It’s over….now what?!

Race day debrief. In one word, “awesome.” In many words….read on!

I spent Saturday drinking as much water as possible, staying off my feet, and eating specific meals; I had my race gear laid out and my bib pinned on my shirt before lunch time. In bed by 10pm. Oh, and a short run in the a.m. just to loosen up and stretch.

I woke up on Sunday morning shortly after 6am, and turned on the stove to get my oatmeal cooking. I wasn’t nervous – the kind of nervous where my stomach sickeningly flip-flops and my legs feel weak; I was simply excited. The weather was overcast and cool – perfect running weather!

My running buddy picked me up and we drove to the race site; Mark was going to meet up with us on his bike. I was glad to have my buddy’s company, and could share our excitement. We checked our bags at the Bag Check, did some warm up stretches, and then made our way to the starting area. The start area was packed, but we found our respective corral area – I was in the 1:45 finish-time corral.

Ten minutes until start time. A few final stretches. Check my laces one last time. Tighten my water belt again. One minute until start time. We move up to the start line. The elite athletes are at the front. The gun goes off. About 9,000 runners cheer and clap. Off I go!

I got a nasty side-stitch right off the bat, which lasted for about 5 kilometers, but thankfully it eventually disappeared. I spotted Mark near the War Museum, and he got a couple of photos. I stayed by the edge of the road and he cycled beside me for a little ways; that was fun. The Quebec portion of the route was uphill and downhill, and passed in a blur.

Approaching the 10 kilometer marker. Hundreds of running shoes smacking the pavement around me; the sound is wonderful. Passing the Museum of Civilization; approaching the Alexandria Bridge. I spot Mark again and he captures a few photos. On the Alexandria Bridge, I vaguely note the Peace Tower clock reads 9:15am; I have been running for 45 minutes. I am tired already, and remind myself to keep drinking my gel.

Keep going, almost half way, drink! Keep going, almost half way, drink!

The more the fatigue sets in, the more fluids I drink. My water bottles are emptied sooner than I expected; I was so anxious about not hitting the wall that my anxiety spurred me on to keep drinking. In training, I always forgot to drink. Luckily I still have my large water bottle filled with water with me, rubbing against my back and, as I later learned, leaving a raw sore spot.

Around the half way mark, I began to slow down at the water stations for about 40 seconds for a short recovery. As the race wore on, I began to anticipate the water stations with a growing sense of urgency! That was a lesson worth nothing – following the concept of the RR’s 10 and 1s (run 10 min, walk 1 min), I did an active recovery jog for 40 seconds (I couldn’t stand to slow down for a full minute), which allowed me enough of a break to maintain my pace. Going slowly through the water station put me at risk of being hit with a tossed cup of water or Gatorade by a fellow runner, and which actually did happen at one point. Luckily the light rain kept me from getting too sticky from the Gatorade.

As more rain fell, the drops mixed with my salty sweat and stung my eyes. I missed the sponge station, so had no sponge to wash the salt away.

Nearing the 14 kilometer marker. A discomfort in my right ankle begins to niggle at me. The crowds thicken along the canal. Someone I know shouts my name and I look back and wave. Bands play music, lift my spirits and help to put a spring back in my tired stride. One more hill and then the homeward stretch. Exhaustion pulls at my muscles, but I still maintain my pace. The rain continues to fall and I feel a chill.

I finally reach the 20km marker – only 1 km to go! I try to pick up my pace, and manage to do so for about 400m before realizing that I might not have enough zip to carry me all the way. Suddenly I spot the sign telling me I’m 400m from the finish. I barely pick up my pace; I feel like I’m going to vomit for all the gel in my system. 300m….200m – I’m dying, c’mon where’s the finish!!...100m….As I cross the finish line, I pump my fist in the air and come to a gasping, stumbling stop.

As soon as I stop, my legs feel like they might collapse; there is nothing left! I am wrapped in a silver thermal ‘blanket’, and pick up my medal. I slip it over my neck and relish the moment as much as I can in my foggy, exhausted state of mind. I grab a bagel, banana, yogurt and water, and find a quiet spot to stretch. I ran into another RR buddy and we exchanged our finishing times and congratulations.

I left the clogged recovery area to find Mark, and we headed home. I could barely stand to walk or stand up because of the ache in my legs! Three hours after the race, I did a cold-hot session in the bath tub, and it felt great and helped to ease the stiffness I will feel on Monday. I celebrated my race with one of the best meals I’ve had at our favorite Indian restaurant. Maybe it was the taste of sweet success!

Now today, Monday, I’m on a bit of a high; my enthusiasm and excitement from yesterday’s race are spilling over into today. I hope I don’t crash later in the week – whether from exhaustion or from depression. The race seemingly passed in a blur and I can’t believe I did it. It’s over!

What’s next? I’m already looking forward to doing another half marathon sometime. Maybe in the fall.

Only 3 sleeps left!

Today is the first really humid, hot day in Ottawa. It coincided with a Sens rally at City Hall at noon hour today. I popped by but couldn't hack the heat and stiffling crowd, so quickly left again. Go Sens! It's pretty exciting that they're in the Stanley Cup playoff!!

I had my sport massage last night and it was blissful. My muscles felt a lot better today, and I even got out for a short, relaxing run after work just to stay loose and limber. I went around Mud Lake and saw a little turtle crossing the path in front of me.

Last Monday, I felt the anxiety of the race creep up on me. I previously wrote (below) that I had a restless sleep on Monday night because I was fretting so much. However, at this moment, I can report that I am much more calm thanks to my Running Room running buddy. On Tuesday night, we both ran with the RR group (10km at race pace, ugh). After the run, I got a ride home with my clinic buddy and we talked about how we felt on that run. We have both been feeling tired and worn out of late, and have both been ravenously, inexplicably craving chocolate. Anyway, I voiced my concern about how tired I felt going up a particular hill that night, and she said to me that she's not even going to worry about that because this is her first half marathon, like me, and so she's focusing on just finishing the race and whatever time she gets will serve as a benchmark for future races. I found what she said extremely reassuring.

She's quite right - whatever time I get on Sunday will be a Personal Best for me. I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself to finish faster than my original goal time. I really want to enjoy this race and have fun, and not feel like I am killing myself just to prove to myself that I can beat my goal time.

So, now I'm focusing on feeling more relaxed and calm and am working on not putting so much pressure and expectation on myself. A few aches and pains in my legs have been making themselves known during the last two weeks, so I had better prepare myself regardless in case something goes wrong during the race and I have to back off my pace entirely. Let the mental preparation and visualization begin!!

Okay, gotta go; 30 Rock is on tv!!

Tick Tock - the countdown is on

My race is in five short days and I am already losing sleep over it. Last night, I was anxious and nervous, not to mention completely revved up from a dragon boat practice, so was tossing for quite awhile before falling asleep. I need to relax; I need to sleep!

My diet for the week is already planned; my race outfit is identified; my gels are purchased; my sport massage is booked for Wednesday night…I’m nearly set. Just need to work on my mental prep and a few physical ones. Gotta shake that tired feeling, which has me worried.

Tonight, I’m doing a 10km run at race pace with a Running Room group. I need the group tonight because I am tired, I feel worn out, and the group will help pull me along. Well, at least that’s what I’m counting on. And I’m skipping boxing tonight so I can do this run – unprecedented!

On a completely different subject, Ottawa is finally coming alive. The blossoms and lilacs are out, filling the air with some of my favorite smells. With the sun shining, my spirits are lifted. On Saturday, M & I walked around Mud Lake and it was just alive with life - ducks, geese, beaver, turtles, chipmunks, woodpeckers, and tons of other chirpy, happy birds. It was marvelous. Mud Lake, to put it simply, rocks!

And on another note – we starting looking at houses a titch more seriously this weekend. We set out on our bikes on Monday afternoon to scope out some neighbourhoods and look for For Sale signs. With almost comedic timing, Mark’s bike got a flat about 15 minutes into our adventure and crushed our rosy-eyed plans. So we trudged back home, but not before eating our picnic lunch near the river. At least lunch was satisfying!

Mission Accomplished!!

I did it! I did my 20km run tonight! Mark came with me and rode beside me on the bike, which was very motivating for me. I ran from our apartment and headed east for 10km, which brought me to the front steps of Parliament Hill. I then turned around and headed for home with a strong head wind in my face. My path was alongside the Ottawa River for most of the way and was very pleasant and relaxing. In fact, I can hardly believe how quickly the time and the distance passed. I did it in 1:48, which is only 3 minutes off my goal time for the race - and I wasn't even running at race pace! Hah, I think I'm in good shape! Cross my fingers my quad stays healthy.

On tonight's run, my legs were heavy, and my quadricep was in enough of a state to slow me down and make me groan going up the hills. As soon as we got home and after a good stretch, I hopped in the tub for a cold-hot session. I sat in freezing cold water for three minutes, and then sat in hot water for 3 minutes. That felt soooo good and sooo therapeutic. I wanted to do at least one more round, but Mark called me for dinner (left over butter chicken, rice, samosas and pakoras, yum yum).

My toes and balls of my feet hurt like crazy, my muscles are tired and my back still aches from the weekend; however, I feel GREAT and HAPPY and PUMPED UP!!! Ahhh, there's nothing like a good run with good company to refresh the spirit!

Peace out -

Wicked Welts and Aching Muscles Equal a Good Time

This morning, I woke up exhausted and aching despite having crawled to bed early on Sunday night. My body feels shriveled like a grape or a dried date; actually, it’s more like my muscles feel that way - tight, very, very tight.

I spent the weekend with my team in Lachine at a dragon boat training camp, which was a ton of fun. My confidence in my skill has increased ten-fold based on the feedback from our instructor. Every muscle in my body aches and my butt is raw from the hard seats; my scalp and my lips are burnt from the sun. But I had so much fun!! It was great getting to know some of our teammates, too, despite those same teammates sabotaging my good intentions to return to Ottawa on Saturday night!

For my marathon training, this weekend was to have been our last long run before the race, which is only two weeks away now. I intended to do the 20km run with my group on Sunday morning, having returned from Montreal on Saturday night. However, on Saturday evening I was sabotaged with one too many beers and so could not drive home safely. Instead, I remained in Montreal and participated in the second day of training camp, and missed my run with a promise from Mark that he will ride alongside me on Monday night so that I wouldn’t have to do my run alone.

Despite my immense guilt and self-berating for missing the run, I really enjoyed doing the second day of the camp and was also able to pick up my brand new paddle, which I’d purchased the day before. I’m so excited to have my own paddle now!

Last night when we got back, I roused myself from my cloud of pain and did a gentle, extremely relaxing 6 km run. It must not have been gentle enough, though, because I think I’ve strained my right quadricep. I know I should take today off; however, I’m a stubborn cow and I’m doing my 20km run tonight!! Nothing is stopping me except maybe a thunderstorm!

Long live a man who loves to cook!

We, or rather Mark, discovered this morning that we get cooking shows on demand with Rogers On Demand. I am quite thrilled to be reaping this benefit tonight.

Mark likes to cook, and he is an excellent cook. Upon discovering this On Demand feature, he watched a cooking show this morning, while I showered after my 18km training run. When we were grocery shopping later this afternoon, he informed me that tonight we were having feta stuffed lamb meatballs with a homemade sun dried tomato pasta sauce over spaghetti squash with cauliflower garlic bread. At first I thought maybe he was joking because it sounded so decadent and complicated, but to my delight he was quite serious.

He has been cooking for the past hour or so, while I've been cleaning out my closing and putting away my winter sweaters. The smells emanating from the kitchen are divine and I can't wait to try these feta stuffed creations.

With the warm evening sun poring through our windows, I've uncorked a bottle of wine and am delightfully sipping away as I type this, and am anticipating a delicious meal.

Long live a man who can cook, and one who genuinely loves to cook!

And long live the women who love the men who love to cook, haha!

Long may you run

I realized today that I have been a runner for half of my life. Running defines my life, it defines me; it is a habit; it is an addiction; it is necessity. I became a runner almost by accident: in 8th grade gym class, we endured the requisite cross country running unit and I was usually the first female in the class to cross the finish line at the end of each run. I didn't pay too much attention to this; I'm sure I was probably more concerned with boys and gossip and other such teenage things. But at parent-teacher interviews, my gym teacher mentioned to my mom that I was a good runner and should consider joining a track club. I remember not long after that, I joined the Kamloops Track and Field Club. I think this had more to do with my parents pushing me to join than with me joining of my own accord.

In my first year with KTFC, I raced the sprints like the 100m and 200m, and tried javelin and long jump. In the following years, I focused on the 800m and 1500m. I loved the training, and learning about nutrition, training and fitness. But oh, how I hated the butterflies that savaged my stomach hours before the start of any race. Looking back now, I don't think I knew how to channel that nervous energy - fourteen years later, I could now provide some advice my younger self.

I continued training at UBC for one or two years with one of my KTFC friends, but I also started to do long runs for my own pleasure or as stress-relief, with less focus on training for competition. And now running is simply my lifestyle. It is like flossing my teeth - I love it and hate it ('cause let's face it, there's some days when I really don't want to run, just like sometimes I really hate flossing but it feels so good after you've done it.)

I have gone through quite possibly hundreds of pairs of running shoes; I still have my old track spikes buried in a box somewhere in my parents house in Kamloops. I still have my KTFC and UBC track suits. I have a ratty, yellowed collection of shirts from various track meets and, more recently, 10km races. These are my keepsakes, my mile-markers.

And I can't wait to add my first half marathon shirt and medal to the collection. I'm out to prove to myself that I can do it, to challenge myself and test my limits. I worry about my knees and other joints because as I get older, the ol' knees are becoming more sensitive!

It was while I was ruefully examining my worse-for-wear feet, vaguely thinking that sandal season is a cruel time, that I realized I've been running for half my life. I looked at my hardened, calloused toes and saw evidence of fourteen years worth of pounding the pavement. I only hope that they will carry me through another fourteen years of healthy running and racing. And I hope that I feel strong, healthy and prepared come race day!

The healing power of running

At 5pm tonight, I laced up my running shoes, zipped up my jacket, waited for the satellites to locate on my handy GPS watch, and squeezed in a mind-clearing 5km training run.

Today was a mild day - low teens - with a bit of wind and a bit of rain. The air was filled with the anticipation of spring, and the light mist that started falling soothed my soul. It reminded me a bit of the misty rainy days in Vancouver.

I maintained a steady speed, as per RR's instructions, but I didn't maintain the proper speed. According to my training sheet, I should have been running 5:14 min/km and instead I found myself running about 4:40 min/km. I'm having a hard time keeping my pace down for most of my runs! It just feels so slow to me and I irrationally berate myself for going slower. I can never just go easy on myself.

I ended my run by doing a lap around Parliament Hill. And I thought to myself, "how neat is it that I can just run right in front of Canada's parliament buildings!" It is a priviledge to be able to do so. It is a priviledge to be so free.

Despite the sore, stiff, tired feeling in my legs, my heart lifted. A beautiful, mild day and a fresh smell in the air combined with some pick-me-up tunes on my iPod and a consistent spring to my step was all I needed to feel level again.

Now I just need a really good night's sleep!

Another chapter closes

After spending most of yesterday in a rather gloomy fog, I found out from my oldest friend last night that she has indeed been transferred back to Vancouver. They leave in 90 days.

I am genuinely excited for her, but I am also very sad for me.

Trippin' down memory lane

I opened my email inbox yesterday to find my bi-monthly UBC alumni newsletter. This month’s issue was interesting and I went through the whole thing, feeling those pangs of attachment to my old alma mater. One item in particular piqued my interest, which was the blog of a current UBC student hosted on the Alumni website. I could visualize his references to various points on campus and in Kits; I once knew it so well – my old stomping grounds. His stories brought back waves of nostalgia and, uncomfortably, a deep sadness for a life that is no more, a chapter closed.

I miss Pacific Spirit Park, where the old cedars tower above you and their fresh scent fills your lungs; I miss the sound of my feet striking the earth as I jog on the Lily of the Valley Trail or the Admiral Trail that leads you down to Spanish Banks. I miss Blue Chip Cookies; I miss Main Library; I miss that huge tree that sits outside the biology building that just envelops you in its giant branches.

I miss living in our apartment on Broadway, which coincidentally was just steps from the best dessert restaurant I’ve ever known. I miss the smell of salty sea air; I even miss the rainy days! I miss the beautiful mountains that rise magnificently over English Bay and seeing all the tankers and cruise ships in the harbour. I miss the cherry blossoms and daffodils that sprout in March. I miss rollerblading around the sea wall at Stanley Park. I miss being closer to my family. I miss BC and its beauty.

In reminiscing about my life in Vancouver, I can’t help but feel the same question that bubbles up in me every time I go down this memory lane, “what am I doing here [in Ottawa]? How did I get here?” Sometimes, I feel so far from my roots that I feel lost. But isn’t that the heartbreaker: nothing stays the same.

Vancouver is a stranger now. The city has changed and grown so much. When I go back to visit, I do not feel a part of it; no one looks familiar; stores and businesses have come and gone. It is the natural evolution of a city and it is silly to expect that anything would stay around and wait for me to come back. Or that I would stay the same – I am not the same person I was when I left BC and intuitively I know that if I did go back, I wouldn’t necessarily feel the same way about Vancouver as I do in my sentimental memories.

Once this short-lived sadness passes, I feel comfortable with my current path. I have a pleasant, uncomplicated life in Ottawa. I have found many things here that make me happy. I have friends (albeit a very small circle); I live close to some amazing parks for camping & hiking; I have gotten to know some of my extended family who live near Toronto; I have a partner who values many of the same things I do in life. Ottawa is a great city that fits my needs despite its climate of frigid winters and humid summers.

One of my oldest friends moved to Ottawa from BC a few years ago for a job opportunity. Her intention was the same as mine - to stay for only two years. She’s been here three years now, and she and her husband are now actively pursuing opportunities to move back, and they are talking about moving back with increasing certainty. I dread the day she calls me and tells me they are leaving. My heart will break a little bit. I will be a little bit lonelier when she leaves. She knows where I come from; she knows my history and I know hers.

Funnily enough, it was she who made me realize that I am settled here; my roots are more solidly planted than I had realized. Throughout her time here, our conversations had frequently, inevitably, turned to how much we missed our families and the mountains and the perfect BC weather, and we talked about moving back. It was not long ago when we were having one of our chats that I was struck by the realization that my sense of temporary displacement was diminishing; my focus on moving back was lessening and my comfort level of living in Ottawa was neutralizing. I realized that I had slowly, unconsciously, come to appreciate the city and feel that it was home.

Except that family, mine and also Mark’s are still far away. I do still feel homesick, especially right now.