Lemon's Practice

The Hottest Half was Sunday. I survived. I didn't break any records. I didn't even run the whole time. I crossed the finish line, and I felt great. My knee is still intact. I didn't have much soreness. It was great practice for marathon training. Oh yes, that's next. Speaking of practice...

The real star of the Hottest Half was Andrew Lemoncello. He won. He ran the thing in 1:07. I think there are some seconds on there too. I saw him between mile 4 and 5. And by saw him, I mean I saw a streak running toward me, heard people clapping, turned around to see who the heck it was and kept running. That was him on the way back to the finish line. So I looked ahead waiting to see the next group of elite runners trailing him. It took a minute or two, but they slowly (obviously not that slowly) started passing us mere mortals. As two guys (I'm guessing they finished second and third) were passing, I heard them say, "Do you know who the guy in the front is?" Well, he was Andrew Lemoncello. He can be found here.

Here is his tweet from later in the day: "Swam through a half marathon in Dallas today it was so humid. Great practice for Daegu"

Yes folks. It was practice. Finishing 13.1 miles in 1 hour and 7 minutes was practice. Flying by me as I was clipping along at my own merry (read: slow) pace was practice for him. He won the Hottest Half, arguably the literal hottest half marathon you can run. No biggie.

His running was effortless. And I don't hold that against him. Good for you Mr. Lemoncello. Good for you. I still finished. I still felt great. I still got my post-race Mexican food. And you know what? I'll run just a little bit better during my next race, because it was practice. It's always practice. Remember: practice, practice, practice.

And for those who are still hating this running god (ahem, I'm looking at you running buddy), here's the quote I got today from my "Daily Kick in the Butt" from Runner's World:

"Winning has nothing to do with racing. Most days don't have races anyway. Winning is about struggle and effort and optimism, and never, ever, ever giving up." ~ Amby Burfoot.

Quotes for success

This is the white board on my refrigerator. I see it every day when I'm scrounging for foodstuffs. Most of the time I don't pay much attention to it. I've seen it before. I'll see it again. But today I paused and re-read each magnet, slip of paper and scribbled reminder. These aren't the only magnets or images on my fridge. These are just grouped together in a helpful and ironic way. Yes, next to my reminder to run I have a magnet about a fat-loving civilization. And next to this white board I have a picture ripped out from a Victoria's Secret catalog. I admit it. I covet one of the model's airbrushed abs.

"Don't put off till tomorrow what you can today!" I know I've blogged about procrastination before. It's a problem that relates to every aspect of my life...not just running. Though I don't often pay attention to this reminder, when I do, I promptly walk over to the dishwasher and put up the dishes. Or something like that.

"With the time and energy we've spent dieting, we could have built a small, fat-loving civilization." This one is from my darling friend who sends me all those encouraging text messages. It may not seem to belong on this white board. But it does. It most definitely does. It's a reminder to myself that sometimes ice cream is a good thing. It tells me not to obsess over my body.

"If you think you'll have more time to run tomorrow, remember, you said that yesterday." I warned you. Procrastination is an issue. This little advertisement is poignant. It points out the vicious cycle that begins when you get just a little off track. Tomorrow turns into next week, which turns into next month, which turns into next year, which turns into never. Advertisers really are brilliant.

"Happiness is a journey, not a destination..." Everyone knows this one. And before I quote the entire magnet, let me say this: I've learned to love running because it keeps me present in that moment. My mind may temporarily drift, but mostly I am centered during that run. Even when it's brutally heat and the sun is boring into my skin and sweat is stinging my eyes, I am in that moment. Each step is important. Each breath is crucial. It keeps me grounded. I can work out my frustration. I can laugh. I can cry. I can meditate. That's running. And sometimes I forget that when I'm not doing it.

So here's the most important magnet:

"for a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. but there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. at last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. this perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. happiness is the way. so treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one."

I'm an evening runner

There was a small guest house nestled in between a bamboo forest and a larger home on a corner street in a neighborhood near White Rock Lake in Dallas. For a year this was my home. I was in third grade, eight years old, constantly had my nose in a book and acted out made up stories in the bamboo forest. There were evenings when my mom and I would stroll through the neighborhood past large storybook homes. Somehow, I always remember these evenings happening in the summer, though I'm sure they happened throughout the year. We would walk to nearby parks. The tall trees lining the street would block out the last streaks of sun before it set. I could feel the hot, sticky air clingy to my skin. I would race my mom pushing as hard as I could against the ground, grass crunching under my feet. There were still fireflies everywhere, lighting up the evening sky. I felt free and strong and fast in these moments.

Those nights are what I think of when I can manage an evening run, setting out as the last corner of the sun kisses the horizon. The dried grass crunches under my feet, immediately taking me back to a time when I imagined a shallow stretch of bamboo to be a vast forest leading me to a magical kingdom. If I squint, headlights in the distance remind me of the flashing fireflies dancing across the night sky. Without the sun glaring down on me, the hot July air doesn't feel so unbearable.

When I was in the fourth grade, I lived on another street. This street was filled with families and chatter and the ringing of bike bells as we rode up and down the hill. I would run through the alleys with my friend Stephanie gathering seeds from the four o'clocks that lined the fences. We would pull honeysuckle flowers off their bushes and suck out the insides. I would climb the tree in my front yard, hiding from the boys as the rode by on their bikes trying to get me to laugh at them. The sun was setting when I would drag myself inside, sticky and smelling like grass and humid Texas air. Yes, humid Texas air has a smell.

I love Texas evenings. And I love the Texas evenings when I'm not working an can manage a run. I imagine expansive prairies whenever I pass undeveloped land. I imagine massive military forts whenever I pass apartment complexes. I imagine I am Laura Ingalls Wilder roaming the last frontier during her childhood. I imagine that the small rabbits pushed from their native homes by the golf course and the town homes are actually just part of Peter Rabbit's family. And when I'm approaching, I laugh when they stop, still as a garden statue, hoping I don't notice them.

Tonight I passed one of these rabbits flattened in the road. I fought back tears feeling guilty that my home had overtaken his. I felt guilty that I was still running, when he didn't run fast enough in the last moments of his life.

I ran just a little bit faster up that last hill.

Immersion...running?

I haven't gone for a run in several days. I was at a writing conference all weekend. That's a good excuse, right?

And, let's be honest, I am not quite that dedicated yet to running--no matter what.

This year's topic was immersion. Some of the tactics the writers used were for reporting shorter news stories. Other speakers have spent years fully immersed in a story for a book. I'm just not that well-funded. I probably won't be moving to Hawaii to live with surfers (oh but I want to!). I'm not likely to get a job as a corrections officer just so I can get an inside look of a prison.

How does this have anything to do with running? I can immerse myself in running, right? Just go every day (or at least try to). Lesson learned. Well not quite. Running is a culture. It has its own jargon, community and attitudes. To some extent, running is becoming popular. It seems every nonprofit organization puts on some kind of walk or fun run. The Rock n Roll marathon series is a growing for-profit business. The Boston Marathon recently reduced its qualifying times, narrowing the potential field of runners accepted to the race each year. And within the larger running community, there are subcultures: barefoot runners, female runners, male runners, elderly runners, gluten free runners, professional runners, ultramarathoners, marathoners, sprinters, trail runners, and the list goes on.

I'm slowly learning some of the jargon in the running community. PR is a big one. In my writing and news world, I hear PR, and I think public relations. A runner hears PR and thinks personal record. Or PB: personal best. This is for those time obsessed racers seeking BQs: Boston qualifying times. I've learned what fartleks are. I know what speedwork is. Hill repeats. ITBS. Stress fractures. Gu. Butt kicks.

I'm still a beginner. I don't yet belong to a subculture of runners. I haven't fully immersed myself in this elite society of masochistic people. Mostly, I run by myself on some road near my apartment hoping to achieve the bliss I felt during my one perfect run. It was in Hawaii. I'm in Texas. Big difference. Occasionally I pass another runner. I nod. We share a quick wave and then go about our business.

Though I was sitting most of the weekend inside on overly air conditioned conference room, I was imagining how what I learned could be applied to running. Running keeps me writing. And writing keeps me running. Now I just need to take the next step and fully infiltrate this world I've only been visiting. It's time to join the subculture, go full immersion.

I'm going native.