Here was my thinking: The first nine miles would be a net downhill run. This I could do averaging 10:30 (minutes) per mile. From mile 9 to 13, I would slow down to a 12 minute mile. Miles 13 to 17 would pick up speed again because they were downhill, but I’d be tired, so I could expect to average 11:30. After mile 17 my speed would be between 12 and 12:30 because my legs would be fatigued and the sun might be hot. My average would be close to 11:30 and this would get me in at or around 5 hours, depending on how warm the day was and how good I felt toward the end of the race.

And so, with the conclusion that tomorrow would be fabulous, possibly even record breaking, I settled in for a restful night of sleep.

Only I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and sort of drifted off, but not really. At 4:00 when I got out of bed to make coffee, I was excited, but not exactly energized. Still, I didn’t feel rotten and expected a decent race.

The Lost Dutchman Marathon is exactly my kind of event. I loved the bus ride to the starting line with other eager runners. I loved finding fellow Marathon Maniacs and posing for pictures together. I loved the little mesquite campfires scattered all around the field where we warmed ourselves in clusters of eight or ten as we waited for gun time to draw near enough to move to the starting line. And when the gun went off, I loved finding my place at the back of the pack with people like the guy from New York City who brought his camera along to take pictures of the cacti and the cattle sprinkled beside the road in the first several miles down the mountain.

The first six miles were just as I expected: slightly rolling, but mainly downhill. I slowed to 11 minutes for miles 7 to 9. By the half way point, I was under two and half hours–good enough. I didn’t feel great, though. Somewhere before the halfway mark, I can’t say exactly where, the terrain changed from dirt roads to concrete, and I got a stomach ache (not sure the two are related, but they seemed like it at the time). Usually, I wear a running belt so I can carry my cell phone, energy gel, extra Tylenol, and water, but because of the copious number of aid stations on this course, after some debate I decide to forego the burden of carrying my own supplies. I regretted this decision by mile 13. Thirsty and wishing I could call Bill to tell him to meet me on the course with some pain relievers to shore me up for the final miles of the race, I berated myself for ignoring my own better judgement.

At mile 16, I paused at the aid station to bend down and adjust the tongue of my left shoe, which was digging into my ankle. When I stood back up, I felt my whole body tighten–from my neck to my toes. After that, I was lucky to beat a 15 minute mile for the rest of the race. The long, hard, rolling, tedious miles stretched on and on as I winced and fought back tears.

If you’ve followed my blog, you know that I alternate between being a cheerful, philosophical, spiritual runner and a blubbering, snot-nosed crybaby. Saturday I was the latter. Right around the 23.5 mile point, Bill showed up on the side of the road (to walk beside me as I continued to run at a glacial pace), and I burst into tears. He told me later that he hadn’t seen me look so miserable since South Africa when I was plagued with fever and diarrhea. He even asked me if I was going to make it to the finish line.

Only the week before I’d posted an entry on my Psychology Today blog about knowing the difference between injury pain and “normal” pain. Somehow, I knew that as much as I was hurting, I wasn’t doing any permanent damage. What was going on had to do with starting too fast, sleeping badly, being warmer than I’m used to, and maybe even inadequate training this time around–but it wasn’t going to put me in the hospital. And though it might take me a half hour to finish the last two miles–and I might cry the whole way–I knew I could do it.

I did cry most of the last two miles–up until I had only a half mile to go. At that point, an older runner (a Maniac) came up behind me and, hearing my grunting and sniffing, said very authoritatively, “Come on, babe. If I can do this you can do it.” I turned to see who was addressing me with such conviction. I guessed he was about 60 years old. Hunched over and breathing heavily, he had his right arm pushed up under his Maniac jersey, apparently holding his ribcage in place.

“You okay?” I asked, wiping my tears away, grateful to have something besides my own pathetic body (and attitude) to focus on.

“Nope,” he said. “Fell down twice in the last couple of weeks and fractured my shoulder in two places… and cracked my rib.”

My god! One thing was for sure: He was right! If he could finish the last half mile of this endless race, I could certainly do the same. “Did your doctor give you the go-ahead to run?” I asked, incredulous that any physician would give a stamp of approval for someone to do a marathon in that condition.

“Nope,” he said again. “Told me not to do it. I told him, ‘Okay, I won’t run if you don’t breathe.’”

We never said another word to each other for the remaining minutes of the race, even as we finally turned the corner and saw the finish line come into view. We just ran and grunted till we passed the mat. Chuck was his name (Chuck, if you find this: Thank you for the encouragement!).

I cried for another half hour after finishing. I think expectations, even more than pain, were the culprit of my sorrow. This week, I’m pondering how to find that precarious balance between setting goals and letting life unfold as it presents itself. If I hadn’t set myself up expecting a PR, I honestly don’t think I would have felt so bitterly despairing in the last ten miles of this race. But it’s certainly absurd not to try to set reasonable expectations for improvement. Once again, the marathon gives me the gift of wisdom. Somehow, one must simultaneously have goals and the ability to accept failure to achieve those goals.

Well, let’s catch up, shall we? First, after I got home from the Tinker Bell race, I started blogging for Psychology Today’s blogger team! This has been super exciting for me because I finally get to combine in writing my love of the marathon with my expertise as a therapist!

Next, I rushed to get out my professional February Newsletter, which is another one of my new year’s resolutions (so far, I’m two for two on that one!). And then before I was finished composing it, Bill called me from his office to tell me that the Chuckanut 50K has opened up 500 more spaces and did I want to sign up for it? I quickly had to decide if I was up for a hard 31-mile trail run a few weeks after my Arizona marathon (which is this coming Sunday). But the same morning Bill called me, I had talked to my grandmother on the phone and she told me she needed a hip replacement. I gave myself a good think and decided, YES! I should go for it and run the 50K. Our hips don’t last forever, after all. Why wait?

No sooner had I decided about the 50K (and gotten in a couple of runs up on the trails just to reassure myself that it IS a hard course) when it was time to pack and head off to Arizona.

So here I am, in the desert, finally with a chance to breathe and catch up with you. How about you? What have you been up to? Are you running? Are you on track with your training? Taking a break? How are you coping with winter this year? Catch me up on your life.

The trip was the brainchild of my dear friend Sharon who decided she wanted to run her first half marathon, but it had to be a Run Disney event! She loves Disney characters and Tink, with all her spunk, is one of her favorites. Always in favor of supporting friends in the process of discovering running, I invited myself along and encouraged my neighbors to join us.  We found a hotel right outside of the park’s main gate, bought ourselves some Nuu Muus so we’d look like a team, persuaded my husband, Bill, to dog sit in our absence, and off we went.

(L to R) Cami, Sonia, Julie M, Alisa, Sharon, Julie E

At 5:50 am Sunday morning, Tinker Bell said, “Go,” and the crowd of 12,000 (mostly) women shuffled across the starting line. At this point, I’m no novice to half marathons—large and small—but I’m still rattled just a little by the crush of bodies trying to elbow space enough to put one foot in front of the other at these large, commercial events. The Tinker Bell run was no exception.  

My pals and I were in the second corral; it took about six minutes to reach the starting line and three miles to find enough room to get some kind of consistent cadence going. At the start of the race, the six of us ran side by side briefly and then broke off into twos. Sharon and her sister, Julie E, fell back quickly as we’d expected. Their goal was to come in under the 3.5 hour cutoff point if possible and ultimately to finish the race without getting swept from the course. Julie M usually runs with me, but within a mile, I could no longer see her and our neighbor, Sonia, in the crowd behind me. I realized that looking back to search for them was asking to be tripped by someone in front of me and gave up. Occasionally, a runner in front of me would come to a dead stop and cut out of the stream of traffic to have her picture taken with Mickey or Buzz Light Year or some other fictitious creature. I tried not to mind the herky jerky nature of the event, but caught myself grumbling just a little. Sonia’s sister, Alisa, tracked with me for about 6 miles before I lost sight of her, too.

Even with the obstacles I appreciated that the route was almost perfectly flat, the temperature extremely moderate and the hype and energy of the crowd exceedingly cheerful.  And to the credit of the event planners, everything was in place. Aid stations were plentiful; the volunteers were numerous; the course was well marked; and there was plenty of roadside entertainment.

Finally able to find the space to stretch to my full stride after the sixth mile, I got into a groove and enjoyed the numerous local high school cheer squads and bands stationed along the route through downtown Anaheim.  I looked at my Garmin and realized that my second 5K was very respectable and much faster than the first 5K when I’d been battling the hordes. Feeling I had it in me to keep up a 10:30 pace for the remaining miles if I didn’t get tripped, I pushed myself hard through the next four miles. At mile 10 I misread both my Garmin and the mile marker and thought I was at mile 11. “I could get a PR!” I said to myself, picked up my pace and panted through the next mile expectantly, hoping I could cross the line in about 2:10. When I saw the next mile marker read “11” and verified it with my Garmin, I’ll admit that the wind was taken out of my sail just a bit. I’m not sure how I’d misread both the road sign and my GPS but… oh well. Easy come; easy go.  Still if I kept up my pace, I would get in the best half marathon I’d run since I was in my 20s, so I gave it my best.

I crossed the finish line in 2:20.

Elated, and proud of my effort, I collected my medal and a bottle of water and then realized… I was alone (I mean, so to speak). All my friends were still on the course. Turning back around to go wait by the finish line was a no go, unfortunately. I was hustled and jostled by volunteers insisting that I move on into the recovery area. I had to sidestep them and wiggle in behind the kids handing out emergency blankets to get a view of the finish.

(A little commentary: Although my own race was good, and I achieved a midlife half marathon PR, I felt immediately dehumanized once I crossed the finish line. No one cared that I wanted to scream when Sharon and Julie E finished their first half or that I wanted to watch for Julie M, Sonia, and Alisa, who were only minutes behind me. With twelve thousand runners, there’s no room for individual stories or the meeting of personal needs. And although this was billed as a girlfriends’ event and women were encouraged to sign up in teams, there seemed to be no accommodating of those teams as they tried to support one another in their respective goals.)

Ignoring all warnings to move on, I waited by the finish line as invisible as I could make myself for fifteen minutes until Alisa spotted me. It’s a good thing I stayed put where she could find me because she got lightheaded once she stopped running and needed to spend some time in the medical tent rehydrating and resting. In the midst of keeping one eye on Alisa and another eye on the finish line for the others, not only did I miss seeing EVERY one of my friends cross, but I eventually lost them in the crowd and never reunited with them—even at the designated meeting spot we’d agreed upon before the race.

Head hanging low, I wandered back to my hotel room by myself where I waited for my five pals to return and regale me with stories of aching muscles and Rapunzel sightings. (BTW, here are the others’ finish times: Sharon–3:52, Alisa–2:34, Sonia–2:59, Julie E–3:52, & Julie M–2:59.)

Overall, I’d give the inaugural Tinker Bell Half Marathon an A for organization, energy, and fun, but I’ve learned my lesson about the mega races. I’m sure I’ll do more of them, because they do offer a fully loaded experience from expo to finish, but they don’t give much of a personal touch, and you have to be prepared to be alone in a crowd.

After the race with our Tinker Bell medals

I’m also pretty stoked about my Virtual Training Partners for 2012! Check out the partners’ progress and reports. And join in if you’ve got a plan to run a marathon or half marathon in 2012. Just shoot me an email (clostman@live.com) with the race you plan to run and I’ll add you in.

Have a great weekend!

Back when I found you listed in the newspaper, I was ambivalent about bringing you home. We didn’t have much room in our garage, and Bill wondered if I would use you or if I would miss going to the gym to be with other people on rainy days. I, myself, wondered if there was a place for you in my heart, in the mix of trail running and club membership.

You were young back then, unused and inexperienced. The odd old couple we bought you from were glad to be rid of you, but promised you worked. We hoped you’d be worth the $100 we talked them down to and the pain in our backs from lifting you over their clutter into the back of our truck. Turns out you were worth more than I could have hoped for. That first year, after we snuggled you in between our trash can and the bicycles hanging from the ceiling, I learned to look forward to meeting up with you in the afternoons. You and I spent three seasons of “Big Love” and at least two seasons of “Six Feet Under” together.

Last winter we hardly spoke. That was my fault. I’d grown heartier and almost nothing–rain, cold, SAD–could keep me off the trails. And this year has been a rerun of last year. I think of you often and fondly, but I’d rather be out in the fresh air. This week, however, when the thermometer read 19 and the snow measured eight inches, I heard you calling my name and determined to revive our relationship.

Thank you for these three days and the thirteen miles we’ve shared. I just want you to know I appreciate you being there for me when I need you the most.

I’ll see you tomorrow (but hopefully not the day after that).

-Cami

Lake Padden Slush

When my friend, Sharon, told me she wanted to train for the Tinker Bell Half Marathon, I was quick to say I’d join her. I’m a huge fan of Disneyland, and a big fan of Sharon too. Sharon was one of the six or seven friends who held my hand and gently guided me through my divorce a decade ago. She was the one who gave me a place to sleep on her floor when I was so discombobulated I didn’t know which end was up.

Since those dark days, Sharon and I have been through a lot together. We’ve traveled, taught classes, cried over losses, raised puppies, and aged (gracefully) together. But up until a few months ago, we’ve never run together. Sharon wasn’t much of a runner until recently, and I thought I could be supportive of her new venture not only by going to Disneyland with her (a huge sacrifice on my part, as you can imagine), but also by organizing a fun final training run around Lake Padden here in Bellingham and providing a pizza lunch afterwards–maybe with a little pre-race toast to her success.

The original plan was for all of the women who were going on the trip (six in all) to meet at the lake this past Saturday and do four loops and then another mile out and back. Each loop around is 2.6 miles, so my plan would have gotten us up to 12.4 miles, a respectable distance for a first timer’s final half marathon training run.

But, alas, as will happen, my plans were foiled on several levels. First, three of the women going to Los Angeles with us next week couldn’t make it on Saturday. One had to work and the other two had a wedding to get ready for. Then, it snowed–and not the nice, pretty, fluffy stuff either. The trail around the lake was slushy and muddy up to the ankles–and really gross and cold. Sharon’s sister wisely bid us goodbye after one loop around the lake, but Sharon and I decided to press forward. Every step was an effort, especially on the flat side of the lake which is most exposed to the elements. On our third time around, Sharon and I agreed that we would skip the slush and repeat the hilly but forested part of the trail and then call it quits. In the end, we eked out 9 painfully wet, freezing miles (which from my perspective are worth at least 12 flat and sunny miles).

Home we went to shower and have our reward: pizza. Oh, but did I mention that Sharon has discovered she shouldn’t be eating gluten or dairy? So we opted for sandwiches with gluten free bread and fake cheese, and we toasted with hot coffee.

Once again, I learn the perennial lesson that running has to teach: This won’t go the way you planned it, but you can make the best of it if you put your mind to it!

BTW, it’s a good thing we’re on our taper because the snow came down heavily by Sunday evening and I’ve been in the house for a few days now.

Bill built a snow person in our front yard

Jane and Fuji with Bill's Snow Person

]]> http://www.7marathons7continents.com/preparations/988/feed/ 0 http://www.7marathons7continents.com/advice-for-runners/an-interview-with-coach-carol/ http://www.7marathons7continents.com/advice-for-runners/an-interview-with-coach-carol/#comments Tue, 10 Jan 2012 20:51:12 +0000 Cami Ostman http://www.7marathons7continents.com/?p=970 Often, on Facebook or in private emails, friends and readers ask me specific questions about running terms and training tips they’ve encountered in their search to find a good marathon training program. I decided to put these questions to coach Carol Frazey and let her expertise do the talking. Here are some of your Qs, followed by Carol’s As. A big thanks to her for spending the time clarifying and simplifying training advice for us.

1.  What does it mean when training manuals tell you to run “at tempo?”

“At tempo” means that you are running at a faster pace than your comfortable pace and slower than your race pace.  I like to use Borg’s Rating of Perceived Exertion (RPE) to explain “effort” in a workout.  If you were to add a zero after each number in the chart, the numbers would correspond with an average person’s heart rate during different amounts of exertion.  So, for “at tempo” you should perceive your exertion to be about 14 or 15 “Hard”.

Running “at tempo” one time per week helps you to increase your cardio-endurance and allows you to mentally prepare for racing.  In a race, you are pushing yourself for a longer period of time and it will be uncomfortable.  Getting used to and pushing through this uncomfortable feeling combined with good training will help you improve your racing times.

2. How about “cadence?” What is it?

Cadence can also be called turn over or stride rate. Cadence is how frequently you take a step; the time it takes for your foot to touch the ground, go up in the air, and touch again.  The faster your cadence, the fast you go.

3. Can you talk about good pain versus bad pain?  Beginning runners will feel pain, of course, but how do you know which pain is a normal part of training for long distances and which pain is dangerous?

Know your body.  Achy pain is normal after a run or the next day or two.  Any type of “sharp” pain should be avoided and running should be discontinued if you feel something sharp and painful.  Whether you feel achy or have sharp pain, icing is a great way to decrease inflammation and decrease the pain.  I always recommend that if you feel pain, ice the area 3 times per day for 10-15 minutes each time.  A bag of frozen corn or peas makes a great, contouring ice pack.

You may experience “achy pain” after a long run or speed workout.  The best way to reduce this pain is to sit in an ice bath for 15 minutes after your workout.  It is very uncomfortable, but the effects of how well your muscles feel the next day is amazing.  I always use this technique when training for a marathon.  It allows your muscles to recover quickly.

4. I get asked by a lot of people about Jeff Galloway’s run/walk method. I’ve never really mastered using it and find it a little confusing. Can you shed some light on why someone might want to try it and what you think are the advantages/disadvantages?

Many people have successfully completed marathons by using Jeff Galloway’s run/walk method.  I have never used this method, but many people love the idea of having rest periods to bring their heart rate down and get a mental break from the monotony of running for 26.2 miles.

Advantages:  brings heart rate down, allows you to physically and mentally rest, “I can do anything for 10 minutes!” Short walk breaks give you time to refuel for the next running period.

Disadvantages:  Some people “tighten up” when they go from a run to a walk.  “Tightening up” is when your muscles contract and it is difficult and painful to start running again.

5. I always tell people that the long runs are the most important part of training for a marathon or half marathon. Do you agree? And if so, why are they so important?

The long run is the most important element when training for a marathon or half marathon.  The time on your legs helps build your muscles, cardio-endurance, and mental toughness. The hours of running on your legs helps your muscles to prepare for the hours of pounding they will endure during your race.  When you train, little tears  occur in your muscles.  Then the tears repair themselves and get stronger each time.  A long run of at least 18 miles should be done at least 3 weeks before your marathon. 

A long run also builds your mental endurance.  Pushing your body is a mental feat that takes practice.  Mentally preparing for the race is also important.  This is especially important when you begin to get tired and the negative self-talk seeps into your thinking.

Another suggestion for your long run is to make sure you run them on the same type of surface you will be running on for your race.  When training for our first marathon, my husband and I made sure to get our long runs in, but we did them on dirt roads.  At mile 18 in the actual marathon, our quadriceps locked up from the pounding on the concrete roads on the course, and it was a long and painful last 8.2 miles!  If racing on pavement, be sure to train on pavement!

6. When you coach runners, you have us do speed work (and you’ve added speed work to your training program for my 2012 challenge). Why do we need to do speed work even if we’re happy running slowly?

Running at a faster pace (speed work), allows your body to increase your lung capacity and increase your cadence.  When you increase your cadence or turn over, your stride becomes more efficient.  Even on your long runs you will notice it is easier to go at your “normal”, slower pace.

7. Talk about stretching and why it is important for runners.

Stretching keeps everything aligned.  If one muscle is tight, it pulls bones and ligaments slightly off kilter so that your body is not properly aligned and “things” may rub.  For me, I need to stretch every day or my kneecap starts to “catch” and I feel pain with every stride.  By stretching each day, everything stays aligned and I can run comfortably without any knee pain. Stretching keeps you limber and allows your running stride to be loose and efficient.

8. What are your top three pieces of advice for new runners or for those who have decided to really amp up the miles and train for a full or half marathon this year?

1. Get your long run in.
2. Practice eating what you will eat during the race (gels, etc.).
3. Have fun! – Enjoy the training, don’t take yourself too seriously. And once you’ve put in the work, REALLY enjoy the race!

Information from Fit School, Inc. and Carol Frazey should not be used to alter medically prescribed regimen or as a form of self-treatment.  Consult a licensed physician before beginning this or any other exercise and/or nutrition program.  Please visit www.TheFitSchool.com for more information.

Cami, Bill, Jennifer, Todd

They were off to Europe on vacation the day after we met up with them. Todd was planning to run the Ultra Trail Mont Blanc race.

When Todd announced his plans to us, our eyes flew open wide! We knew this was a huge undertaking, and we were excited for him.

I’ve been meaning for months to interview Todd about his experience. And I’m glad I finally got to it! If you’re inclined toward ultra running, Todd will be an inspiration. After reading Todd’s answers to my questions, I’m scratching my head and asking, “Why do I run ONLY 26.2 miles at a time?” Beware of a similar experience.

Facts of the Ultra Trail Mt. Blanc: 105.6 miles on mostly trails through France, Italy and Switzerland/ 31,450 feet of climbing and 31,450 feet of decent (Everest is 29,029 from sea level and most people start the push from base camp at 17,600)/ 8,323.5 feet at the tallest peak/ 2300 runners and 1300 volunteers/ 47% finish rate (out of racers who must have completed a previous 100 mile race in good form)

C. Why did you want to run the Ultra Trail Mt. Blanc?

T. The Ultra Trail Mt. Blanc is for me, and many others, the pinnacle of all 100-mile races. I have always chosen races based on the location and what new challenges it may offer. Most of my races are actually part of a much larger vacation in the region. We had an awesome time riding bikes through the Provence Region of France and drinking wine with our friends for two weeks after the race. I like having an added purpose to a trip and finding a race gives me that satisfaction. Ideas like getting a “PR” never enter into my thought process. The reason I race is to put myself on the starting line. Getting there is the true battle against physical/mental complacency and time constraints of daily life. When I have a race on the horizon I get out when I might otherwise have something else that needs to be done.

C. The Mont Blanc website is a little confusing in terms of how you “qualify” for the race. Is it true that you have to prove your worth for the event by participating in up to two other trail runs of particular difficulty? How did you qualify?

T. Yes, to qualify you must have completed a 100 and another ultra, (race of more that 26.2 miles), in the preceding two years. The UTMB prides itself on being the hardest 100, and with the big name sponsors and professional racers, it has become a “test-piece” in the ultra community. There are two good reasons for this requirement. The first is that even with this requirement, only 50% of applicants get a spot. The second is that the route is difficult and must be done in a more “French” fashion of self-autonomy. Imagine if you chose your first marathon to be run at night in a snow-storm at altitude while carrying 12 pounds of gear–and with only one aid station. And all of this is after being awake for 30 hours even before you start. This would not be the race to test your mettle and neither is UTMB.

I qualified with my great friend and running partner Rob Stafford at the Leadville 100 the previous year. The Leadville course has half the amount of rise/fall of UTMB but is much higher with an average elevation of 10,000 ft. I ran that in less that 24 hours and UTMB took over 40. Are you starting to get it?

C. I think so! And I understand the weather can also be pretty precarious along this course, what sort of weather did you face?

T. The first night was the worst trail condition I have seen in a race. It was raining and the trail/cow pasture with flags and downhills were incredibly slick. I remember holding on to numerous trees on the decent. It snowed and the trail was icy on the passes. The wind blew a bit; post race reports were about 45mph. It got hot in the valleys, and then I was running without a shirt.

C. I read that they had to change the course in 2011 at the last minute because of the weather. How was your course different from what was advertised? Was the course well marked and easy to follow? Did you ever get lost?

A. Yeah, one of the last big sections had a pretty significant detour due to the foul weather. The detour was well marked, but obviously not a proper trail. This detour was one of the biggest mental challenges I’d ever faced in a race. Wow, I got mad at everyone for a while. When I run I am always in control of my mind. I have pain, aches, hunger etc like everyone else, but I usually never let them surface. It’s not a pride thing at all; it’s just what I do. Running partners often complain that I don’t complain. They say things like, “It’s snowing, we’re lost, my foot is cramping and you haven’t said anything negative at all.” This is why I like ultra running. We all have negative thoughts during any run. How you acknowledge them and place them in your mind separates us as either finishers or DNFs.

C. Todd, I know you’re an avid outdoors-man, and someone who has incorporated your athletic pursuits into the daily-ness of your life. Can you talk about why running is so important to you?

T. So here’s my soapbox: I run because I like feeling my body and experiencing mental and physical challenges that we no longer find in daily life. We have been designed for “fight or flight” for tens of thousands of years, and it is only within the last generation that we do not have to use those skills. Now we pay race promoters for the privilege of doing what comes naturally. We are all runners because we had to catch prey and outrun threats to exist. You really have no choice, you are a runner in the very core of your being. We seek out races because we desire that rush to be alive. It matters not the distance. If your toes are on the starting line and you are nervous, welcome to the history of the human race.

C. A huge thanks, Todd, for taking time for this interview and for being a positive inspiration to all of us, now matter how far or fast we run! You rock. Anyone who would like to see Todd and Jennifer’s blog, check it out HERE.  For cool YouTube aerial footage of the race, click HERE.

Some pics of Todd’s race

Go!!

Todd and Rob

Finish!

Todd and Jennifer

Ah, Christmas! I hate to admit, Christmas has never been my favorite time of year. My early memories of Christmas are a mixture of the frantic but joyful opening of gifts and difficult family fights or tragedies. In my twenties, my ex-husband and I did our best to create traditions for ourselves, but we were both from divorced families with designs on our time and could never really settle into a routine. More recent years have seen me vacillating between trying to make the holidays happy for those I love and refusing to participate altogether.

A few days ago, I took a nine-mile run along one of my usual routes. I wanted to get some space to feel the complex feelings that come up for me this time of year. I know I’m not the only one whose relationship with Christmas is, shall we say, volatile. I’m a psychotherapist, after all, and my client hours often increase in November and December as people wrestle with faith, family, and expectations. And I have plenty of friends who negotiate with exes and in-laws and divorced parents for a little space of their own this time of year.

As I ran, the trails were damp with dew from the night before, and I passed at least two dozen other walkers and runners doubtless working off the holiday meals they were about to indulge in. When I hit the part of the trail that intersects with a pleasant neighborhood neatly decorated with holiday lights and cheerful blow-up snow-people, I suddenly started to cry–and couldn’t stop. I kept up my pace, hoping I wouldn’t see anyone I knew and have to stop to say, “Merry Christmas.” Memories of difficult holiday experiences came flooding forward; news stories of violence around the world flashed into my consciousness, making me feel helpless; thoughts of estrangements from people I used to know well closed in on me; and the realization that my grandmother, who died this year, would not be here to gather her large, dysfunctional family together for her annual holiday blitz suddenly felt very real.

I ran a little harder than usual, letting the cold air on my face remind me that I am a part of a larger whole–an imperfect universe made up of people, animals, trees, wind, governments, pollution, and yes, grief. As I neared my turnaround point, the lump in my throat cleared up a little, running doing its faithful duty to let me feel and move me through the worst of it. On my way back along the trail I reflected on the past year, how loss had been followed quickly with joy. One of my besties had a baby this year. Another one reached weight loss goals that have been beyond her reach in the past. I spent countless hours enjoying being Bill’s partner in this life and playing with the four-legged creatures in my house. And I got a new book contract to co-edit a book on a topic that is near to my heart.

It dawned on me as I plugged my way back up the last long hill toward home at the end of my run that a person has to have a lot of audacity to face life day after day. She has to have the nerve to get up in the morning, knowing that the next hours could just as easily hold joy and bring good news as they could usher in devastation and crushing blows. In fact, each day holds both happiness and tragedy–somewhere in this universe that connects us all.

When I reached my front door, I was done with my cry and was glad I’d gone out, although I’d spent at least an hour trying to talk myself into taking the run in the first place. When you feel blue, burdened with memories or grief, I hope you have the nerve to go out and run through it. Each singular breath you take is really the only one that you can count on. In my opinion, there’s no reason to be afraid of hard feelings, as long as we don’t become attached to and hold onto them. And I know of no better way to let them run their course than to run.

Here’s farewell to 2011, and here’s to the audacity we need to face all that 2012 will bring head on! Cheers.

“My fundraising, so far, has been quite interesting especially not knowing what to expect in my first effort of this type. To this point, I’ve raised $2,670. Many people have stepped up and been quite generous which has really been humbling for me, as well as my dad. Some people who I thought would contribute haven’t yet, and some who I didn’t really expect to join this effort have in big ways. Letters have told me of personal cancer experiences of which I knew nothing. Several people have told me that they will contribute later, and I’m sure they will. The patience I’ve learned as a distance runner is proving valuable to this fundraising effort. Just as a distance race has many segments, this fundraising effort seems to as well. Even though the finish line is not yet in sight , the race is unfolding before my eyes. So far, so good.”

Below is an interview John did with his dad over the Thanksgiving weekend.

Remember that John’s goal is $8,700 by April. Cancer touches all of us. If you’re able, why not get in one more end-of-the-year donation? Here’s his fundraising link: http://www.rundfmc.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=484862&supid=338423199