My living room at the time looked out over Lake Whatcom—still, serene, and sure of its place in the world. I had a sudden thought that went something like this: Wow, I’m stressed out—but not because I can’t understand this stuff I’m studying. I’m stressed over proving myself. Over meeting a standard, like if I don’t get an A on this paper it will mean I’m objectively, truly, irrevocably stupid.

The realization that I was trying to prove to myself (and the world) I was smart, hit me hard. I took some time to look back over my life at the evidence on both sides. Sure, I’d done a stupid thing or two in my life, but by and large the proof pointed toward “smart”—not brilliant, but smart. I didn’t really even know where I got the idea that I wasn’t bright and that I needed to compensate for my obtuseness by getting perfect grades, but somewhere along the line I’d grown to believe it.

Right there in that moment I made myself a promise that I would finish my graduate program striving only to fully grasp the material and suck the experience dry of everything it had to offer me. I would throw myself wholeheartedly into my studies and let the grades be whatever they would be. My heartfelt effort would have to be good enough!

I’m thinking of this now because of my race last week. When I wrote that I was disappointed I hadn’t been able to reach my 10 minute per mile goal, a handful of friends who had read my book wrote to me worried. “Are you being hard on yourself? Are you becoming one of those runners who isn’t happy with running unless she beats her last time?”

Don’t fret, friends.

I wanted to write a word or two about the difference between disappointment and self-loathing. I think disappointment is a natural emotion. It’s not so awfully painful if it happens now and again and is handled with self-compassion and care. Not reaching my goal last weekend made me feel disappointed that my training was still incomplete. I suspected that was true before going into the race, but had hoped perhaps I would have an especially energetic run.

But rest assured that I didn’t delve into Perfectionism’s dark hole of self-loathing. Not for one minute did I feel like less of a runner or fail to feel proud of myself for finishing the Kirkland Half Marathon. I NEVER forget that I come from a family of non-athletes and that the very fact that I run is a victory. I’m loving Brene Brown’s term “wholeheartedness” lately because it describes the abandoned joy with which one can approach something—anything—without the voice of the Inner Mean Girl beating the crap out of us.

I ran the Kirkland race wholeheartedly. I didn’t phone it in; I gave myself to the experience. And my finishing time was quite good enough. It just wasn’t what I’d been training for. And this week I’m back to training so I can do the next one at my goal pace of 10 minutes a mile (because you know, there’s ALWAYS a next one). I know you approach your running with wholeheartedness, too. Sometimes being wholehearted means you feel glee and pride; sometimes it means you feel disappointment and sadness, but it always means you suck an experience dry of all it has to offer.

This week in training:

Carol and I have been talking about how to balance pace training for three different distances at the same time (the 10 K, the half marathon and, eventually the marathon). She suggests that I follow some pace work at my slower paces with a few miles at the faster pace to begin to train my body to put greater energy out at the end of a longer race. My training will reflect this in the weeks to come.

Monday: A walk. No speed work. I was sore (in spite of not reaching my goal pace last week, I ran hard on the course’s many hills so I was more sore than usual).

Tuesday: A walk. Still sore.

Wednesday: Pace work in Carol’s group. We did “the ladder,” in which we ran at our 10 K pace for one minute, then two minutes, three minutes, and four minutes (with a two minute recovery break between each segment) and then worked our way back down.

Thursday: A walk.

Friday: Six mile run.

Saturday: Pace work at the track with Bill. Two miles at my half marathon pace (10 mins/mile), recover briefly, and then two more miles at my faster 10 K pace (9:30).

Although the Kirkland course starts and ends at the same point (thus, ostensibly providing for a net zero gain in elevation), the ups were long and winding while the downs were short and steep.

Bill met me at mile one to start pacing me and remarked that I was breathing heavily after keeping my 10 minute pace on the first long uphill mile. On the second mile, I managed to keep my pace to 10:30, even though much of it wound up through (beautiful) neighborhoods. On the third mile, I made up time with the only long-ish descent and finished that mile around 9:30. Then we just went up, up, up with short fast downhill interludes that hardly gave me time to catch my breath.

To my credit, although I couldn’t maintain my 10 minute goal pace, I did push hard up the hills and came in around or just under 12 minutes for most of my remaining miles. I crashed at mile 10—tired and spent from breathing so heavily for almost two hours—and, although I tried to push periodically after that, I just couldn’t get my pace back up, even on the flat part of the course that ran near the water.

My conclusion at the end of the race at first was that maybe my family genes have just taken me as far as they can in this running thing, but after I recovered and had a cup of coffee, I decided that I simply haven’t taught my body how to get up hills efficiently. I don’t have the breath to maintain a 10 minute pace on a hilly course (yet).

Thanks to everyone who has been encouraging me! I’m not new to running, as you know, but I am new to speed work and pace work (and I haven’t even started with the hill work yet, obviously), so I’ve really valued everyone’s cheering and advice through this experiment. I don’t feel downhearted because I AM viewing this year as an experiment in stretching myself in a new way. If you can approach something with the eye of a scientist—studying what works and what doesn’t, looking for answers to roadblocks that pop up—you don’t have to be perfectionistic and mean to yourself when things don’t turn out exactly right.

I’m disappointed, of course, that I didn’t reach my goal yesterday, but not daunted in my resolve.

Hope your races went well and that you all had a lovely Mother’s Day.

I don’t mind getting older because for me every year has been better than the last. Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday.

This week in training has been easy because I’m running in the Kirkland Half Marathon this coming Sunday with the goal of maintaining a 10:00 per mile pace for the whole race, so I’ve been tapering. This will be my second attempt to do the half marathon distance in under 2:15. The last time I tried, I missed my mark, so this time my strategy is all about the mile by mile pace I need to maintain. Bill will be pacing me (I’ve given him a series of encouraging phrases to use when I’m struggling so he won’t just point out that I’m slowing down).

This week in training:

Sunday: A short, slow run.

Monday: Speed work. 25 minutes of ins and outs (running hard on the straight parts of the track, then slowing down for recovery for the curves) .

Tuesday: No running.

Wednesday: Pace work. We (in Carol’s program) ran six minutes at our intended pace, then rested for three minutes, repeating this three times.

Thursday: No running.

Friday: Walked three or so miles.

Saturday: No running.

Sunday: Race!

I’ll post a report whether or not I reach my finish goal of 2:11. Stay tuned. I’m excited to reach for this goal.

What are you running this weekend? I hope you have sunshine.

I’ve been in the midst of launching my new book and, therefore, driving up and down the I-5 corridor this week. This meant I wasn’t able to make it to Carol’s workouts and had to wiggle my training in around readings in Portland and Seattle. Thankfully, I’ve enjoyed the sunshine.

Sunday: A shorty (4 miles down to Starbucks to meet Bill who drove me back up the hill). This felt nice and easy after putting in my 11 miles the day before out in Ferndale at Hovander Park.

Monday: No running.

Tuesday: Speed work. 26 minutes of one minute hard, one minute slow.

Wednesday: A slow trip around Greenlake in Seattle.

Thursday: Pace work. I’m still trying to do three two-mile repeats (with one minute resting in between each) at my 10K pace. I improved from last week in that at least the first three miles were at a 9:30 pace. The fourth mile was 9:40; then the fifth was 9:46. And I bagged out on the sixth mile just as I did last week. I’ll shoot for success again next week. Don’t give up on me!

Friday: No running.

Saturday: Haggen to Haggen 5K. (I’ll get a longer run in on Sunday–probably about 9 miles since the Kirkland 1/2 Marathon is on the following weekend.)

And here’s my question for the week: This is for anyone who uses the Galloway method or who incorporates walk breaks into their races. Bill and I have been discussing how to keep track of your pace if, for example, you were to try and keep a 10-minute pace for a half marathon while running nine minutes and walking one. Do you just train that way and get to know the feel of your pace? Or do you stop your Garmin every nine minutes to make sure your running portion is, say, 9:30? I would love to hear from anyone who’s done a half or full marathon run/walking.

Cheers, all. Enjoy your weekend–wherever you are.

Listen to the replay here!

Carol covers everything from good running form to the three essentials to improving your running. Take a little time to tune in.

About Carol Frazey: Carol Frazey is the author of The Fit School Newsletter and The Fit School Diet Plan: 1 Year to a Nutritionally and Physically Fit Life e-book and co-author of 26.2 Life Lessons: Helping You Keep Pace with the Marathon of Life. She earned an M.S. in Kinesiology from the University of Colorado while working with athletes who would go on to become Olympians.  As an undergraduate at the Pennsylvania State University, Carol was a member of both the cross country and track and field teams. Carol has worked as a teacher, coach, and healthcare professional.  Currently, she is president of Fit School, Inc. (www.TheFitSchool.com) where she provides newsletters, consultation, and workshops for schools, families, and businesses on exercise and nutrition and balancing life, family, and health.  Her mission is to educate and motivate individuals to make small changes each day to live healthier lives….and to have fun while doing it! She lives in Bellingham, WA with her husband, two children, and a few furry and scaly creatures.

This week Bill and I were talking about what my next goal should be as I continue to train to shave off an hour from my marathon time in the Austin 2014 marathon. As you may remember, I narrowly failed to get my 10K down below and hour (my first benchmark) and also to complete my last half marathon in under 2:15 (actually, I’ve missed that mark twice). I was thinking that I wanted to run in the Windermere Marathon in Eastern Washington in May, but Bill was of the opinion I would be better off continuing to work toward making my time goal in a10k or half marathon rather than doing a full at this point. Here’s how our conversation went:

Bill: I think if you do a marathon, you’ll just run it at your usual pace at this point.

Cami: But I want to have a baseline to work from this year.

Bill: You have a baseline.

Cami: But I haven’t run a marathon all year.

Bill: (Frustrated with my logic.) Why don’t you ask your coach what you should do.

This is a strategy Bill and I often use during a disagreement–we triangulate someone else in to resolve it. It’s effective because we get to stop arguing about who’s right–and we get to blame someone else if we’re not happy with the final outcome (sorry friends). So on Monday, I asked Coach Carol to take a side.

Cami: So Bill thinks I should keep working toward improving my time in the10K and the half marathon and I think I should run a full marathon. We agreed to ask you to weigh in.

Carol: Well, I hate to say it, but I’m going to have to vote with Bill on this one. We’ve got to throw him a bone now and again you know.

So it’s been decided. I won’t be running in the Windermere Marathon. Instead, I’ll be doing the Kirkland Half Marathon on May 12th and shooting (once again) for a sub 2:15. Bill has agreed to pace me and help me stay at a 10:00 pace. And actually, this decision is a relief because it’s helped me focus on my pace work with some clear intention. Here’s my training this week.

Sunday: 8 miles on the treadmill. It was raining and I’m in my stubborn part of the year when I stamp my feet and refuse to run in the pouring rain.

Monday: Speed work. 25 minutes of “ins and outs” (hard running on the straight part of the track, recovery on the turns).

Tuesday: 2 miles of walking the dog only.

Wednesday: Last day of Carol’s program. A total of 4 miles which included a warm up, a cool down, and a mile trial. I ran my fastest mile ever: 8:20!

Thursday: Pace work. 2 miles at a 9:30 pace (my 10K pace), repeated twice with a one minute recovery in between. Then another mile at my 10K pace. I was actually shooting for three two-mile repeats, but I couldn’t pull it off, so moving forward, I’m going to continue to work toward this benchmark until I achieve it.

Friday: Rest.

Saturday goal: Distance run. 11 miles at my half marathon pace (10:00/mile).

One thing I’m noticing as I’ve changed my training program this year is that my body feels stronger. I’ve dropped a couple of pounds–not because I’m trying to, just because my body is adjusting itself. And I’m more energetic in general. I’m enjoying the experiment, which I wasn’t sure would be the case.

How about you? How is your training going? What are your struggles? What are you learning?

Running 101: Why and How Running is Awesome for You

When: Monday, April 29 at 11:00am Pacific Standard Time

Cost: FREE!!

Tele-Workshop Description: Are you a runner who would like to improve your workouts and feel better during and after your runs? Or maybe you’re someone who has been thinking about taking up running but you don’t feel you know what you’re doing.
In this interview-style workshop, running coach Carol Frazey of The Fit School will talk about good running form and offer suggestions on running workouts that will take you to the next level no matter where you’re starting.

How to sign up: Send an e-mail to clostman@live.com. Write Running 101 in the subject line. Please include in the body of your e-mail:1. Your full name, 2. Your e-mail address. In response to your e-mail, you will receive confirmation of your registration and the telephone number for the call.

About Carol Frazey: Carol Frazey is the author of The Fit School Newsletter and The Fit School Diet Plan: 1 Year to a Nutritionally and Physically Fit Life e-book and co-author of 26.2 Life Lessons: Helping You Keep Pace with the Marathon of Life. She earned an M.S. in Kinesiology from the University of Colorado while working with athletes who would go on to become Olympians. As an undergraduate at the Pennsylvania State University, Carol was a member of both the cross country and track and field teams. Carol has worked as a teacher, coach, and healthcare professional. Currently, she is president of Fit School, Inc. (www.TheFitSchool.com) where she provides newsletters, consultation, and workshops for schools, families, and businesses on exercise and nutrition and balancing life, family, and health. Her mission is to educate and motivate individuals to make small changes each day to live healthier lives….and to have fun while doing it! She lives in Bellingham, WA with her husband, two children, and a few furry and scaly creatures.

Last night we all got the news that the second of the two suspects in the Boston bombings was apprehended. Like everyone else, I experienced a rush of relief and slept a little better than the previous few nights. And then today, while I was driving to meet up with a group of writing friends so we could spend the day together in retreat, I felt a wave of grief so strong I wasn’t at first sure what it was.

I’ll try to put it in words if I can, even if it comes out a little inexact. The loss of innocent lives—four in all at the current count—is, of course, part of what I am (we are) free to grieve now that we don’t have to hold our collective breath waiting for the perpetrators of the chaos to be caught. But I’m also feeling a loss related to the two young men who committed the crimes. Stay with me for a moment if you will. It isn’t exactly FOR them that I feel the grief; it’s more for an essence of humanity that they lost somewhere along the way.

As the story of their lives unfolds, it seems clear that they took a fork in a road at some point, that they stood looking down two paths (or even several possible paths) and chose one—this one, the one we’ve watched on TV all week.

These two young men were not raised in a culture of extremist ideology. And given that they participated in bringing their horrific plan to fruition together, I think we all doubt their actions are the result of a psychotic break like we sometimes see in those who execute heinous crimes. Instead, unless we find out that they really were framed as their hopeful parents say they were (which we all very much doubt), we see two people who could have chosen a positive path in life and who didn’t. We don’t know why yet, but they sold their souls to violence. And I feel sad for that.

It’s all the more heartbreaking in contrast to the other choices being made this week—with the utter, overwhelming, almost unbelievable good faith and kindness everywhere else in the story as it unfurled before our eyes. Boston is, without a doubt, an extraordinary place. The sense of community that oozed from every report, from every word spoken by the governor of Massachusetts, from the conscientiousness of the law enforcement and the homeowners in Watertown was exemplary and beautiful.

I don’t really understand how so much grief and beauty can exist side by side—it’s a mystery a little like how at the end of a marathon you can feel exultant glory and hellish exhaustion all at once. But here we are: Sad and grateful and angry and proud at the same time.

The beauty of community was brought home for Bill and me as we experienced all the welcome home hugs, virtual and in person, this week.  We have both appreciated all of them.

Also, if you haven’t read it, there’s a wonderful short article by a Bostonian in the comments below my previous post. I love the way the local Boston runners are thinking about finishing their race. Take a look at it below or find it here.

The weather was perfect for everyone: not too cold if you were standing around all day as a fan and not too hot if you were running. David and I stationed ourselves pressed up against a metal barrier erected to keep spectators off the route, dug out our cameras, and settled in for several hours of shouting accolades.

There’s absolutely nothing like the Boston Marathon with its thousands of runners and hundreds of thousands of fans lining the roads the whole way! I’ve run 25 marathons myself, but since I tend to slog along at the back of the pack, I’ve never hoped to qualify for Boston. My husband, however, has qualified repeatedly, and this was to be his fourth time running the esteemed and celebratory event. I have to admit to a little jealousy as I’ve stood on the sidelines watching the faces of the Boston runners—from the elites to the charity racers—smiling with pride and accomplishment when they pass me. But mostly I’m content to be a fan and feel excitement on their behalf—happy to be one little soul among the throng.

Monday was no exception. I signed up to receive text messages to track five different friends, including Bill and Lindsay, as they passed the 10K, half marathon, 30K and finish points. This meant we could stand by watching for them with a decent estimate of when they would be coming through.

For a couple of hours we enjoyed cheering for those who came through early—the wheelchair racers and the elite women and men. Around 1pm, right on target, Lindsay passed us. David and I caught her attention and got a satisfied wave from her. Then came Bill a few minutes behind Lindsay. He knew where I would be standing, so he stayed to the right on the route where he could pause and kiss me as he passed. It was all happening as we’d planned, on schedule and without a glitch.

Shortly after they’d gone by, David and I hopped on the train to make our way to the finish. From experience, I knew we wouldn’t be able to get close enough to watch our runners cross the line, so when we got to Copley Square, I suggested we go find a cup of coffee a few blocks away and let Lindsay and Bill finish and make their way through the recovery zone before we went to meet them. Once I got the texts telling us they’d both crossed the line, we started back toward the family meeting area.

Twenty minutes later, coffee in hand, near where we’d all agreed to meet, we heard a loud BOOM. David commented that someone important must have just finished the race to warrant such a greeting. Wonder who it was? Then there was another BOOM. Briefly it crossed my mind to think, “Could it be a bomb?” but I dismissed the thought resolutely. There could be no reason to bomb a marathon. The blasts must be some sort of planned fireworks or maybe a transformer blew out its power source.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed. My friend Brandon tweeted from back home in Washington State, “Are you ok? What’s going on there?” Then I saw that I’d missed a call from Lindsay. When I dialed her back she was frantic to know where we were.

“Right here in the family area. We’ll stay put. Come find us.”

I left David waiting for Lindsay and went down the road to look for Bill by myself. People were crying in the family area, but I still didn’t know what was happening. Runners often cry after a marathon. It’s a tough haul running 26.2 miles, certainly cry-worthy!

I tweeted Brandon back and asked him what he’d heard.

“Explosion,” he wrote.

My phone buzzed again to notify me of another friend’s pace, but it indicated her time as of “40K” only, and I knew they must have stopped the race for some reason—my friend would never quit a marathon before the finish line. A marathon is 42 Kilometers. They weren’t letting runners finish. I tried not to listen when I heard passersby say words like “blood” and “bomb.”

My heart was pounding as I searched the crowd for Bill’s face. A mother passed by me, comforting her crying child. Then another family passed, tears streaking down their faces. Why were the children crying?

I tried to breathe, the way I do near the end of a race when, tired and ready to be done, I have to rally my resolve to keep going. I had to focus on my belly rising and falling not to give in to my rising alarm that Bill wasn’t yet at our designated meeting area. I reminded myself that he was typically slow in recovering, that he liked to linger over the food, that he needed to get his drop bag, and that he might decide to change his clothes before coming to the family area.

I called David and Lindsay and asked them to come to where I was standing so we could all be together. And then I called Bill’s phone. No answer, but that wasn’t unusual either. Much to my ongoing frustration, Bill rarely remembers to check his phone.

Suddenly, my phone was buzzing incessantly with text messages. Are you ok? What’s happening? Are you near the explosion? I couldn’t answer yet—not until we found Bill.

And then there he was, walking stiffly toward us—obviously confused by the growing chaos. Still, he was just a tired marathoner happy to see his number one fan, and I was relieved to find him.

There was no announcement to evacuate the area; we (and by “we” I mean the four of us, but also everyone else) just knew we should get away from Copley Square. We heard the first siren and knew for sure that someone must be hurt. But soon dozens of emergency vehicles rushed in from every direction; the sound was deafening. Still, the only information we had was coming from family and friends checking on us—incomplete at best—but we knew from the sheer number of emergency vehicles that something big must have happened, something more than an accident or a prank gone bad.

People, most unfamiliar with the city, were moving with a growing sense of crisis, disoriented on the street as they tried to get out of the square. Without the full story, no one knew how much to panic or what the continuing threat might be, but everyone seemed to comply with the unspoken understanding that we should get the hell out of the general area. Down in the subway where we learned that the line we needed was closed down, people seemed eerily disconnected from what was happening above the ground. Ignorance is bliss, they say.

We ended up in a bar in the Italian part of town—the only place we could easily get to on the subway—and waited out the chaos. It was only then, with access to a television that we learned what had happened: The Boston Marathon had, indeed, been bombed. Bill and Lindsay had been no more than 300 yards from where more than a hundred spectators were injured and three people were killed.

Normally,  I’m fond of extrapolating life lessons out of race experiences, but there isn’t anything I want to learn from this terrible tragedy which almost (but didn’t) change my life. I don’t want to learn to be a more vigilant runner or to stay away from big sporting events. I don’t want to decide the world is more dangerous than I thought it was on Sunday or even that I should hold those dear to me closer. I want to go about my business as usual, trusting the odds are on my side that I’ll be safe in this world, running happily in big races, and getting irritated with Bill when he doesn’t answer his cell phone. I don’t know if I can pull it off, but I don’t want a senseless act of violence to change my worldview—one I’ve crafted intentionally and thoughtfully over the years.

There is one thing that has changed for me, though: Next time I won’t be content on the sidelines. I want to go back to the Boston Marathon as a runner and show solidarity and support to a city that hosts one of the most extraordinary events in the world. Thank you Boston. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

We tried to quickly get out of the downtown area, but the green lines on the subway (the ones we needed) were shut down, so we just took whichever line was available and found ourselves in the Italian district where we sat and had a drink and watched the news. Later, we made our way to our friends’ hotel in the north end of Boston and stayed there until things calmed down and our friend could drive us back to our car which was outside of the city.

Right now, we’re at our hotel and everyone we know is accounted for and doing well. Our hearts go out to Boston, to those who’ve been injured, and to the families of those lost. Thank you to all who have contacted me on twitter and facebook or by text or email. I so value you as part of my community and appreciate your love and concern.