I kept looking for the mile 26 sign, and then for the finish line.

Finally, there on the left, the arch that marked the finish line appeared at the top of a very steep hill. At that moment I forgot about how much my knees hurt. I forgot about the point I wanted to cry. I forgot about my friends who had finished more than an hour before me and I started running as fast as I could (which I’m sure by that point was a very slow 10-minute mile). Nevertheless, not a single person passed me after I spotted the finish.

I crossed the line at 4:55.27. A marine wrapped a space blanket around my shoulders and said, “congratulations, ma’am, you did great.” Another Marine hung a medal around my neck, smiled at me and said something about deserving this medal to honor the incredible effort. A third marine said, “you have just been running for 5 hours, how do you feel.” I told him that I was tired and asked where the beer tent was (I was meeting my friends there). He pointed and gave me some directions. I asked if he would carry me. He smiled and suggested I continue to walk for a little while.

Just then, Wylie called, “Congratulations Brust! You just ran a marathon! I’m in line at Chipotle, do you want a burrito?” I told him that I wasn’t ready to eat quite yet, but thanks.

That night, I felt differently, my friends and I went out to dinner. We had all met our goal. Wylie finished in less than four hours, Ben qualified for Boston by running the marathon in 3:10. Ben was in the roughest shape. He didn’t really eat or drink enough during the marathon, but he was able to keep up with his pace group. They told me about how Ben crossed the finish line, involuntarily wet himself (apparently, it’s very common), and took himself to the medical tent where he drank three bottles of Powerade and ate a bag of pretzels.

I tried to be healthy at dinner, afterall, I figured I should appropriately take care of my body. I ordered a big salad. I ate the whole thing. Not only was I not full, I was still hungry. I ordered sweet potato chips for the table and ate all my friend’s fries. I also ordered another beer. That night, I slept better than I remember sleeping in months.

So, the tale of my first marathon is behind me, officially. Forgive me for a moment while I get a little mushy. Crossing that finish line gave me the biggest sense of accomplishment that I have ever had. If I have to run for five months, fly half way across the country, and run for almost five hours to get that feeling again, I will do it. Happily.

Thank you for supporting me, for donating to the American Heart Association for Andy Redman, whose spirit I had in mind throughout the whole race, and for reading this blog. While I have hung up the running shoes for the last week and a half, I don’t think they will stay in the closet long. So, if you are thinking about doing a marathon, or just looking for someone to go for a run with, please give me a call. I'll go for a run with you.

Marathon Weekend is Here

I'm leaving for Washington D.C. in the morning. Apparently, the cold I caught about two weeks ago is coming with me. I tried to talk it into going away but it promptly refused, taking up residence in my sinuses. It has only been bothering me about the first couple of miles of every run but usually gives up after I try to Farmer Blow it out. For those of you not from the Midwest, a Farmer Blow is a technique in which you blow your nose without tissues by plugging one nostril and blowing in a quick little burst. Usually, the snot shoots out, leaving me able to breath. This technique works well on sparsely populated trails but I have a feeling that the other people running the marathon with me will not think this method charming.

Snot or not, I have now run a total of 378 miles preparing for Sunday. That's is the distance from Boulder to... well... I don't know, but it's really far. I just have the on Sunday to go.

Now it's time for me to congratulate you, dear friends, family, and associates. While my goal of running 26.2 miles is still in front of me I am proud to say that we have already raised $1295 for the American Heart Association. If you are still interested in donating, you may do by going to this website: http://honor.americanheart.org/site/TRC/Events/General?pg=feditor&fr_id=1030&px=1111901.

Some people have had trouble with this process. If you do, you can email me at Lindsay.Brust@gmail.com and I would be happy to send you different instructions.

I will try to keep you up-to-date with the happenings of the weekend. If I can't get to a computer over the weekend, I will definitely write an update when I get back to Colorado. I'll need something to do while I wait for my legs to recover. :)

Certain Death if Entered

I completed my 20-mile run about a week and a half ago, which is the longest run I have to do before the marathon, which is now in… about a week and a half! I have always been a little confused about why training programs never take you the full race distance you are training for. I think when I trained for my first 10K (6.2 miles) I only “got up to” 5-mile runs. I put “got up to” in quotes because while I used to dread them, these 5-mile runs are now the ones I look forward to – the shortest runs of the week!

Anyway, I consulted one of my marathon training websites for the answer as to why I didn’t run the whole 26.2 before race day. Apparently, if you train well for the first 20 miles the “excitement of race day” will carry you the additional 6.2 miles. I put “the excitement of race day” in quotes because I don’t think I’ve ever been excited enough about anything to give me the energy to run 6.2 miles.

For my 20-mile run I said good-bye to Jason about 6:30am, who rolled over and went back to sleep with instructions to bring me reinforcements, or at least Powerade and food, at about 8am. I ran to the reservoir about 4 miles away from home, and ran the trail around it twice before running home.

The first time I had this idea to run around the reservoir was about a month ago. The problem was, as it so often is in Boulder, I didn’t know which trail to take. Fortunately, there are so many runners out there in the morning I just figured I would keep asking people for directions. On that run, a group of guys passed me and I took off my head phones to ask for directions. One of the guys pulled up beside me, and gave me the following instructions: “go over this hill, through the parking lot on the right and onto a trail. From there, just keep turning right, oh, and don’t mind the sign that says, “Certain Death if Entered.” I almost fell down. He laughed and said, “I’m serious, just keep going and don’t worry about it.” I waited for him to add something like, “…and don’t mind that large hungry looking mountain lion that’s been following you either,” but he didn’t. He just jogged off to catch up with the other guys.

I considered a different running route, but the only other trail I knew of in the area had a big hill, the size of a mountain on it. I was surprised the one time I stumbled to the top that there wasn’t snow on it. I figured I would rather take on certain death than to do it again.

It turns out that the sign is there and refers to the canal, that has so much fencing around it and a nice, safe little bridge across it that I couldn’t have gotten into it even if I wanted to die 7 miles into that particular 18-mile run.

I passed the sign twice on my 20-mile run. My early morning, pre-dawn jog to the reservoir was almost invigorating, on my first lap around the res I felt good, motivated by Jason waiting in the parking lot with reserves of Powerade and shot blocks. He got out of the car as I approached, I touched my toes, he refilled my water bottles that I wear on a big super cool fanny pack thing around my waist. Sleepily, he asked me how it was going, and I replied, “really well – I’m feeling great,” with more energy than I ever thought I would have after running about 10 miles.

There is a little red walking path about ¾ of a mile from my house that I frequent for my short runs. The path runs through the pretty little neighborhoods of North Boulder where families walking their dogs and kids playing in their yards distract me and the time on my short 4 and 5 mile runs just flies by. The path runs east and west, so at the beginning of my runs, when I’m going west, it’s all up hill for the first 2 miles, then I get to turn around and come back.

I found myself at the beginning of this path, ¾ of a mile away from home, with 2.5 miles to go. I wasn’t feeling as good 17.5 miles into the run as I had when I met Jason. My hips were really starting to hurt, which was a surprise because I don’t think my hips have ever hurt before, unless I ran into the pointy edge on the dresser coming out of the closet. Regardless, I turned off the ever-so-tempting way home and started up the little red path.

Up to that point, I think my body assumed that given the opportunity to cut a 20-mile run short and head home after 17.5 miles, I was smart enough to take it. After all, if the excitement of race day is suppose to carry me 6.2 miles, what’s another 2.5? After realizing that I actually intended to run the whole 20, even if it meant a ridiculous detour, my body tried to reject me. My hips hurt so bad I thought they were going to eject my legs, the backs of my knees burned, my ankles ached and my shoulders slumped.

I plodded along at a pace barely a jog, looking at my feet and muttering to myself. “You’re almost there,” I tried lying to myself, my body swore at me, “okay, you’re right,” I tried to laugh, “but you can turn around and go downhill soon.” My body swore at me again. I groaned. At this point, I had been running about 3.5 hours. It was 10am and families were out on their morning walks. Little old couples out on their morning walks stared at me, children pointed, dogs barked. Okay, I’m being overly dramatic, I’m sure no one even really noticed the soon-to-be-marathoner that passed them at a pace of a snail. I wanted to say to them, “I’m on mile 18! Congratulate me!” or “I’ve been running for 3.5 hours, what have you done this morning?” But I quickly realized I didn’t have the energy to say anything loud enough to be heard anyway.

I felt better when I turned around to go back downhill. I didn’t have to talk to myself anymore. I straightened out my back and lifted my head. I was finally almost there! My iPod announced in my ear, “Congratulations, you have met your goal of 20-miles.” I exhaled and thanked Paula Radcliffe, the voice on my iPod and the world marathon record holder.

Love the One You're With

My knees started hurting a little after runs a couple of weeks ago, so I did what any girl with an ache of pretty much any kind will do -- I went shoe shopping. My shoes have been extremely good to me, so I figured I would just pick up a new pair of them. Unfortunately, the store was out of them due to back-to-school or the Boulder Marathon this weekend, or the fact that they are awesome. I forget which.

The tall, skinny, fast looking shoe guy studied my feet for a minute and asked if I would like to try something else. He said that my usual shoe provides a lot of support that I don't really need because I don't prorate or something like that. (Prorate is not the right word)

He fitted me into a very fast looking, soft, comfortable shoe that felt really good on my foot, but not in my wallet. I have come to accept the fact that a decent running shoe is going to cost me about $100, but I usually try to keep it under $100. This one was not. Regardless, the shoes came home with me, and I was filled with a hope that these would be the shoes I would run the marathon in, and then ceremoniously hang up after the marathon so I could do something else for a while.

It was probably not a good idea that my first run in the new shoes was a 12 miler. I started getting a blister about mile 6, shin splints about mile 9, and a very bad attitude towards the shoes at mile 10. Since the 12 miler, I have also taken the shoes on a 4 mile run and an 8 mile run. Admittedly, they are probably not as horrible as I had come to believe. They are soft and comfortable. However, a couple of days ago, I stopped by the running store and picked up another pair of my usual shoes and learned a very valuable lesson -- if something is working for you, love the one you're with.

That Rash is From What?

This post comes with a disclaimer: if it makes you really uncomfortable to read about my thighs, please turn back now. Go make yourself a sandwich, or watch some TV. Check back after a few days after I've updated the blog again.

As previously stated in this blog, I rarely do anything without reading a book about it first. During my reading about running I ran across several "common" side affects of running more miles that make sense unless you are being chased by mountain lions or bears... or chasing after someone dressed as a mountain lion or a bear.

I read about toenails turning black and falling off, achy knees, sore IT bands, pulled hamstrings, and stiff ankles. I also read about some well endowed women getting rashes from their sports bra or developing back problems. I had not read about the rash that developed on the insides of both of my thighs. Naturally, I assumed that due to the location of the rash, it was being caused by the liner of my running shorts rubbing against me. So, I spent a couple of very long extremely uncomfortable runs trying to adjust my liner on the move. Cars, bikers, and other runners would whiz by me, my hands either down my shorts or up from the bottom trying to put my liner in a place it didn't rub my thighs. People stared. I considered trying to explain to the slower-moving starers, but figured that might only make me look more guilty. Plus, after 10 miles running with a rash, I didn't care what they were thinking.

While chatting with the owner of Running Wild, a running store in Iowa City, I happened to mention my rash and proceeded to gripe about not being able to find a pair of shorts that do not rub me.

He smiled knowing, and said, "oh, that's not your liner, that's your thighs rubbing together when you run."

"But my thighs aren't big! We just went shopping and I had to buy smaller sizes." I protested.

"Don't worry," he smiled, "everyone's thighs rub together when they run," and he hopped up and picked up a pair of spandex shorts that mercifully (for everyone else on the road) had a skirt attached over them. He handed it to me and said, "here, this should solve your problem."

I started playing soccer when I was about 10 years old. I'm not saying, after playing for 17 years, that I am a good soccer player, I'm saying that my legs have muscles in them. I estimate about 80% of my body weight is probably in my thighs. So, at the mention of them rubbing together while running, I immediately used this rational in my head rather than actually picture the event happening. (On a side note, my mom, who was shopping with me, thought this was all very amusing)

Back in Colorado, I went for a 7 mile run and the rash is back, just a little lower. It turns out that so much of my thighs rub together when I run that I need longer shorts. I started complaining about my situation to my boyfriend, "you see," I explained, "I have this rash, and at first I thought it was the liner of my shorts rubbing against me when I run..."

"...but it's really your thighs rubbing together." he finished for me. I froze. It's one thing to have some running store guy telling me my thighs are huge and another thing all together to have my boyfriend do it.

He saw the look on my face and started laughing, then explained that it would be gross if my thighs didn't rub together because they would be way too skinny. So, this afternoon my thighs and I are going shopping for a longer pair of shorts.

(That picture? A barn I might have run by in Iowa. The barns all look the same after 2 hours of plodding along)

Saying Hello to Muscles

In addition to cross training, I also used my week in Costa Rica to acclimate to the humidity I would experience the following week while visiting my family in Iowa. If you have ever been to Iowa in the summer, you will understand. It’s so humid that you just feel kind of sticky most of the time.

Running in Iowa is both easier and harder. Since I’m at such a much lower altitude, breathing is a lot easier. In fact, I never get out of breath, which is saying something considering I’m usually so out of breath you would think I was hyperventilating. Conversely, the air can be so thick I’m not sure whether I’m running or I should be swimming. I’m soaked when I get home and it’s not from sweat.

My mom figured the best way to contribute to my newest crazy endeavor is by doing what she does best. She took me shopping. I almost never shop unless I’m with my mom so I probably haven’t done any serious shopping since last Christmas.

We went to the mall and I headed straight towards my favorite store. I started scooping up tops, shorts, a dress and a couple of skirts and headed for the dressing room. Soon Mom came to check on me. “How does everything look in there?” She exclaimed from the door of the dressing rooms, listening for my voice to hone in on what room I was in.

Even though I’m 27 years old I always come out of the dressing room and study mom’s face for her honest opinion when I ask things like, “Does this shirt make me look like I have the shoulders of a football player?” or “Do I look transparent in this color?” or “Would it work to wear this as a shirt rather than a skirt?”

This time I replied from behind the door, “I think this is too big…”

“Which one?” Mom readies herself to fetch a smaller size of my garment of choice.

“All of them…” I said, wondering what happened. I had scooped up all my usual sizes. Sizes I had worn for years, whether I should have moved up a size or not.

I opened the door to search Mom’s face for confirmation. “Oh yeah, you are swimming in that. Hold on, I’ll get you a smaller size… in everything,” and she was off.

Under the florescent lights of the dressing room, I smiled at myself in the mirror, and welcomed the lines on the sides of my stomach that outlined, very lightly, the very hint of some abdominal muscles. I guess running over 30 miles a week does earn me some new friends: muscles.

Surfing Counts as Cross Training, Right?

I spent all last week cross training (ahem, learning to surf, cough, drinking Pina Coladas) in Costa Rica. I had several goals for my week of cross training:
1. Be able to catch my own wave.
2. Be able to stand on my surfboard after catching said wave.
3. Drink as many Pina Coladas and I wanted in the evenings.
4. Wash them down with mango smoothies for breakfast.
5. Do not drown.
6. Do not get bitten by a shark.
7. Return to the states with the same number of people I left with, preferably the same people.
8. Don’t see the inside of a Costa Rican hospital.
Two of my traveling companions almost forced me to break goal #8 by drinking the tap water and then becoming violently ill. So, when that catastrophe was so narrowly avoided, I thought it best that I not risk breaking my ankle jogging on the unpaved and pot-hole ridden roads.

Bananas. Bears. Bikers. Dogs.

A banana for breakfast will not provide the energy to run 10 miles. I thought it might be okay because I ate about 30 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies the previous night the banana could draw on as back up. I was wrong. About 6.5 miles into my 10-mile run yesterday and I felt like I was moving in slow motion.

I have to admit, it wasn’t only the banana’s fault. I went to Alaska for vacation last week. This vacation probably contributed to my lack of energy in several different ways. First, Saturday night I took a red eye back to Denver so I really didn’t get much sleep. Second, I had just spent a week at about 500 feet and my cells got used to the laziness in which they could draw oxygen from the oxygen rich air. Finally, I only ran about 3 miles the whole time I was in Alaska.

My second day in The Final Frontier I pulled on some running pants, a long sleeved shirt and my iPod and headed up the road from where I was staying in Coopers Landing towards Princess Lodge. Running in 55-degree weather at sea level is fantastic when you are used to running in 100-degree weather at altitude. It was fantastic. My legs never got tired and I never got out of breath. Hills were easy, air was cool and I never got thirsty.

I was looking forward to going again a couple of days later when our fantastic hostess, Marilyn announced that a young woman had been attacked and mauled by a giant brown bear… on my running route! I looked over my shoulder the previous day a couple of times, joking with myself that I might turn to see a bear trotting along behind me. I decided that I wouldn’t be able to go running again and still think of that as a joke, so I hung up my running shoes, slipped on my hiking shoes, picked up some bear spray and went for a walk instead.

I guess I held onto the hope that 10 miles wouldn’t be too hard because I actually found 9 miles to be relatively easy last week. However, I can attribute the ease of 9 miles to the fact that I found $5 in my shoe pouch before the run when tucking away my car key. I realized the only reasonable explanation of the $5 was the universe trying to tell me that I should get a smoothie after the run. With my smoothie as the light at the end of my 9-mile tunnel, I sailed through the run, only having trouble when I tried to sprint the last mile to get to Jamba Juice faster. I made a mental note to hide $5 somewhere where I will find it on marathon day. We’ll see how powerful thoughts of smoothies really are.

Back to the 10-mile run – at about mile 8 I was deep into survival running mode. Survival running mode is the desperate state I slip into during the last mile or two of any run. I just keep telling myself, “almost there, almost there, almost there, just keep going…” over and over and over. The rest of my thoughts are a little foggy. This happens in the last mile or so no matter whether I’m running 10 miles or 3 miles. People look at me funny when I’m muttering this quietly to myself when I haven’t even broken a sweat yet.

Survival mode happened a little early on the 10 mile run. I wasn’t registering much even though I was trying to look around at the other people on the trail to distract me from the fact that my left kneecap was attempting to escape my body. The trail ran under a bridge where I saw a big, stocky, brown lab, fresh from a swim in the creek and enjoying the shade wandering slowly across the path. I thought about how I was glad he wasn’t a bear but was hoping he wouldn’t get in my way or chase me because I couldn’t alter my direction or my speed very much without pain.

A biker coasted down the hill from the other side of the bridge. I looked up at the biker, noticed he was heading right for the dog, looked at the dog, and noticed the dog stop to check out the biker. Before I could comprehend what was going to happen, the dog yelped, the bike flipped over, the biker flew through the air about 5 feet, hit the ground (in much the same position I landed to break my arm last April), and slid about 10 feet to land at my feet. I limped over to him as quickly as I could, “are you okay?!” I gasped.

The biker looked up at me, his eyes full of panic, “The dog! Where’s the dog?! Is the dog okay?!” before I could reply he spun around, looking for the big brown lab, his stuff left all over the path like a yard sale. It turns out the sturdy dog was just very startled. He was already on his way to the biker, looking apologetic. When they reached each other the biker just petted the dog, the dog licked at the bikers face and all was well on the Boulder Creek Path.

Plane Tickets

I have my plane ticket to D.C. There are actually several people from my MBA program running the Marine Corp Marathon in addition to myself. This kind of self punishing behavior must be contagious. Anyway, my friend Wylie and I bought our plane tickets Saturday!

I was on the phone with him when he put them on his credit card. He joked about checking the box saying that I was visually impaired and/or hearing impaired just to make things interesting. We joked, inappropriately, about being in a wheelchair but really started laughing when there was actually an option that read, "passenger may be carried." I told him to check that one for sure. I plan to be carried from the moment I finish the race to the time when I get back to my own bed in Boulder.

Boulder's Trails

I did my "long" run that I was suppose to do last Saturday today (Monday). I was scheduled for a 5-6 mile run on Saturday morning but I had two indoor soccer games on Friday night. After playing soccer from 9:30-11:30pm, I found it a little difficult to get out of my warm bed on a cool morning and run for 5-6 miles. Call me crazy.

I did manage to get my cross training in Sunday by going on a nice hike up a small mountain near Boulder. The Gregory Trail took my friends and I about an hour and 40 minutes. I spent the rest of the weekend cleaning up a strategic plan for a client that was due early this week and playing welcoming committee for a friend's mom. Sometimes, you just have to go for apps and a glass of wine. Afterall, it would have been rude to run instead.

So, this morning, after working about 17 hours this weekend I figured I deserved to take a little time this morning for a "long" jog. (If you are wondering why I'm putting "long" in quotes, it's that there is a 10 mile run looming on my calendar and I can't define 5 miles long when there is a 10 mile run in sight. What would I call the 10 mile run?) But I digress.

It's going to be about 94 degrees in Boulder today so I set off at about 8:30 for a new trail that was labeled "easy" by the Boulder Parks and Rec. Department. Trails are usually marked easy, moderate, or difficult. This is not a good enough distinction due to the fact that different features are easy or difficult depending on what you are doing on the trail. If I were hiking, or walking, yes, easy would have been appropriate. But jogging is an entirely different story.

I was excited when I first arrived at the trailhead. (the photo is what the trailhead looked like) I love running on nice, long, flat, dirt trails. I just set my little Nike + to the distance I want to go, run until a little voice interrupts Linkin Park screaming in my ear to announce "half way point!" Then I turn around and go back.

After 1/2 a mile I reached a small fork in the road, the left path went down a steep but short hill, the other meandered off to the right. I had been running west for the first 1/2 a mile (which means that I had been going slightly uphill for the first 5 minutes or so - it took me a two years of running in Boulder to put together the idea that if you are going west, you are probably going uphill. Mountains. Duh.) I turned left knowing I would curse myself on the way back when I had to go up this hill.

Little did I know how this choice would affect the rest of the run. I jogged through what a Boulderite trail runner might call "rolling hills." I would call them "a way to rip apart my calves." Then, about 2 hours later, or 20 minutes later my iPod informs me, I reach it. A mountain. The trail goes right up the side. I check in with Nike + and it tells me that I have not yet reached my half way point. So, up I go.

I stumbled up the side of the mountain to find myself running along a ridge where, if I had looked up from the gravel I was now wading through, I could see all of Boulder Valley. It was absolutely beautiful. I was too worried about how I was going to make it back, that I didn't enjoy it to the full potential.

I finally did make it back the car after 5.25 miles. I figured with all the hills, I could probably round up the mileage to 6. Next weekend, my 9 miler, no new trails. I'm heading back to an old faithful, paved, shady path through the middle of town with plenty of people watching and no mountains. =)

Wait, a Triathlon?

On Sundays I cross train. This means that I pick a low impact activity that will get my heart rate up and work on my cardio while giving my knees, back, and body a break from pounding the pavement. For my first cross training session I decided to do the Danskin Women's Sprint Triathlon with my sister, Emily. I thought it was a brilliant idea. Weirdly, I wasn't on the same painkillers I was on when I decided to do the marathon. Maybe I am crazy after all.

Anyway, Emily and I had signed up a long time ago. Neither of us actually trained for the event. We both figured that we work out enough we could at least finish the thing. Plus, this was a great excuse for me to get my bike a tune up, buy a some new running clothes, and have a (literally) sink or swim opportunity to learn how to use a wetsuit. I originally wasn't going to rent one but when I heard that the water temperature was a chilly 61 degrees, I had second thoughts. Fortunately, I'm not completely crazy.

All of the women's wetsuits in Boulder were rented. All of them. So I ended up at Fleet Feet Sports squeezing into an XS men's suit. I got it on as well as I could before stepping out of the dressing room to two men who started pinching the rubber of the suit around my ankles and wiggling it up my legs. I wouldn't have been surprised if one of them had gone back to the back to get a giant shoe horn.

The pinching and pulling happened for a while. "Look," said the salesman, "this is how it's suppose to fit." I turned around to look in the mirror, hoping to see a surfer girl from the movies or at least one of those really buff, aerodynamic professional triathletes. The girl looking back at me looked more like a large black tuna fish, round in places that I that I thought I was relatively flat, and flat in places I thought I was a little round. I made a mental note of an idea for a new business: wetsuits with Batman abs built in. Possible expansion of the idea: little motors.

I didn't sleep at all the night before the race. Emily and I got up at 4:25 to drive from Boulder to Aurora. It seemed like the only other people on the road were also women with bikes on their roofs, trunks and in their back seats. Some of them were also towing sleeping fan clubs in their passenger seats. We got our transition areas set up and watched the elites start the race.

Before long it was my turn to walk down the boat ramp with 99 other nervous, excited ladies. An iron man champion (a triathlon that is about a 2 1/2 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile marathon) tried to pump us up with girl-power cheers. "What are you when you swim?" she shouted at us through a megaphone. "Beautiful!" we were all suppose to reply. I snickered and thought I looked anything but beautiful standing there in my tuna-suit and swim cap. "What are you when you bike?" she continued... apparently, we are always beautiful. I figured by the time I was done with this I would just be stinky.

The race itself went pretty well. Aside from the fact that I almost drown during the swim - which had been shortened from 1/2 mile to a 1/4 mile due to water temperature. Apparently, I couldn't get my wetsuit high enough by myself and it tried to strangle me the whole time. The water didn't really feel that cold but with the restrictive nature of the wetsuit and the fact that everyone around me kept kicking water into my face when I was trying to breathe I started panicking a little. I found out later the swim took me about 6:01. Longest 6:01 minutes of my life.

The bike was hillier than I expected, and I was dizzy after the swim. Once I got used to working myself up the hills to fly down them at about 30 mph, it went pretty well. The downhill part is my favorite. I did get a little self conscious about how little I was wearing when I saw a girl wipe out going around a corner. In my sports bra and tri shorts, I would get a pretty horrible road burn. I made the decision not to fall.

Since Emily was riding my bike, I borrowed a bike from a friend. I rode it up and down the street in flip flops like I used to do when I was a kid on Saturday to make sure the seat was high enough and all the gears worked. However, I neglected to trying clipping in and out with my clip shoes. I got into the clips just fine at the beginning of the ride, but as I approached the transition area, tired from the route but looking forward to a snack before the run, I couldn't get out of the clips. I jerked my ankle to the side, which was all it took to get out of the clips on my bike, and my foot didn't budge. I tried again, thinking about how embarrassing it would be to tip over in front of all the people who had lined up to watch us finish the bike.

Just then, I saw a volunteer directing traffic. It looked like she had a halo on. No, just kidding, but I rode directly at her anyway screaming something like, "I can't get out of my clips! Help! Help!" People on the sidelines decided they would assist me in yelling at the poor victim I was cruising straight for. They started yelling along with me, "Help her! Help her!" She caught my bike by the handlebars, and I still couldn't get out of my clips, so I ripped the Velcro off the top of my shoes and sprinted into the transition area in my socks, bike in tow, shoes bumping off the ground still attached to the pedals.

The run was the least eventful leg, and my strongest activity. My calves were tired and I was getting warm, but aside from that, everything went smoothly. As I passed one girl, who was breathing so hard she could barely talk I heard her say something like, "let's go ladies, we're almost there, we can do it," over and over and over. I wanted to just grab her hand and pull her along for a while. She seemed so tired, but had such a great, encouraging spirit.

I came flying, well, stumbling, up to the finish line at 31:07. The announcer yelled something like, "and here comes Lindsay Br-ou-st!" I was pleased that I could hold an average of a 10:02 mile pace after thrashing around in the water and riding a bike. I was also pleased to hear a new pronunciation of my last name.

And you know what, I guess I did feel a little beautiful. Very stinky. But a little beautiful too.

A Marathon of Rest

Monday was my first official day of my marathon training. It was a rest day. I found out I can rest with the best of 'em! If this was a marathon of all the shows already taped on my new DVR, or a marathon of unpacking, I might stand a chance of winning!

I actually spent most of the day catching up on work since I took Friday off to move to a new apartment. In the evening, I watched "The Next Food Network Star" with a friend of mine who also cooked me a fantastic dinner. On the way home, I stopped and purchased a cookie the size of my face. I figured I would need the fuel since I had to start (sigh) actually running on Tuesday.

In addition to the previously mentioned move, an event that was a lot more complicated than planned, but still awesome, I also managed to overbook myself with work. Yesterday I had to squeeze in my 3 mile run between finishing my work at 5:45pm and a meeting with friends about 7:30pm.

I drove the half mile from my new house to the gym. I am not proud of this. I fully realize that I could have run to the gym and back and knocked out one of those miles. Yet, I had been so busy during the day that I hadn't so much as stepped outside and I was under the assumption that it was hot. I'm a fairly moody runner, and yesterday, running in a cool air conditioned space watching Emril cook something on a monitor above my head while listening to my iPod blaring in my ears seemed like a much better idea than frying in the early evening sun.

Welcome!

Let me tell you a little about this situation and the blog… I think this all started when I broke my arm skiing at A-Basin on April 11. I learned a lot by breaking my arm. Here is a quick run down:

• I learned that you can actually hear your arm break.
• I learned that after hearing your arm break you can actually convince yourself that it was really your ski popping off.
• I learned that when tears freeze to the your cheeks while you are on chair lifts they actually burn.
• I learned how much running a half marathon and playing soccer meant to me when the doctor told me I couldn’t continue to train for the half or play soccer for a while. I was REALLY upset, and this should have been my first clue that I might be a little crazy.
• I learned that Vicodin affects everyone differently. One of my friends suggested it for me. Apparently, he loves it. I just got nauseous and turned green. I also signed up for a marathon. I wasn’t on painkillers when I signed up but I’m still blaming it on the drugs.

I want to equate my marathon registration to impulse buying. I was on the website for the Marine Corps Marathon the morning the registration opened. I heard it sells out in a matter of hours and I had been thinking about participating for a little while. I started the registration process half expecting to bail out of it right before confirming my credit card information. But suddenly, just like when going through the express lane at a check out counter, I find myself flipping through a magazine I wasn’t expecting to buy, and I still somehow find myself walking out the door with it in my little reusable shopping bag. Anyway, I flipped over to another site to check my email and there it was, “Congratulations Runners… on your decision to shoot for 26.2 this October. You have a lot to focus on over the next few months getting ready for the marathon…”

Immediately, I did a fist pump because my registration went though and I was all signed up. Then, in the middle of the second fist pump I paused, fist by chin, and realized, holy crap, now I have to actually run 26.2 miles. At one time. In one morning. My marathon jumped directly from my “things I want to do someday” list to my “things you better start planning for right now” list.

I never do anything without reading a book about it first, so I found two books to refer to. The first was the ultimate “how to” book. It covered how to run (heal to toe), how to make sure you have enough energy (eat carbs – yea carbs!), how to keep your knees healthy (frozen peas make great ice packs), and how to eat while running (involves a very interesting concoction called Gu). The other book gave more real world and real people advice including how to find people to run with, take lots of pictures, and how and where to go to the bathroom on an 18 mile run. The only two things that both these books covered was how running a marathon was a great opportunity to raise money for a good cause.

It didn’t take me very long to decide that I wanted to dedicate my race to my uncle, Andy Redman, who died of heart disease on August 15, 2006 at the age of 67. Not only would this be a great way to honor Andy’s memory and spirit, but it would also be a great way to motivate me to get out of bed on that particularly hot or rainy or lazy morning and get myself to a trail to log some miles.

I set up a memorial webpage at the American Heart Association.
You can view it and make a donation here: http://amha.convio.net/site/TR/Events/General?px=1111901&pg=fund&fr_id=1030&et=FTpvSE5zRuoQ02QXKQPz-Q..&s_tafId=1061

Here are some fun and motivational ideas for sponsoring my run. You could donate $1 for every mile I run. However, before you commit to this, you better check out my training program. Here’s the link: http://www.halhigdon.com/marathon/novices.html. Those numbers on Saturday, yeah, those are miles. You could also just sponsor a week. This option could range from a $15 donation to a $40 donation. Just pick a week and I’ll write on my calendar, “[your name here]’s week.” It’ll be awesome. If you are bored by my creativity, you could just go to the website and give whatever you can.

Also, be sure to bookmark this page and check back often. This is where I’ll blog about all my running, eating, adventures, ailments, friends, and fundraising. The 33rd Marine Corps Marathon is on October 26, 2008 in Washington, D.C. My training officially begins on Monday, June 23 with a rest day. At least we are off to a good start!