I Can Do Hard Things

I signed up to run another half-marathon. Part of me wants to tell you that I made this choice in a moment of weakness, but that would be inaccurate. It was a moment of ill-perceived strength. You see, a few months ago I accompanied my husband to the marathon he was running and got caught up in the celebratory atmosphere -- runners lifting their arms victoriously as they crossed the finish line, the shiny medals, the supportive crowd holding encouraging signs, the free bananas.  

Although it's been nearly three years since I ran a race of any legitimate distance, I thought, "I should do this again."

So I signed up for a race in early October. This seemed like an excellent idea until last week when I was running a 6-mile route in 85 degrees weather and (I'm pretty sure) 112% humidity. My thoughts were a bit muddled, but they followed this vein: Wait one moment. What am I doing exactly? Why have I willingly paid actual money to run 13.1 miles? Am I some sort of masochist? Why would anyone ever do this to themselves? Are my wrists sweating? How is it possible that even my wrists are sweating?

Then I proceeded to inelegantly blow my nose on my tank top and contemplate dying on the side of the path.

But somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, another thought surfaced: I can do this. I can do hard things.

From that point forward with each step I took, that mantra kept scrolling in my thoughts. You can do this, Robin. Keep going. Sure it's hard, but you've done hard things before. You can do hard things.

Now, I'd love to tell you that my pace quickened, I found newfound cardiovascular reserves, and my final mile was one for the record books, but that's not the case. The rest of the run was pretty ugly. My eyes stung from sweat, my ankle felt funny, and I had sections when I slowed my already-slow gait to a pace that might best be described as glacial.

But I did it. I covered the distance, even if it wasn't pretty. I'm really proud of that particular run.

When I think back on my running -- these seven or eight other times over the past years when I've had either the grit or stupidity to sign up for these half-marathons -- I realize that the runs I'm most proud of aren't my fastest and best. In fact, they're normally not even the actual races themselves, but rather the nondescript training runs when I struggled, but continued on nonetheless.

Something shifts inside you when you remind yourself that you can do hard things. The physical process of running reminds me of this in highly visceral ways, but the general principle is apt for all facets of life. I think about the motto that our local elementary school principal has taught my daughters over the years: "Get grit. Don't quit." I think about how rewarding it is to work -- really work -- for something, how important it is to have mental toughness, how resistance invites growth, and even how it's necessary to teach this lesson to the next generation and coach my children to cultivate resilience so they're not crushed by challenges and setbacks.

If signing up for a half-marathon is what reminds me of this, then bring it on. I can do this. I can do hard things. 

So can you.

2

Getting in the Best Shape of My Entire Life (an honest thought process)

Sometimes I think about getting in the best shape of my entire life.  Like, the BEST shape of my ENTIRE life, even though this makes no sense given the reality of my actual life as forty year old with three kids, a full-time job, and a frozen shoulder.

Nevertheless, I think about it.  I mean, I could still break my high school 400-meter record, right?  Maybe I could compete in a Tough Mudder, tackle a Spartan race, or I don't know, become the next American Ninja Warrior.  During these fitness daydreams, I might even hum the Olympic theme song under my breath and speculate about my body-fat-to-muscle ratio.

Then, without fail, another thought surfaces almost immediately, a thought that goes something like this:

I'd really like some ice cream.

And that's all I have to say about this.

0

Breaking Up with Dr Pepper (making one better choice each day)

I have a confession to make.  I once nursed quite an infatuation with Dr Pepper, but I cut it out of my diet a year and a half ago.  Originally, the separation left quite a hole.  During the early days after the break-up, I noticed the absence of sweet cherry fizz in my life as acutely as I notice the missing period after the "Dr" title.  (Seriously, where is the period?  My inner grammarian cringes at this omission.)

Jealousy used to surface when I saw others with a cold Dr Pepper.  I'd remember the good times we once had together.  I'd glamorized how full of life and energy the good doctor made me feel.  In moments of weakness -- late nights, dull afternoons -- I contemplated going back, whispering to myself just this once.

But I held firm.  As more time passed, my cravings diminished.  I could tolerate being in the same room with another person holding a Dr Pepper without obsessively staring or longing.  As weeks turned into months, I felt downright Taylor Swift-y about it.  I made a declaration: Dr Pepper, we are never, ever, ever getting back together.

And that's where I stayed: living a resolute Dr Pepper-less lifestyle for over a year.

But then there was last week.  On a day when I felt especially deprived of sleep and burdened with a heavy workload, I was given a coupon for a free Dr Pepper.  It was the worst possible alchemy.  I realized that I was flirting with danger by keeping the coupon instead of immediately trashing it, and as expected, the temptation proved too great to resist.

I won't lie: it was wonderful.  I savored every drop as it went down.  I still enjoy a Dr Pepper fling, apparently.

But here's where I differ from my past self: I didn't wallow this time around.  I didn't throw my hands up in the air, exaggerating that I had ruined everything by falling off the wagon.  I simply moved on.  I filled my water bottle the next day and got back on track.  This reminded me of three premises for better health:

1) Little actions lead to larger habits.  I like to pretend that my small dietary choices, good or bad, don't have actual consequences.  It's just a Dr Pepper, I rationalize.  It's just a milkshake, and I deserve a milkshake after this week.  It's just an entire box of Girl Scout cookies, and Thin Mints only come out once a year.  It's just one apple, and does one apple really help that much?  But these small choices, when repeated, can form habits, and habits, when entrenched, have impact.

2) Don't let one bad choice derail you.  Although repeated small choices do lead to habits, I've found that it helps when I give myself grace.  A bad choice doesn't mean that I'm entirely undone.  Sure, I broke my year-long Dr Pepper-free streak, but I didn't buy a whole case and drown my sorrows with more Dr Pepper to numb my regret.  I can chalk it up to a bad day (or week) and move on.

3) Make one better choice each day.  When I think about my diet or exercise restrictively -- mulling over what I shouldn't do or shouldn't have -- I grow more fixated on those things.  Instead, I've found that it's helpful to get so busy doing the right thing that I don't have time to do the wrong thing.  (This is good for life in general, not just health.)  If I concentrate on one simple premise -- Robin, just make one better choice today -- I'm more prone to take the steps rather than the elevator, or eat a little more broccoli instead of a little more pasta, or skip on a second scoop of ice cream.

This repeated choice to do "one better thing" each day leads directly back to my first tip.  My little healthy actions lead to larger healthy habits.  Those larger healthy habits, in turn, ensure that my bad choices are more of a rarity than the norm.

I'm sure I'll drink more Dr Pepper in the future, and since I'm being honest, you should know that I still hold a more romantic view of sweet tea than I ought.  And if you hand me a theater-sized box of Dots, it would be gone in a day.  And don't get me started on freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

But I'm working on it.  For me, one better choice each day means I carry a water bottle at all times.  After all, I simply don't have enough room for sugary drinks when I'm downing two or three 32-ounce Nalgenes of water each day.

If you've every struggled like I have, I hope these tips help you make one good choice today.  (Just one. You've got this.)  And even better, I hope that today's good choice will help to kickstart a good habit tomorrow.

________________________________

Ever kick a bad habit?  Have any tips for us?  Leave a comment: we're all ears!


Dr Pepper image adapted from cyclonebill.

2

Whatever the weather, the race must be run.

I don't often get the opportunity to eat dinner with an elite athlete.  (My husband, upon reading this, might point out that I often eat dinner with him.  Given this, when I refer to "elite athlete" in this post, for the sake of clarity I'll simply exclude the one to whom I'm married.)

This past Saturday, however, I found myself sharing a table with Abraham Chelanga, the winner of last year's Cleveland Marathon.  I don't know how these arrangements occurred, quite frankly, except that Joel and I had signed up for the pre-race pasta dinner before this year's race in Cleveland, our table had extra seats, and lo and behold, a small cluster of Kenyan runners needed a place to sit.

I'd love to report that we're now fast friends, but given the language barrier, we only mustered fragmented small talk, the highlight of which was when we referenced our friends who live in Nairobi.  Besides, when you're a recreational runner like me, there's not much value to add to a conversation about running with world-class marathoners.  "So, you finished your best marathon in 2 hours and 8 minutes by running 26 consecutive sub-five minute miles?  Cool.  My worst half marathon time was 2 hours and 6 minutes.  I think we share some things in common."

When Joel and I retired to our hotel room later that evening, we immediately Googled Abraham and found his statement on the pending conditions for this year's event: "Whatever the weather, the race must be run."

Wise words, Abraham.  Wise words indeed.

Because, of course, nobody expects a race in the middle of May to be characterized by chilling temperatures in the 30's, rain, bouts of snow, frequent bitter onslaughts of hail, 20-30 MPH winds, and thunder, for good measure.  But that's what went down on Sunday morning when the starting gun sounded, and for miles we slogged through the elements.

Personally, I think the hail was the most exciting feature, like having your face vigorously exfoliated with pellets of ice which, I'm sure, would cost a pretty penny in a salon.  The worst aspect was running with sopping wet feet, but I noticed that this, too, serves a purpose: when your feet are numb from cold for the final 10 miles of a race, you thankfully can't feel any blisters forming.

As Joel and I thawed and drove home after the race, we told stories of our individual runs: the hill on which he felt he was moving backwards with each step instead of foreward, the cavernous pothole that I stepped into that swallowed my foot in water up to my ankle.

Right then, I knew our stories would intensify the more we told them, like how a fisherman's tale of the great catch adds inches with each spoken rendition.  By the time we crossed the Pennsylvania border the sun shined periodically between brief bursts of rain, and I wondered if the race's conditions actually had been as bad as I thought. 

Had I just imagined the morning's brutality?

But then I stumbled upon outside corroboration by reading the account of Ralph Lowery, 65, who had been running for 5 decades and had raced the Cleveland Marathon 39 times.  "I've run in unbelievable races at times in my life," he said. "This is the worst weather I've run into... It felt more like survival than a race.  It was definitely the most challenging thing I've run in, including Pikes Peak."

I'll take his word for it.  That run was a doozey.

But, like Abraham noted, whatever the weather, the race must be run.  And, sometimes, the worse the weather, the better the stories to tell.

Did I mention the hail?  You should have seen it.  It was this big... 

1

Four Good Things: Unexpectedness, Honey, Pick Ups, Endings

Not heeding the draining power of 80 degree heat, yesterday I decided to make up the long training run that I had skipped over the weekend.  It began inauspiciously when I tripped and fell on gravel a third of a mile into the run, and it ended badly 10 miles later when, parched and exhausted, I reached my car and realized that my keys were locked inside, taunting me.

Come to think of it, that entire middle section of the run was pretty rough, too.

Some days, your success isn't that you ran well, but that you ran, period.  Yesterday was such a day.  Even so, I can often find something good about a run, even if that something is "it ended."  Yesterday, I found four good "somethings."

First, I came across this fireplace and chimney built into a rocky hill.  There's no rhyme or reason for it, which made it curiously unexpected.  Who built a fireplace along a path?  Why?  What an odd mystery.  I love odd mysteries!

Second, I turned onto an entirely new route, ran past a small farm, and discovered a local honey kiosk on the side of the road.  It's rare to come across a drop-your-money-here "self serve" setup, and it made me feel remarkably pleased with my little community.

Third, my cell phone battery lasted long enough for me to call my husband at the end of my run and tell him about my I-just-ran-10-miles-and-now-I'm-stuck-in-a-paking-lot predicament.  Fifteen minutes later, like a knight in a semi-shining Camry, he pulled up, unlocked the car door, and handed me a cold Gatorade.  (He's thoughtful like that.)

And that fourth good thing about yesterday's run?  It ended.

0

Lessons from Running (13.1 of them, in fact)

On Saturday I ran my fifth half marathon, which is evidence that either a) this running hobby is genuinely sticking, or b) when signing up for new races, I have selective memory that glosses over the pain and effort involved.  (I'm not sure which.)  Still, over the years I've learned valuable lessons from running -- many of which are also applicable to general life -- that I'd like to share with you today.

1) Running is more enjoyable when you're not uptight about the results.  My husband caught me off guard when he asked if I'd like to sign up for this particular race.  You see, we're training for other races that will be held in May, which means that we're still weeks away from peak race shape.  "We could treat it like a long training run on a nice course, not a race," he began, before adding, "I could ask my parents to watch the girls for the day."

What I heard from his spiel: His parents would watch the girls while we'd take a day trip by ourselves.  What I chose to ignore: We'd run a combined 39.3 miles to make this trip without children actually happen.

Regardless, I was persuaded.  I went into the race with no performance expectations.  I didn't set a goal time, I didn't measure my time or distance on my watch while running, and I didn't stress.  I simply ran.  It wasn't my fastest race, but upon reflection, I realize that it was my favorite race.

There's something to be said for doing something for the sheer experience, not for results.  (As a goal-oriented individual, I'm mulling over this observation in light of the other facets of my life.)

2) You'll have the best conversations in line for the restroom before the race.  I don't know why this occurs, but I meet the most interesting people while waiting to use the restroom.  (To the two woman who stood in front of me, I have no idea who you are, nor do I have any idea how we ended up whistling the Hunger Games theme song together as if we were plotting a District 13 uprising, but thank you for your brief, yet wonderfully pleasant, pre-race companionship.)

3) Disable your camera function when your phone is zipped in your jacket, or you, too, like my husband, might end up with 884 pictures of the inside of your pocket that will look just like this:

You will need to delete each one individually.

4) Don't try anything new immediately before or during a race.  I think every running article ever written has dispensed this advice, and yet, I somehow didn't draw a connection between it and the brand new shoes I wore the day before the race -- those new shoes that rubbed my heel and left me with a limp-inducing blister.  Let me speak from experience: don't try anything new right before a race, including shoes.

5) Music boosts morale.  Part of the beauty of a Rock 'N' Roll race is that every mile or so, a new band is stationed to play live music.  As I ran, I passed nearly a dozen live performances, including the Howard University marching band drum line.  It almost makes you want to stop running so you can listen.

6) It's good to reach mile six and be pleasantly surprised that you're running.  Before I ran long distances and experienced it myself, I never would have believed people who claimed that if you run long enough, your body eventually falls into autopilot, but it's true.  When you pace yourself intelligently, it's entirely possible to have multiple miles under your belt and have an epiphany: "Well, whaddya know?  I'm running!"

This is much better than pushing yourself beyond your capacity, reaching mile six, and having the reverse epiphany: "Oh. My. Goodness. I am running.  And I am dying."

7) Weather makes or breaks a run. They're few and far between, but when you run on a perfect day -- temperatures neither too hot nor too cold, sky neither too sunny nor too overcast, air neither too breezy nor too still -- you'll rejoice.  This past Saturday in Washington, DC was such a day.

8) Ditto for scenery.  If you enjoy nature, or architecture, or even people-watching, running provides an opportunity to view scenes you'd otherwise miss.  I've driven through neighborhoods in my town countless times, yet I can discover something new and charming when running along those same streets.  Saturday's course took runners past monuments, through character-rich neighborhoods, and alongside blossoming crab apple trees.  You can't absorb these scenes as well while driving past them.

9) People who cheer for runners deserve high fives, too.  Most of my running is a solitary affair.  I train early in the morning or tuck in runs before my children come home from school.  There's no fanfare involved in training.  But on a race day, people come out of the woodwork: offering high fives, holding signs, and cheering.  I can't imagine watching a worse parade than thousands of runners streaming past in sweat-wicking paraphernalia, but there they are.  Race-day cheerleaders, you deserve high fives, too.

10) Training on hills minimizes the effect of hills.  In my public speaking courses, I often encourage my students to practice in the manner in which they want to perform.  It always pays off.  Similarly, when running, always add a hill.  When you've practiced hills when they don't count, you can tackle them when they do.

11) It is better to pass than to be passed.  In my first half-marathon, I started at a pace that was too fast to sustain, and I suffered for it.  It's far better to start conservatively, get your legs underneath you, and pick up speed during the latter half.  (It doesn't hurt your motivation to pass other runners in the final miles, either.)

12) You're not finished when you reach mile thirteen, or, if you're a full marathoner, when you reach mile 26.  You'll see the final mile-marker sign before the finish line and prematurely think, "I'm almost there!"

And then you will run the longest fragmented stretch of a mile that you've ever run in your entire life.

13) Ask the right guy to take your post-race pictures.  If you ask the friendly guy who has bad timing, you might end up with a picture like this:

It's a non-action action shot.  Still, you'll you'll have fun writing captions for it.

Joel: Did you realize that I'm wearing a shirt?  I'm wearing a shirt!  Look, there are even words written on it.
Robin:  Yes, you wear shirts.  That's funny; I do too.  And, guess what?  I have hair.

13.1) Take a few post-race selfies anyway, just to be safe.  Because you'll certainly want to capture those endorphin-filled post-race celebratory moments so when you look back on your experience, whether days, weeks, or months later, you'll remember what a good time you had.

And then you'll sign up for another race.

4

2015 Cleveland Marathon Weekend

During every race, I reach a point when I swear that I will never do this again, which makes distance running surprisingly similar to childbirth.  It wrecks you when you're in the midst of it, but then you're the recipient of a reward (a baby! a free banana and a medal!) and somehow your mind forgets the suffering and you think, that was a pretty amazing.

Case in point, I have nothing but fondness for the city of Cleveland, despite its potholes and the fact that by mile twelve I felt entrapped in some Hunger-Games-like dome where the heat and humidity were cruelly ratcheted up.

Before the race, there's always such promise as runners, who tend to be a friendly lot, stretch and head to their corrals.  Smiles are as wide as lines for the Porta-Potties are long.  Hope abounds.

Of course, at some point you have to start running, which brings more sobriety to the entire event.  As the miles wear on, those early smiles from the starting line morph into expressions of acceptance, then resignation, then weariness, then pain, then gritty determination, then a degree of despair, then outright loathing of life.  This is when you start hating people, even the awesome woman at the side of the road who's spraying the runners who pass with water from her garden hose.

But still, you push on.  

For me, I was trying to reach a goal that's eluded me: breaking the two-hour mark.  I had a poor sense of my pace because my GPS had no signal, but when I reached mile twelve I felt a sliver of hope that this could be the race.  Unfortunately, I also felt lightheaded, which, given my track record with hitting the pavement, unnerved me.

I concentrated on the only things I could reasonably control: breathing, putting one foot in front of the other, and remaining conscious.  Like an oasis in the desert, the finish line finally appeared.  And the clock -- the clock! -- came into focus (under two hours!), and each step hurt, and my face contorted into even more of a grimace, and my feet crossed the finish line even though they no longer felt attached to my body.

 

Then I felt dizzy, which lead to a helpful volunteer observing my unstable steps and immediately leading me to the medical tent where I sat down, said something akin to "I have a history of hypoglycemia," and felt a bottle of chocolate milk being put into my hands.

It's amazing how a little sugar can bring you back to life.

The temperature rose and the next hour passed while I stretched, waited for Joel to finish the full marathon, and tried to comprehend how -- why? -- people were still running.  My anticipation shifted toward mild concern when the clock surpassed his expected finish time, then greater concern as more minutes ticked by.  Finally, I saw him in the distance, obviously hurting, and made my way to the runner's chute as he crossed the finish.

This time, I was the one ushering him the medical tent as I listened to his story: cramping and getting sick to his stomach starting at mile 18, ceasing to sweat by mile 25.  Somehow the man still finished in 3:57 in a wicked state of dehydration. 

Somehow the man even looks good while getting an IV.  I do not understand this.  But I do understand, even after progressively vomiting on an eight mile stretch of Cleveland roads, Joel's remarkable kindness and thoughtfulness and good humor, as demonstrated with all of his interactions with the awesome medical team.  This is the type of man Joel is, through and through.

It's amazing how an IV bag, just like chocolate milk, will bring you back to life.  Within an hour, he was dismissed from the medical tent and we walked back to the hotel where we showered (always life-changing after a long run), stretched some more, rested, and eventually went out to dinner and talked over the details. 

Joel shared how he once heard that nobody quits a 26-mile race at mile 23.  If that's the case, he said, when I started struggling at mile 18, I just had to push for five more miles and reach mile 23, because nobody quits when they only have three more miles to go.

That's true grit.  If it's possible, I might have fallen even more in love with him right there.

I shared about the girl I had loosely teamed up with near the third mile, how we had run beside each other for eight of the thirteen miles with periodic snippets of conversation until she dropped back, saying that I should go grab my sub-two-hour goal.  I wish I could thank her.  She kept me going and probably doesn't even know it.

Over burgers, I deliberated on post-race protocol.  How long is it socially acceptable for me to wear this medal around my neck?  We hashed out Cleveland's sights and sounds: the group who stood outside their church, jamming on guitars and cheering us on, the man in the hot dog costume, the signs held by spectators.  My favorites?

"Looks like a lot of work for a free banana." 

"You think what you're doing is hard?  I'm growing out my bangs."

And this gem, which made me accidentally snort water up my nose while running past:

Yes, in the telling of the stories, the pain already had been forgotten.  I had stretched and surpassed my goal.  (LeBron isn't the only one with a formidable wingspan.)  Joel hadn't run his fastest race, but given the circumstances, his perseverance might have been even more impressive than his original 3:37 marathon time.

Those medals?   Oh, we earned them this time around.  Yes, we earned them.

2

Small Victories (Almost Race Day)

Over the past seventeen weeks -- the duration of the entire spring semester -- I've been training for a half marathon, keeping a brief record of each training run on a single sheet of paper to hold myself accountable and stay on schedule.  I'll have logged 475 miles before pinning on my bib this Sunday morning in Cleveland.

  

The paper documents runs spanning from bitter winter to spring, runs when I flew and runs when my legs felt like lead, and runs on a treadmill when my greatest challenge was overcoming boredom and not succumbing to OCD-ticks, like obsessively counting my steps, or thinking about my breathing, or wondering why any sane person would voluntarily choose to run long distances when they could be, I don't know, lying on a couch and watching back-to-back episodes of Fixer Upper instead.

It's a single sheet of paper, one that's folded and marked, but I already value it more than the complimentary race shirt and finisher's medal I'll receive.  It shows the process.  It tracks the days when I wanted to quit, but didn't, like the afternoon when I didn't feel well but gritted through a seven-mile tempo run on a treadmill while an elderly gentleman slowly walked on the treadmill beside me.  He repeatedly looked over and finally said, "That race you're going to run?  I think you're going to win."

I had laughed and thanked him, dismissing the compliment immediately in my mind.

But looking back, I accept his words.  Clearly, I won't finish first, but there's a certain type of winning that takes place when you approach the starting line, knowing that you've done the work to reach that point.  Yes, I've set a goal time.  And yes, I'm competitive and want to set a personal best.  But today I'm replaying one thing in my mind: the man's assurance that I would win.

He's right.  One step at a time over these past few months, I've already won.  I've already had many small victories.  475 of them, in fact.

Now it's time to add 13.1 more.

0

On Running a Timed Mile for Purposes Other Than Gym Class

I'm relatively positive that every American, if they're not personally doing so, knows somebody in their 30's or 40's who is training for some sort of race.  Whether the distance ranges from a 5K to a full marathon, running seems to be a new version of the early-to-mid life crisis, just healthier.

Races are common.  Races are normal.

But at the start of each indoor track meet at the university where I teach, there's an opportunity for members of the local running club -- people who appear otherwise perfectly rational -- to run a timed mile.  This isn't exactly a race.  It's a track meet.  It's filled with college athletes in their university-sanctioned uniforms who resemble gazelles as they run casual warm-up laps at paces faster than some people can sprint.

A few weeks ago I joined this scene and put myself on the line quite literally.  Yes, as an almost 37-year-old mother of three, I stepped up to the starting line to run my first ever timed mile at a college track meet.

When you're poised at the starting line there's not much time to think before the gun sounds.  This is good because it doesn't allow you to question how you reached this strange place in life.  I  remember venturing a slight wave to my daughters as they sat on the front row of the bleachers, then steeling my gaze ahead as the race official called the runners to our marks.

In retrospect, there's not much time to think after the gun sounds, either, because you're too occupied trying not to die.

As soon as I started to run, I lost track of peripheral sights and sounds besides the stampeding pound of racers' feet on the track.  I only recall fragments, like noticing my acute thirst by the third of eight laps, as if I had instantaneously dehydrated.  I vaguely heard one of my daughters calling Go Mommy!  My last fully-formed thought was that I probably should have given more consideration as to how to pace myself.  I was met with more numbness than relief when I crossed the finish line.

It wasn't particularly pretty.  I didn't run exceptionally fast.  But here's the deal: I did it.  I ran at a track meet in an indoor Big 10 facility in front of my daughters.

I'm starting to realize that life is enriched by cobbling together these odd experiences -- these experiences that push me, that stretch me, that eventually make for a good story, no matter how they turn out.

When in doubt, run the race.

2

On Giving Up Caffeine (and failing)

I stopped drinking caffeine last year over winter break.  Although I've never been a coffee drinker, I've always harbored a few beverages of weakness: namely, any cherry-flavored cola (Dr. Pepper, I'm looking at you) and sweet tea.  Oh, sweet tea, I'd drink a gallon of you without flinching.  I'd hook myself up to a sweet tea IV.  I'd write a haiku in your honor.

Sweet tea, fine and sweet,
Glucose steaming through my veins,
Liquid sugar love.

At the onset, it wasn't an intention break-up with caffeine.  I was simply getting a reasonable amount of sleep, which doesn't always happen during the semester, and the extra jolt of caffeinated energy wasn't necessary.  Once two weeks passed without any caffeine consumption, I delicately danced with the idea of foregoing it for the long haul.  My decision was made at the start of the new year when I drew a proverbial line in the sand:

I would be a person who didn't drink sugary, caffeinated beverages.

This lasted for four and a half months.  Then I reached finals week -- and the seemingly insurmountable amount of grading that accompanies finals week. 

The relapse was swift and complete.  In four days, I drank three of these bad boys:

There are people who taste something sugary, grimace, and proclaim it to be "too sweet."  I'm not one of these people.  I loved every unhealthy drop.  Liquid sugar love, indeed.

Now, all of this leads me to today's contemplation of health, which has been brought to the forefront of my thoughts for three key reasons:

One, over the weekend, I accompanied my husband to Philadelphia where he ran his first full marathon (3:37, nonetheless!)  It took me a while to place my finger on this, but spectating the event made me want to participate in the event.  Moral of the story (beyond the fact that I'm exceedingly proud of my hot husband): if you place a competitive person in a position where she's relegated to watching the competition, her competitive nature is going to be drawn out.

Two, since my husband and I traveled to the race without our children, I had an uninterrupted opportunity to think, dream, and set goals.  Essentially, during the three hour ride home I pretty much convinced myself that I should (and could) get in phenomenal running shape. 

For the record, I also convinced myself that it would be possible to clean, organize, and decorate my entire house until it resembled the Fixer Upper farmhouse, cook more healthily, read more expansively, tackle a lagging project at work, and chip away at some of those Pinterest projects I've been contemplating -- and that I should complete all of these things this very week.

I'm balanced that way.

Three, we're entering the stretch of Holidays Which Revolve Around Food.  If I could just get ahead of the game by taking proactive strides with my health now, not a month from now when everyone climbs on the "get healthier" New Year's bandwagon, my January self would be thanking my late-November self.

Of course, reality sets in.  When we arrived home from our travels, we unpacked, started a load of laundry, and got swarmed by the kiddos who hadn't seen us for a day.  Almost immediately, I came down with the type of head cold that causes you to litter your side of the bedroom floor with a dozen crumpled Kleenex, all thrown overboard during the long hours of the congested night.

Still, despite the head cold, the daily realities of parenting young children, and the lingering grading that I need to complete during this Thanksgiving break from classes, for the past two days I've managed to do something.  I've put on my work-out clothes and followed though -- running a few miles yesterday and doing a Jillian Michaels DVD today. 

I feel like I think I'd feel after having fallen off the exercise wagon since my trail run several weeks ago: a bit sore, a bit sluggish.  But I'm moving.  I'm headed in the right direction. 

Even as I vacillate in that awkward space between extremes ("I should get in the best shape of my life," versus "Wow, I really like cookies"), I'm reminding myself that small changes -- whether with caffeine, food, exercise, or any other life goal -- can lead to real results if they're repeatedly done.

I'm not making a declaration about giving up caffeine right now.  And I'm certainly not making a declaration about giving up cookies.  (My momma didn't raise no fool.)  But I am making a declaration that it's okay to fail. 

I don't care how many times (or for how long) I fall off this wagon.  I'm getting back up on it today.

3

The Trail Run

I don't often feel like I've been flung into a scene from the Hunger Games, which is fortunate since my skills with a crossbow aren't up to snuff, but several weekends ago I found myself racing along rugged terrain with little on my mind except survival.

You see, my husband, Joel, is training for a marathon, and he decided to shake up his typical weekend training by entering a half marathon trail run.  Being inclusive, he also signed me up to run the 10K version, which immediately prompted me to google "10K distance" and then to grapple with the disparity between its length (6.2 miles) and my fitness level, which I was generously capping at 4 to 5 miles.

During the weeks leading up to the race, I stepped up my game and squeezed in several late-evening runs that mostly focused on speed, not distance.  Go faster, not farther, I told myself.   During one especially motivated run after one especially frustrating day, I went all out in a quest to know what it would feel like to run a sub-seven minute mile.  (In case you're wondering, it feels like pain.)

The day before the race, Joel received an update that the race lengths weren't entirely  -- oh, how would you word it? -- standard.  The half marathon would be slightly shorter than your typical half marathon, and the 10K would be slightly longer than your typical 10K.  (To quote: "The exact distance is approximately 6.7 miles.") 

If one can be simultaneously concerned, charmed, and baffled by the arbitrary nature of distance, I was.  My confidence wavered: Is it even legal to have a 10K race that's a half mile longer than 10 kilometers?   (Don't let that decimal point fool you into thinking that what follows doesn't matter.)  My love of precise wording bristled: How is an EXACT distance APPROXIMATELY measured? 

Then I settled on one final thought: This is going to be quite an adventure.

And that was an accurate sentiment.  After the pre-race safety meeting, during which the organizer encouraged us (twice) to wait for help and avoid panic if we ended up in a ditch, we lined up and waited for the gun to sound.  The first 1.5 miles ascended a steep gravel incline along the scenic Pennsylvania mountainside -- a morning wake-up call to be aware of your cardiovascular system -- and then we were directed onto the trail itself.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I envision a "trail" to be a gently rolling dirt path, one nicely situated in a peaceful bucolic setting, perhaps next to a babbling brook or a pleasant grove of shade trees.

This wasn't that type of trail.  This trail was a rocky, muddy, root-strewn, leaf-covered path marked by small flags to keep runners on track as we plunged down sharp hills and climbed steep inclines.  I jumped over crevices, climbed rocks, and raced across occasional chicken-wire covered planks that were propped over streams.  I fell, got back up, kept running, got disoriented, fell again, shook it off, and just kept running.

For an hour my thoughts were grounded solely in the present; I only could think far enough ahead to where I should place my next step.  Tree branches, rocks, ditches, and sharp turns appeared immediately in front of me and forced to absorb and assess my surroundings as quickly as possible, something both chaotic, invigorating, and surprisingly peaceful.

You know you might multi-task too much if a frenetically-paced trail run brings you to a place of deep inner calm.

Unlike road running, I had no idea how far I had traveled or how fast I was moving.  I simply ran.  I ran until I was alone on the trail, unconcerned with where I was in the pack, just conscious of each step, until I crossed the finish line and looked for Joel.

We were both a muddy mess, and we accepted the complimentary Gatorades and ate our complimentary lunches off of Styrofoam take-out containers as we sat in the grass, stretched, hashed out our experiences (I lost my sunglasses at some point.... You fell too, didn't you?), and waited for the results where I was pleasantly surprised to find that I represented the decade of women in their 30's well. 

Apparently, back woods trail races of questionable distances where you just might end up in a ditch must suit my running style.

I should add that Joel also was a medalist in the men's division, which didn't surprise me.  The difference between us lies in the fact that he's continued his training, whereas when I crossed the finish line I stopped exercising entirely and have replaced those efforts with an attempt to eat my body weight in leftover Halloween candy.

And there you have it, my friends: the exact approximate true story of the trail run.

4

The First Mile is the Hardest (and other Life Lessons Learned from Running)

I waver with running, vacillating between being a jogger who plods along painfully for three miles of flat terrain and being a runner in half-marathon shape.  Right now, I'm somewhere in between, but closer to the first option.

Running often teaches me valuable lessons.  I've always thought that the first mile is the hardest.  (Granted, the last mile can be rather hard, too, which makes it unfortunate if you're out for a two-mile run.)  The process of getting started -- of overcoming lethargy long enough to lace up my shoes -- echoes so many other life hurdles of beginning.

Again and again, whether with running or with life, I'm ultimately reminded that it's better to start.  Don't put it off.  Don't procrastinate.  Don't let the situation pile up around you. 

Just start.  At least you'll be one step farther.

Recently I took a four-mile jog that was ugly in every sense of the word.  I was slow.  The air was hot and humid.  I swallowed a bug around mile three and stood on the curb at the edge of a busy intersection, hands on my knees, hacking and spitting into the grass, oblivious that two workers from the power company were watching my regurgitation from their station at a telephone pole a few feet away.

After pulling myself together and working back into a jog, I debated whether I'd even finish.  My throat hurt.  (It was no small bug, my friends.)  I thought about the final hill ahead, unsure whether I'd have enough strength in my legs, enough breath in my lungs, enough fortitude in my mind.

In that moment, I felt God gently nudge me.  Do you have enough strength and breath and fortitude right now?

I did.

Then don't worry about whether you'll have enough during the next mile.

How often do I think ahead, making mental maps of might-be scenarios?  How often do I invest emotional energy by plotting my path and rehearsing potential outcomes of situations that haven't yet come to pass?  How often have I burdened today with hypothetical troubles that may or may not arrive tomorrow?

God is nudging me.  Am I with you right now?  In this very moment, can you call on Me and trust me?

He is.  And I can.

God goes before us.  He's already there in the future, and he'll be just as available and close then as he is right now. 

Life is more easily lived one step at a time, whether that step is slow and painful or strong and swift.  We can save ourselves unnecessary trouble if we stop projecting into the unknown future, that long uncharted mile ahead, and instead trust that God is with us, giving us enough strength and breath right now, this very moment, this very step.

_________________________________________________________

Image compliments of Derek Lyons (flickr.com)

6

Race Day Results: Thirteen point one miles -- done!

When I woke yesterday morning, the first thing I checked was the online weather report.  I'm not sure why.  I knew it was slated to be a cold day, after all, but somehow I thought I'd feel better knowing the specifics.

Turns out, knowing the specifics didn't make me feel much better.  It did further solidify my plan to dress in excessive layers for my half marathon, however.  To clarify, I don't play poker -- nor do I strip -- but had I been playing strip poker yesterday morning, I would have remained downright modest after a half dozen bad hands.

Here's what I looked like before leaving the house, donning one final layer, and adding a hat, ear warmers, and gloves for good measure.  I thought that the all-black motif was a nice touch, like I was a ninja runner.

Because, obviously, ninjas are known for their distance running.

Nervousness began to descend during the drive to the race site.  Not only do I question every bodily function before a race, but I also doubt my time management.  Am I going to be late?  Will I have time to register?  Have I drunk enough water?  Have I drunk too much water?  Am I wearing enough clothes?

I was on time for registration, but apparently I dawdled getting in line for the women's restroom, which resulted in my fearless use of the men's restroom after shouting an all clear? inquiry from the door.  (Ninjas are bold this way.)  Then, because it was a mere minute before the gun sounding, I had to jog to the starting line, which seemed excessive. 

Running just to get to the race?  Overkill. 

Still, I reached the back of the pack, and if you look closely, you'll see that I'm smiling in the picture below.  (I'm the one in black, remember?)  The smile stems from two reasons: one, it was taken early in the race when great hope still abounds, and two, I unexpectedly bumped into a friend from our campus group who had graduated several years ago.  She had returned to run the event with her father, and being relatively evenly paced, we opted to run together. 

Catching up on several years while running is harder than you'd imagine.  We talked for the first few miles freely, but eventually our conversation deteriorated to periodically slurred one-liners like you-still-doing-okay? and occasional high fives when we crested a hill.

We paced ourselves well by starting slowly and picking up speed throughout the race.  Physically and mentally, I've found that it's vastly better to pass other runners than to be passed.

The last stretch -- a rigorous uphill climb that spans an entire mile -- is preceded by one final water station and an enthusiastic group of supporters who boost morale by cheering and offering Dixie cups of beer for racers.  (Knowing what still lay ahead almost drove me to drink, but I refrained.)

I don't have vivid recollections of that last mile, except for the fact that I despaired my decision to enter the race and realized that my face had frozen into a contorted grimace, but lo and behold, the finish line gloriously surfaced, a bottled water found its way into my hand, my face thawed so I once again was able to speak and smile, I congratulated (and was congratulated by) several other racers I knew, and a sensation of all being right with the world settled. 

A verifiable runner's high after 13.1 miles, not even counting my preliminary dash to the starting line.

Once home, the rest of the day unfolded as usual: folding laundry, unloading the dishwasher, grading a few more speeches, reading books and playing games with the kids, yet all day long I felt warm -- not merely from being inside after the morning's frigid run, but primarily from the glow of accomplishing what I set out to do.

6

The Day Before the Race (Just Half Crazy)

Friends, tomorrow marks the day of my third half marathon. 

If we're being technical, tomorrow marks be the third half marathon that I've started.  The goal is for it to become the second half marathon that I've finished, considering that my first experience resulted in me hitting the pavement and waking up hooked to an IV in a paramedic tent somewhere between mile 11 and 12 on the side of a street in Philadelphia.  (Low blood sugar is a doozy.  It'll drop a girl.)

If you've watched any weather or news report recently, you might have noticed that a large storm is currently sweeping across the nation.  I'm bracing myself for the predicted cold, wind, and flurries.  In fact, I very well might end up wearing so many layers that I resemble Ralphie's kid brother in A Christmas Story. 

I must confess that I'm not feeling as prepared as I'd like.  For the past two months, I've completed the long runs that my training guide suggested for each weekend, but I haven't managed to uphold the full running schedule throughout the week itself.

Who knows, though?  Maybe fewer training miles means fresher legs, right?  (Right?)

Check back soon for results!  I'll keep you posted!

4

My Relationship with Running: An Adolescent Romance

Several weeks ago, I wrote that I've signed up for another half marathon.  Even more than paying the race registration fee, announcing my decision on the blog has clinched the reality that I'm willingly training to run thirteen miles.  In December.  In central Pennsylvania. 

Slap me, would you?

This afternoon I ran ten miles at a respectable pace, not only marking the first training run when the mileage has crossed into double-digits, but also providing me with a confidence boost.  (As warped as this claim used to sound before I began distance running, it's true: if you can run ten miles, then you can run thirteen.)

That being said, if you love running, this post is for you.  If you hate running, this post is for you.  Much like an adolescent romance, my own relationship with running is somewhat complex, marked by on-again, off-again inconsistency and periodic swells of great affection.

That being said, in no particular order, here are my thoughts on running:

1) There are graceful, attractive runners.  I'm not one of them.  I'm steady and consistent and determined, but there's no glamor involved.  I'm definitely not like this guy in the maroon shirt, who defies reality of what people should look like when they run a marathon.

Incidentally, do you think maroon shirt guy and this running back are related?

Seriously, photogenic guys, you put the rest of us to shame.  This more accurately describes me:

2) I appreciate that running isn't graceful or attractive.  The other afternoon, for example, I was caught in an unexpected rain storm during a mid-afternoon run.  Do you know how freeing it was to run outside in the rain, unencumbered?  No umbrella.  No concerns about my frizzing hair.  No expectations to be presentable or pulled together or polished.  I need more of this.

3) Boredom is the chief reason I want to quit running.  During long runs, I often interview myself.

"Are you dying?"  No. 
"Are you in danger of passing out anytime soon?"  No. 
"Are you still capable of drawing breath?  Yes. 
"Then what's your problem?" Well...

And that's when I realize that I get bored with the whole one-foot-in-front-of-the-other routine, which, admittedly, is inanely repetitive.  It also leads me to number four.  (And number five.)

4) Running brings out the best in me.  There's much to be said for overcoming discomfort and boredom in order to reach a goal.  My legs might be sore after a run, but the pleasure of accomplishment wins.  When I run, I think and pray and worship.  I thank God for a heart that beats, for legs that move, for a body that's capable of being pushed.  I notice the beauty of my surroundings -- even the recent extreme chill that's settled over our state, knowing that I wouldn't be seeing or experiencing them unless I was outside running.

5) Running brings out the worst in me.  Long runs -- especially the runs during which I'm struggling -- trigger OCD-related tics.  I begin counting items: mailboxes, trees, street signs, seconds as they tick by, my steps, my breathing, my intelligence.

6) When I see another runner who is moving at a faster pace than I am, I automatically assume that I'm going a farther distance.

7) When I'm moving at a faster pace than another runner, I automatically assume that I'm awesome.

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Images compliments of littlerunningteacher.com, deadspin.com, and weknowawesome.com

7

Exercising With Kids, In Spite of Kids

The most frequently-recurring thought I have while exercising is that I really need to vacuum.  Distractions abound when you're doing push-ups on your family room floor but noticing the ground-in Goldfish cracker crumbs and the balled-up socks that were abandoned by a child and stuffed underneath the couch.

While I'd love to think that devoting time to exercise would provide tranquil moments, it's not entirely true.  I exercise at home, with three kids, and it looks very little like this:
 

and much more often like this:

I'm not especially coordinated.  I'm not exceptionally fast.  I'm not overwhelmingly skilled at any one athletic endeavor.  But, I am a proponent of living an active lifestyle and making time to exercise regularly.  This is because I've had seasons when I haven't exercised regularly.  When life gets uncomfortably busy, I've unwisely skimped on sleep and cut out exercise -- ironically, the very things that make me more productive and balanced.

At first, I don't notice the toll it takes, but after a month (or three), damage has been done.  Tense shoulders.  Built-up stress.  Decreased energy.

This year I've committed to being good to myself, and part of this is accepting and honoring the fact that how I treat my body affects not only my body, but also my mind and emotions.

Interestingly enough, I've found that my biggest hang-ups to exercise are peripheral details.  I'm slow to change into work-out clothes, especially when the weather is cold.  I'm resistant to getting sweaty in the middle of the day and needing to shower again.  I'm expecting that the kids will revolt if I'm engaged for a half hour, and either a) climb on me while incessantly asking for a snack, b) request my immediate participation in a craft requiring fine-motor skills, or c) trash-talk by telling me that what I'm doing "doesn't look that hard."

But, most days, I attempt to bite the bullet and plunge ahead regardless. 

Here's what works for me:

Stick to a schedule.  I carefully consider what days I can realistically fit a 30 minute workout, and I mark it on my calendar.  Once it's part of the weekly plan, I'm more likely to commit.

Make it visible.  Setting my work-out clothes and shoes someplace prominent serves as a helpful reminder. 

Be flexible.  I've accepted that taking a shower at four in the afternoon is just as valid as taking one in the morning.  You might have no problem accepting this.  For me, it was oddly revolutionary.

Prepare a diversion.  Each time I put in a Jillian Michaels DVD, I invite the kids to the kitchen table and introduce an activity that will occupy them for 30 minutes, like Play-doh, Legos, or painting.  They've learned that I can't respond articulately while I'm doing squats and presses.  I've learned that they're capable of entertaining themselves for a half hour.

Involve the kids.  You can burn some serious energy chasing after kids.  We play tag in our house, as well as a variation called tails where we tuck a dish towel in our back pockets and try to snag each others' towels.  Most often, this game is stopped after someone has collided into another person.  Or a piece of furniture.  Or a wall.  Moral of the story: watch out if you or your children are injury prone.

Remember the goal.  Grace, grace, grace.  Exercise shouldn't be about beating yourself up, nor should it be focused merely on physical results.  When I devote 30 minutes for my health several times each week, I'm showing myself kindness.  I'm investing in my long-term well-being.  I'm saying that I'm worth taking care of.

I'm just a typical woman with three young kids.  I feel lazy and skip days.  I eat cookies after I exercise.  I have workouts where I lack oomph and go through the motions in a floppy, uncoordinated haze.  Even so, I keep lacing up my shoes because the benefits are too good.  When I'm doing well, I have more to give to others.

Plus, like I mentioned, from that plank pose on the family room carpeting I'm getting an up-close look at where I need to vacuum.

And vacuuming absolutely counts as exercise, right?

Humor, hope, and encouragement for moms: Then I Became a Mother.  Available in both Kindle and paperback formats.

8

Making the Most of Your Health

Thanks for joining me with the Making the Most series.  So far we've covered our stuff, our space, and our wardrobe.  Today we'll look how to make the most of our health.

I have a confession: last semester I took a bit of a downward spiral.  With an overly-full work and personal schedule, I skimped on two things that are essential: sleep and exercise.

I don't do well when I'm not getting adequate sleep.  Most people don't.  (Those who say they do might not yet have had the compounded effects catch up with them.)  I also don't do well when I'm not exercising -- emotionally, that is.  Although I'm typically a joyful person -- one who draws strength from my faith and loves to encourage others -- I found myself feeling down.  Anxious.  Depressed.

I knew that I needed to change.  I couldn't sustain my busy pace, nor could I continue in my inactivity.  Blissfully, we reached the semester break, during which I made rest and exercise a priority.

I can't even begin to tell you how much better I'm feeling.

God gave us our bodies, and I'm speaking from experience that it's unwise to run ourselves ragged.  Let's make the most of our health.

1) Get adequate sleep.  I struggle with this one.  The night hours after my children are in bed often are designated for grading, planning, or writing.  Still, I'm learning to follow my body's cues.  It seems obvious that we should go to sleep when we're tired, yet how often do we find ourselves pushing through exhaustion -- sometimes to do even the most trivial things (like watching one more episode of House Hunters.)

When we're tired, let's be smart and go to sleep.

2) Wash your hands.  Seriously.  Do it often.

3) Stay hydrated.  I began carrying a reusable water bottle with me, and it makes a significant difference.  Staying hydrated increases my energy, staves off mid-day sleepiness, and prevents me from mindlessly eating to fulfill what's actually thirst.

4) Exercise.  This isn't about weight.  Exercise is about feeling strong, caring for your heart, and releasing mood-boosting endorphins.  Take a walk.  Chase the kids.  Suck it up and do a Jillian Michaels' DVD.  Join a gym.  Phone a friend and get her to join you.

Yes, it's hard to overcome inertia.  Yes, it's uncomfortable and sometimes inconvenient.  But I promise that regular exercise will make you feel better than extended lethargy will.  For me, it's equally important in terms of my mental and emotional health as it is for my physical health.

If you're a mom of young children like me, you'll know that there are precious little "free" moments in any given day, but you're worth the investment of good health.  You're worth the time it takes to care for yourself.  (Click here for tips on how to exercise with kids, in spite of kids.)

When we're feeling well, we have more to give.  Lets make the most of our health.

Enjoy these posts as well:
Making the Most of Your Stuff
Making the Most of Your Space
Making the Most of Your Wardrobe
Making the Most of Your Time

Check out Then I Became a Mother: humor, hope, and encouragement for moms!  Available in both Kindle and paperback editions.  Enjoy!

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