29:20

The title of this post says it all: Ben and I did it! After months of hard work, we ran the Coldest 5K in 29:20! This was a personal record for me, including all of my training runs. The satisfaction of at last completing that goal was extremely sweet, and I was happy to earn that medal for Megan Sauer, Ben's little sister. The medal and race bib were both mailed yesterday. (In case you're worried about Ben's twin brother Jack, he has already received his medal from the January race.)

I have to say a word here about the great friends that I have. I woke up the morning of the race feeling sick with anxiety. A bitter cold front had come through in the middle of the night, and the wind was expected to come from the north at about 20-25mph at the time of the race. Icy precipitation was expected at any time, and race time wasn't until 2PM. Oh, how I would have loved to have had that race over with early in the morning, instead of thinking about my strategy, the cold, and my potential failure all morning long--not to mention watching what I ate and drank so that I wouldn't get side stitches! It was impossible to stay down for too long though, with all of my friends texting their encouragement. That morning, I got pep talks from BJ, my sister Christa, and my friends Sommer and Angie, and I got texts of encouragement from four other friends who remembered that I had a big race that day! One of those friends PR'd in her own half-marathon that morning, which was very encouraging to me as well! So, with friends filling me to the brim, BJ and I left our boys with his parents and drove to the race, listening to music and pepping each other up the whole time. Just when I started getting butterflies again, BJ would muse something such as, "Do you suppose I could win the whole race if I drove half of it at highway speed?" Once we arrived, we got ready inside the van and didn't leave until just about the last possible moment. After we took our places up near the start line, I daresay my husband stood just to the left of me and used me as a windbreaker for the remaining two minutes before gun time.

Go-Time!

After the gun fired, I took off and tried to not think about the cold anymore. Fortunately, it was easy not to because instead I became worried about my energy level, which seemed a little low. My mouth was very dry, despite chewing gum, and I became worried that I hadn't hydrated enough. I was quickly eating BJ's dust trail and I didn't see him again until we high-fived as he was coming back the opposite direction. Despite my concerns, I felt at ease when I clocked in my first mile at 9:11. I maintained that pace and turned to come back the other direction at the halfway point at 14:28. I knew at that point that I was looking pretty good and had some play time in case I needed to slow down. Still, I saw no reason to take anything for granted. No side stitches at that point yet, but I was actively engaging in my preemptive side-stitch removal technique to try to keep them from popping up at all.

The second half was more into the wind, but I don't think this really impacted me much. I didn't seem to notice the wind too much at all. At that point I began taking good notice of the runners around me. Ahead of me were a father and son, the boy looking to be about 8 years old. I immediately thought of Ben and made my best efforts to keep this boy in my line of sight as motivation. At one point he dropped his hat, and as he stopped to retrieve it I came up right beside him and we ran side-by-side for a little bit before he sprinted up ahead again to his dad, who was looking back for him. This little boy was kind of a visceral reminder on that race course for me, and I was pleased that he did cross the finish line in front of me. The other person I took special notice of was a gal about my age who was running quite a bit faster than me, although she kept stopping to take walking breaks. In doing so, we leapfrogged each other several times. Finally on about the fourth time I passed her, I lightly slapped her shoulder on my way by and said, "You got this, girl. Come on!" A second later she caught up with me and, without speaking about it, we compromised on speed. I sped up my pace, which had fallen a bit, in order to keep up with her, and she slowed down a little bit--probably to keep herself from having to walk again. She and I ran side by side without looking at each other for two or three minutes before we began talking intermittently. We each had earphones in so I'm not sure how much we heard each other, but I know that she mostly ranted about the weather ("I can't believe we're running a 5K in this FREAKING COLD!") and I mainly shared jubilation about upcoming downhill portions of the course ("Downhill is coming! I see it!"). We each stopped once to walk, for about five to ten seconds each time, and the other stopped and walked as well. I found that she was the one keeping me in it at that point. This isn't to say that I was going to stop the race or anything; it is merely to say that my on-target pace was continuing because I found the energy to run with her, and when she stopped to walk my resolve quickly began disappearing as well. After five seconds on our last walking break, I shouted, "Enough. It's time to go." We both began running again and didn't look back. As we neared the finish, she had the energy to sprint a little ahead; she finished in front of me by five or so seconds and then turned around to high-five me, and I felt I had made a new friend. I saw her a couple of minutes after the finish and I thanked her, but never got her name.

As I crossed the finish line, BJ (who had finished in 25:07!!) screamed my name and was taking video of the glorious finish. I remember checking my watch as I crossed, but didn't look beyond the first two numbers: 29. That was all I needed to see. Mission accomplished! I walked on a little bit, completely out of breath and nauseated, and stopped to look at the river and cry a minute for Ben, who saw me through this goal from the very start, when my finishing times exceeded 40 minutes.

Thank you, Ben.

Olympic Gold may not have felt much better to me!

Megan, Kate, and Jack Sauer

 In what Sommer described as "true Jenny fashion," I have determined new goals and am ready to begin working toward them now. My next two goals will focus more on distance than speed. This year for the Memorial Marathon Relay in April I have volunteered to take the long, lakeside leg, which will be 12K (7.5ish miles) in length. I have never run that far before, but my long training runs are already about five miles in length, so it can be accomplished if I just begin recalibrating my distances. Of course, why stop there? I have long desired to run a half marathon, just to say that I have done it, and by the time I am able to run 7.5 miles I will be well over halfway there. I could begin downshifting my runs back to 5K distance after the relay, but if I'm willing to put a couple more months of hard work in, I could keep increasing distance and surprise myself by running a half marathon in June. This is what I have decided to try. Sommer ran a half marathon for Owen the month before he passed away, and I have to admit that I have wanted to dedicate the same effort for him. Today, then, I'll go ahead and just publicly put it out there--a half marathon for Owen in June. First thing's first though: Ben's baby sister Kate also needs a medal, so I better crank up my distances and fully earn one at the Memorial Marathon Relay in April. As always, my portion of the relay race will also be dedicated to a child who lost a life during the Oklahoma City Bombing. This year I have chosen six-month-old Lee Gottschall. One of my greatest honors all year is walking from the finish line to the memorial and tying my race bib to the chair of a little sweet angel.

There is ALWAYS someone to run for, so run I will.

Chandeliers

On July 1, 2014, I wrote a blog post that stated my newest running goal: running a 5K in 29:59 or less, and honoring Ben Sauer's memory in doing so. Training runs don't count; it has to be in a race. Originally I had hoped to meet that time goal at a November race, but a stomach bug just prior to the race set me back a long way, and I ended up finishing in 31:44. In December I tried again and made a 20-second improvement (31:24), but was on antibiotics for a throat infection and once again wasn't able to gut it out. In January, I tried yet again and shaved off another minute (30:22). My February race is scheduled two days from now, and I've decided that this has to be the day that I finally conquer that time goal. It's going to be about flippin' time.

In the above-mentioned July post, I wrote these words:

Jogging, for me, is an act of spiritual unification with other people. That sounds really weird, I know, but really and truly, I find myself connecting to humanity in strange ways when I am grunting out my efforts into a jog. It's suddenly like everyone everywhere is my friend, and my sense of being joined to others becomes rich and complicated. This is why I always dedicate races and running goals to other people; it instills within me a sense of thanksgiving for other people in this life. 

I have spent months now running for Ben, and after re-reading these words tonight, I have never believed these words to be truer. Running for Ben has become a thing of the past. Instead, I now feel like I run with Ben. It's a funny feeling, to feel as though you are coming to know someone that you never really knew, but I have truly enjoyed focusing on this sweet five-year-old boy and what he must have been like. I have my own little boy who is 362 days younger than Ben was, so in many ways I can imagine some similarities. To add fuel to my already-flaming fire, Ben's mother Mindy personally contacted me last week and shared a heartfelt message. Her kind affirmation of my efforts has brought me to tears each time I read our correspondence, and I want more than ever now to beat this race clock!

I recently switched up a lot of songs on my running playlist, and I added Sia's "Chandelier" and put it near the beginning. I have never had a song give me more energy than this particular song, and it shows when I run. The other day I finished a five-mile run on a long day, and the last 11 minutes of that run were spent playing that song on repeat. When it plays, my sagging energy suddenly bursts, my arms start pumping on the "1-2-3" line, and I just want to sing out loud (okay, sometimes I do if I'm outside and no one is around). I've even adapted the beginning lyrics to make it work for me by substituting "party" with "running."

Running girls don't get hurt
Can't feel anything, when will I learn?
Push it down, push it down.

I tell myself all the time when I'm running, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. Then, when I'm deep into a run and I'm truthful and can acknowledge that it does indeed hurt, I put on Pink's "Try," and keep running hard to her words, "Just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die. You gotta get up and try and try and try." Then, when it's all going down and my body tells me I should just stop running and give up because who cares anyway, I turn on Sia--over and over again, apparently. I have a feeling that her song will pop up two or three times on Sunday when we set a new personal record. (Note my positive thinking.)

Five or six times now I have easily beat the 30-minute mark in training. Other times it hasn't been so easy and I cut it very close, like today when I did my final training run before Sunday's race and I clocked in at 29:56. I won't kid myself; I know it's going to be close on Sunday, and the potential for winter precipitation doesn't make matters any easier. Nor will the promised 20-mph winds. It's okay. All I can do is the best I can do, and I think my best will be good enough this time. I've shaved ten full minutes off my time since I first set this goal, and I'm continually going faster and faster, fast as I can for Ben. Fast as I can with Ben. "I'm gonna [run] like tomorrow doesn't exist."

The Sia video, in case you haven't checked it out. The girl in the video can dance.

The Impostor

I don't know if you were in the "popular" crowd in high school, but I really wasn't. I was on the pom squad, which was sort of a "popular" group, but I was the happy nerd on the pom squad. I was the one who was granted the "Albert Einstein Award" at the year-end pom banquet, and my 4.67 grade-point-average seemed to be my claim to fame on the squad. Through and through, I was really an Honors kid and I belonged with the Honors crowd, but I also spent time with the pom girls because I could do a switch-leap and a triple pirouette. While I had good friends on the squad and am still good friends with some of those ladies today, my true place of comfort was with the Honors kids. In that sense, I never really had a place with the popular crowd to which most of the pom girls belonged. It sort of felt like 'us' and 'them.' Not 'us' versus 'them,' because there was no animosity from either side. It was just that there was us, and then there was them.

 

Flashback!

Recently I have become acquainted with the idea of the "impostor syndrome."   Basically, the idea of the impostor syndrome is that a person finds it impossible to internalize their own success and believe that they could actually be responsible for it. Instead, they attribute their success to luck or some other outside factor. Though they may appear confident on the outside, when they look around they do so with a fear that somehow their incompetence will be exposed for all to see, and suddenly everyone will realize that they don't really know what they're doing. Research indicates that most people, 70 percent actually, feel like an impostor at one point or another in their lives. I know that when many of my colleagues and I were doing our pre-doctoral internships, we often felt like impostor therapists--that we were acting like therapists with real clients, but with no real knowledge of what we were doing and a real insecurity that we were unintentionally ripping people off. Our clients thought they were coming to see therapists, but what they were really getting was just us! The truth was, we actually did know what we were doing, but we were just scared shitless. Statistics pretty much indicate that at every work place, at least one person walking around feels like they don't deserve to be there and that their colleagues are infinitely more qualified than they are. They probably also think they are the only ones that feel this way, but in fact many of their colleagues feel the same way that they do.

While I have briefly felt like an impostor in both my career and in parenthood (you should have seen me freaking out on the drive home from the hospital with newborn Silas! "What if we accidentally kill him? Don't they know that we don't know what we're doing?!?!"), the main place in life where I feel like an impostor is in my running. As you likely well know, I sign up frequently for races, and at every race I feel like it's me and them. They're the real runners, and I'm the joker who has no idea what she has gotten herself into. I find myself at starting lines waiting for the gun and scanning the runners around me, wondering which ones will beat me and if there are any that I think I can finish in front of. The latter group is much smaller comparably, at least in my mind. The judgments that I make are generally based on foolish nonsense, such as how nice their shoes are, what their postures are, and how close they position themselves to the starting line. If they have nice gear or awesome legs or a water bottle strapped to their backs, I think, "Oh, crap on a stick." Anxiety kicks in and I often begin questioning myself; I think, 'These people are real runners, and I'm still just not cutting it." I may look the part, but my true folly will be exposed once the gun sounds. I've told myself things like "When I can run a 5K in 30 minutes," or "When I can run four miles," then I'll call myself a runner. Then I'll really be one of them.

It's perfectly ridiculous when I say it aloud and type it out. Of course I'm one of 'them.' As I've grown over the last six months and become a stronger and faster runner, I have cheated myself out of a really cool identity, one that I earned the first moment I ever decided to strap on my shoes.

I cheated myself out of letting myself think I was a runner.

What I've learned in only the past two weeks is the ridiculously simple truth that you're a runner when you run. Get this: when you run at all--even a little bit--you're a runner. You don't have to earn membership into that crowd with prescribed times, distances, or training. Most of those runners never thought I didn't belong. If they thought of me at all, they probably saw me as a fellow runner. What I've even learned is that probably many of them looked around at the rest of us with the same sense of anxiety as I did, feeling like an impostor at the race.

Recently I have hit a lot of those prescribed marks that I burdened myself with as an entry into the supposedly-elite class of runners: now I can run a 5K in 30 minutes. Now I can run four miles. Now I consistently finish in the top half of all racers and in the top quarter of all females in my age group. I'm a stronger runner than I was when I first started, but I'm no more of a runner now than I was then. I still want my goals just as badly, and I still get side stitches sometimes trying to get to them. Why in the world did I ever think I had to earn my way in? I already belonged.

Here's what I say. You run well on the elliptical? Great! You're a runner. You like the treadmill better, or the outside hills, or the trail, or the neighborhood sidewalks? Fantastic! You're a runner! You run in cotton t-shirts instead of techy gear? Awesome. You're a runner. You run half a mile each time you go out? Yup, you're a runner. Sign up for a 5K, and ask me to run with you, and I will join you. Why? Because we're both runners, and that's what runners do. There is no "us" and "them." When you strap on your shoes (which I really shouldn't say because some people run barefoot and we can't exclude them!) and start putting one foot in front of the other, there is only "us."

That's totally you and me, happy because we're runners!

Yup, we kicked butt, because we're runners!

#RWRunStreak

About a week before Thanksgiving, I was browsing the interwebs and came across the #RWRunStreak.  Having never heard of a running streak (other than the other obvious kind) before, I was intrigued. Apparently there is a group of people each year, loosely organized and encouraged by Runner's World, that commits to run one mile each and every day from Thanksgiving Day until New Year's Day. That's 36 days, 36 miles, all during the cold and the holidays, with no excuses. Like I said, I was intrigued.

I immediately wanted to run the streak, but I decided to hold off and think about it for a couple of days. I don't take commitments lightly, and I didn't want to pledge something that I might end up nonchalantly blowing off. For a few days I threw it around in my mind, asking myself if I thought I could do it, if I wanted to do it, and if perhaps I was crazy. The answer to all of those questions being an obvious 'yes,' especially the last one, I made my commitment public. Three friends decided to join me, two of whom live in other states. I exchanged numbers with each of them and we encouraged one another with texts throughout the streak. In the end, two of us were able to hold pretty strong to the commitment. The other two had great excuses for not being able to maintain daily running commitments though--a significant and unplanned family illness for one, and a young baby needing more night-time attention than was previously anticipated for the other.

As it turned out, I ran 2.5 miles the day before Thanksgiving, extending the running streak by one day. However, I skipped two days during the streak. One of the days that I skipped was intentionally planned, a rest day that I decided to take the day before a 5K race that I ran on December 5th. I wanted to be as rested as possible so that I could set a personal record, which I did (31:24). The other day I skipped was in mid-December, a day when Van was sick with a cold and was feverish all day. Caring for a sick guy was a little draining and left me behind on other things, and the time and energy that I needed for a jog that day were depleted by day's end. All in all then, I ran at least a mile on 35 of 37 consecutive days. Most days I only ran a mile or close to, though on several days I ran between two and three miles. Some days I took George, or sometimes both of the two older boys, and jogged slowly with the double stroller (think 10:50 pace). Other days it was so cold that I beat my cheeks to get back inside (think 8:39 pace, also a PR).

After finishing on the last day!

I hate to be boastful, but I'm awfully proud of Tabitha and me. "Sisters are doin' it for themselves!" Let me brag about her for a minute: this gal lives in northern Colorado and was often doing her runs in snow. Her menu of days included sub-zero temps, bitter north winds, and trail runs. She is a working mom, so some of her runs were done by headlamp at night. On others she took her boys with her on their bikes. And get this: Tabitha didn't skip a day. Hear her roar! And what's more? She plans to continue her streak for another 31 days to raise money for a trip she is taking to Uganda to help teachers.

Tabitha on a sub-zero day

 As for me, I sort of think 35 out of 37 ain't bad. I ran through a throat infection and through a mild cold and cough. I also ran through snow a couple of times, and I ran into some bitter north winds. I often didn't get a chance to run until after my kids were in bed, and twice I ran so late that I actually pushed it to the midnight hour, tacked on another mile, and called it good for the next day as well since my run technically covered both days. I ran in hotel fitness centers, through my neighborhood Christmas lights, at my local Y, and around and around my cul-de-sac on a couple of days while Van napped and the kids watched Home Alone (pun totally intended, except that my front door never left my sight!).

At the Turkey Trot

 So what's next? Well, Tabitha found an article on Runner's World that promises to help set PR's (personal records) for 5K's. After browsing through the tips, I feel certain that if I could accomplish survive these workouts, I would indeed become a much more adept runner. Working a schedule with these kinds of workouts is probably manageable but will require some thought and dedication. I think I'm game though. I already do speed interval trainings, so adding a tempo run and and an endurance run each week will be the keys. Part of the dread for me is building endurance, which really requires doing a long run every week, in my case probably five or six miles. I need to start building up this distance regularly anyway though, since I'm committed to the 12K-leg of the Memorial Marathon Relay at the end of April. In the meantime, I'm signed up for another 5K on January 17th and hope to PR once again. First things first though: I'm taking January 2nd off. =)

31:44

Blue4Ben

Oy.

That race was hard. BJ's first words to me when we met at the finish line were, "Could that race have been any harder?" Indeed, half of it was a simultaneous double whammy: running uphill into a stiff 20mph wind.

I clocked in at 31:44. This doesn't meet my time goal, but now I have something to keep working toward. I'm mildly disappointed, but I'm determined, and I will get there sooner rather than later.

A few thoughts:

1. I don't think I disappointed Ben, and this race was for him.

2. I've improved my 5K time tremendously in just a few short months. At the end of August I ran the Moore War 5K in 40:53. I was extremely disappointed with this effort and began training in earnest at that time. One month later, at the end of September, I ran the Swazi 5K in 36:08. This was nearly a five-minute improvement! Over the past few months I have trained hard, run several miles a week, eaten more healthily, lost 18 pounds, and shaved off over four more minutes to get down to 31:44. I'll take it.

3. Today I finished 9th out of 35 women in my age group (30-34). Out of 205 total women, I finished 61st. I call that respectable for today, but not my end goal.

You can count on me to keep on keepin' on. The race bibs belong to Mindy Sauer until I can finish that time goal, with Ben in heart. I look forward to more races, and I hope for health in the weeks leading up to the races, which is something I can't say I had with this one!

Here's to you, Ben!

Mind Over Matter

I think I'm in need of help from my athletic friends.

Nothing about running is easy for me. Some runners can put down three miles in their sleep, but I just can't. I'm not a natural runner, and I have to work hard for every mile that I put behind me. I need some help with this.

My goal is important to me. I want to run the Chill Your Cheeks 5K on November 22nd, and I want to do it in 29:59 or less. I want to do it for Ben. I set this goal months ago, and though I am making progress toward it, I still feel a million miles away from it. It is important to me to accomplish this goal during this race the week before Thanksgiving, as I am so grateful for Ben's life, the impact he has had on me, and the ridiculously good fortune I have in the opportunity to raise my own three lovely boys. The memory of Ben is completely worth my effort.

Ben, on right, with twin brother Jack, last fall before being diagnosed with a fatal brain tumor

So here's where I am: I can run a mile at a 9:50 pace. I can run 2.25 miles at a 10:00 pace. Today I ran 2.5 miles at a 10:10 pace, but I had to pause for two walking breaks (one for one minute, one for two minutes)--so that wasn't so great. These times are respectable in my book, and they will render me an overall personal time record in a 5K if I can maintain this kind of pace (my previous record is 33:50). Obviously, however, they aren't the 9:40 pace that I need to maintain over 3.1 miles to clock in at my time goal. On the other hand, though, none of these times account for race-day adrenaline that I will undoubtedly feel on November 22nd.

I definitely need to step up my efforts in these next two and a half weeks before the race, an action which I am committed to doing. Several months ago I joined the Y and have been diligent about going and cardio training, mostly running. I have been watching what I eat, and I have trimmed up. I have lost 13 pounds since the end of August, and I have undoubtedly gotten faster and exercised longer. The thing is, I don't really think it's my body holding me back. I think it's my mind. I need to figure out this fight.

I know that mentally I can talk myself into doing some hard things. I kept myself strong during the natural labor of a 9-1/2-pound baby. I carried myself mentally through the last four miles of a 6.2-mile run in April, never slowing to walk throughout the entire thing. I ate a strict dairy-free, soy-free diet for nearly a year, with no slip-ups, because I wanted to help George with his allergies when he was a nursing baby. Mentally, I'm really not a total pushover.

But there's just something about running that seems so much harder. For instance, I can get on a treadmill and tell myself, "You're not stopping, no matter what, before two miles." And the truth is, I'm in the kind of shape that my body can certainly handle a two-mile challenge. Yet just two weeks ago I stopped short at 1.5 miles, gasping for air, feeling like a failure. I just couldn't will myself to go on.

I really need some help, athletic friends. Regardless of what your sport is, I want to know how you do it. How do you power through when the going gets tough? How do you tell yourself not to stop? To go faster? To push harder? To not quit just because you feel like you need to (when you know deep down that you don't really need to)? Did you read a book or a blog that inspired you? Did you see someone do something that made you think, "I want that"? Realistically, I know the odds are against achieving my goal in just two and a half short weeks, though I know I eventually will achieve it. I just keep telling myself, maybe--just maybe--though, and I find myself getting hopeful. Maybe, maybe, maybe I can do this. Any pointers, friends?

On a side note, I have never run on a treadmill prior to these last couple of months, but I find that I really like it after all. When the going gets tough, I can put my hands on the little bars in front of me, close my eyes for minutes at a time, and meditate on special people in my life. Many of my friends and family members are the focus of my concentration during my treadmill runs, and I am all the richer for it. I have so many wonderful reasons to run. Mind over matter.

The Boy's First Official Race

The proud mommy

The pep talk from Pop

The gun fires
 (notice Grammy pushing George and Van in the blue double stroller to the right!)

The little brothers

The big finish

The Playlist: "We're On Each Other's Team"

I don't have the energy for more than one big project at a time, it seems. Disappointing, huh? Recently, all of my extra energy has gone into our house, the location formerly referred to as The Bermuda Triangle. As it stands now, the purge is complete and all of our extra stuff is out in our garage, waiting for me to make the call to Salvation Army. We intended to have a garage sale, but we decided that the time and energy required to organize and price it all, not to mention sitting in the heat with it for more than one day, just didn't seem worth it.

Now that the purge is complete, it's time for me to focus my energy on regaining a healthy weight following Van's birth. I'm still packing some pregnancy pounds, which honestly doesn't bother me too much, but I'd like to fit into more of my older clothes. Mostly, though, I want to be in better shape because I enjoy setting running goals. During the purge it was impossible for me to jog because I was up until the wee hours of the night working each night, which zapped all of my energy. Even prior to that though, I was really struggling because of lower back pain. I have found that I can usually keep this managed with ice packs, and I suspect that building some core strength through yoga would do me a world of good, except that I still need the nerve to find and join a class. We are strongly considering a family membership at the local Y. Childcare while I take a yoga class or go for a jog sounds pretty fabulous, and I think we would really like being able to take the kids swimming regularly.

Since I'm keen on getting my feet back into the old running shoes, I've been doing some short jogs this past week and setting a new running goal. This one is going to be a real doozy for me, but it's manageable: at the Yukon Chill Your Cheeks 5K, which is held annually the Saturday before Thanksgiving and coincides with the lighting of the park, I hope to run a 5K race in 29:59 or less. That would mean picking up my current pace quite a bit. In recent years I have found myself able to gut out distance when I really need to, but my pace is something like a disgraceful 12 minute-mile. At this point I'm not interested in adding distance accomplishments as much as I am speed ones. My fastest 5K time to date is 33:50, and that was when I was in good shape, so I will need to shave significant time off that. I have every intention of giving it my all though, and I'll be dedicating my efforts to the memory of Ben Sauer. (In case you missed my previous post about Ben and his influence on me in my role as a mother, read it and weep.)

Ben

My favorite picture of Ben, hugging his identical twin brother Jack

Jogging, for me, is an act of spiritual unification with other people. That sounds really weird, I know, but really and truly, I find myself connecting to humanity in strange ways when I am grunting out my efforts into a jog. It's suddenly like everyone everywhere is my friend, and my sense of being joined to others becomes rich and complicated. This is why I always dedicate races and running goals to other people; it instills within me a sense of thanksgiving for other people in this life. My music playlist reflects this sense of connection that I feel, as my songs are primarily chosen to remind me of good times with others, as well as positive associations that naturally come with good relationships. A few songs, like Lady Gaga's "Just Dance," are on there purely for the beat, but they are few and far between. I always start a race with Florence and the Machine's "Dog Days Are Over," using as the chorus my mantra of "Run fast for your mother and fast for your father, run for your children, for your sisters and brothers." I don't always run fast for them, but I always run for them! Here are some other examples from my jogging playlist and why they were selected:

• "Mountain Sound" by Of Monsters and Men, which always reminds me of a fun day in the sun at Andy Alligator's Water Park in the summer of 2012. George was a baby, Silas was a toddler, and BJ and I enjoyed the day with my sister and her awesome little family. I heard this song on the loudspeaker that day.
• "We Are Young" by Fun, which instantly transports me to the early months of 2012, as I rocked my newborn baby George on the right-hand seat of our bedroom couch and watched old reruns, falling in love with a new little boy.
• "Home" by Phillip Phillips, a song that brings to mind positive memories with Owen, as well as the Summer 2012 Olympic Games, for which it was a theme.
• "Empire State of Mind" by Jay-Z, which reminds me of fun times spent in one of my favorite cities in the world. I love New York. And Raine's Law Room with my best friends. The song also reminds me of the indelible Betty White, whose one-time hilarious hosting of the Mother's Day SNL episode in 2010 left me begging for more. Jay-Z performed "Empire State of Mind" that night and also dedicated his performance of "Forever Young" to Betty White.
• "Walking With A Ghost" by Tegan and Sara: Every time I hear this song, I'm suddenly 23 again, enjoying a walk on a fall evening in 2004 with BJ and Tex in Logan Park of northeast Minneapolis, smelling Cinnamon Toast Crunch as it bakes at the nearby General Mills plant.
• "Brave" by Sara Bareilles, a song which conjures within me a sense of unity with womankind in all of its bold little pieces
• "Slide" by GooGoo Dolls: I can practically smell the Lake Texoma air and the hot dogs sizzling on the boat grill. This song, listened to a million times with my parents as part of "the lake tape," will always transport me instantly to the sailboat days of college summers.
• "Machinehead" by Bush brings about a rush of adrenaline as I think about cheering on the Thunder in a close game from the friendliest section in The Peake, Loud City 303!
• "Team" by Lorde, during which I always imagine that Sommer is running alongside me. I feel particular regard for these lyrics: 

We live in cities you'll never see on the screen,

Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things.

Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams,

and you know, we're on each other's team.

I'm a lucky girl. So many memories, so many good people that have guided me and are there for me even now when I ask for support. What a neat thing, this notion that this handful of songs that remind me of so many good people, can once again help me as I work toward my own personal goals--goals I want to meet to honor other people. It's like each memory that goes into these songs comes back to serve me yet again as I need it. And so I will run on, going faster and faster, fast as I can for Ben. Time to lace up the shoes, strap on the ice pack, and get busy. Ben is worth it, and so am I.

My first song during every race: "The Dog Days Are Over" by Florence and the Machine

Relay # 4: The Flaming Legs

(I'm going to pretend that it hasn't really been three whole weeks since my last post. I very much love blogging, so my absence has been against my will.)

...And so it happened that this past Sunday was my favorite Sunday of the year here in Oklahoma City---Memorial Marathon Sunday! For the fourth year in a row, friends and family joined me in comprising the unstoppable Flaming Legs, which I meant as a play on the Oklahoma band "The Flaming Lips," though I think most people missed the reference. My friend Amber, who took leg number two, found us knee-high socks with flames on them to complete our image, and so we were born. I took leg one (10K), Amber had leg two (5K), my sister Christa took the always-dreaded lakeside leg three (12K), BJ's cousin Connor took leg four (5K), and BJ took us to the finish line with a 10K. We finished nowhere near first (or even in the first half of finishers), but as one guy pointed out on one of the shuttle rides, we didn't finish last either. So there's that. We all ran with good heart and with our own individual purposes, and Van joined us and supported us from the sidelines, taken care of by all of us at some point or another so that we could each fulfill our duties. It just so happened that while he and I were on the shuttle to relay point 4 (Christa's and Connor's exchange), he had the biggest diaper blowout he has ever had. He was in the carrier at the time, so the carrier was subsequently rendered useless and I had to ride the remainder of the journey with the unpleasantness of poop all over us. For his part, Van sure didn't seem to mind. Look at that smile after he was cleaned up at the exchange!

Four of the five Flaming Legs members. Amber had to leave before the finish to get her little one.

 In the last month I have begun feeling overwhelmingly tired. I think it finally caught up with me, that whole three kids in a three-and-a-half years thing. After we get the boys asleep at night and I catch up on a couple of house-related things like laundry, the energy to go running has simply not been there. This is unusual for me, as I often make the time to go anyway, even at the end of the day. I figured I would be in some trouble during my six-mile leg of the relay because I have only gone running once in the past month, and that was only for two miles. In fact, two miles was the longest distance I had run at all since having Van in December. In my dreams, I fantasize about being able to run every other day, do yoga on the days between that, and then take a seventh day to rest. To date, I haven't reserved the time or energy for such a dream, but I feel motivated to make it happen soon. So, as you might expect, I thought that running the entire six-mile leg was out of the question. The race (course map) begins alongside the memorial and winds through downtown before turning north onto Lincoln and heading up toward the State Capitol.  Children's Hospital is about halfway through the part on Lincoln, and I had plans that I could not stop before I ran past Children's Hospital--about 2.5 miles into the leg. That I knew I could do, and I had resolved to run with extra heart past the hospital in honor of Van, Aiden, and Callen, three little men I love who have all spent time in the hospital.

 The run felt great in the beginning and I breezed through downtown. On to Lincoln I wound, but I began feeling tired at about two miles. I blew kisses and cried a little as I ran past the hospital, and the fatigue began to feel overwhelming. I decided I would let myself take a walking break at 13th and Lincoln, but as I ran through the intersection, I looked back in the direction of Children's Hospital and could still see it perfectly. Crap! methought. I can't stop if I can still see the hospital! So I trudged on for another 30 seconds, with my breathing declining and my legs telling me they couldn't do it and needed to stop...and then something happened that I think only happens to people who call themselves runners. I hit a true second wind, one like I have never experienced in my lifetime. I suddenly could see that the course began gradually sloping downhill, a breeze hit my face for the first time in the run, and Mumford & Sons hit the height of their song just when I needed it. "Raise my hands, paint my spirit gold, and bow my head, keep my heart slow." My sweet boys Van, Aiden, and Callen gave me all the energy I needed. All of the sudden, running was easy. There was no need to stop, and my legs moved effortlessly for another mile and three-quarters. Never have I ever! I hit one more low point at 26th street heading south, but talked myself through it, this time thinking of my dad and how he completed the Yellow Brick Road run and obstacle course when he was in the FBI National Academy in Quantico in 1999. By the time I headed back north from 23rd street onto Harvey at mile 5, the sideline support was loud and frequent. In the end, I ran every step of the 6.2 mile leg.

The Yellow Brick Road

This year, I dedicated my race specifically to my dad, who was one of the first responders to the Murrah building on April 19, 1995, and to baby Tevin Garrett, an 18-month-old who lost his life in the daycare that day. Following the race, I had the opportunity to tie my race bib onto Tevin's memorial chair and to give my dad the medal, which he deserves. I love being able to so tangibly give my efforts in this race to others. The entire experience is so incredibly fulfilling.

Image of my dad captured as he arrived at the site

Baby Tevin

I feel as though I can finally consider myself a runner. I have run consistently enough in the last four years that apparently I can totally drop the ball in training and still physically and mentally talk myself into laying down six miles when I need to. I type that with a smile on my face because I have worked hard to get to that point, as running does not come naturally for me. I find myself wanting to channel my friend Melissa G-J, who regularly runs long distances with gusto and inspires me to run further, just as she unknowingly inspired me to give birth without meds to Van. I think to myself, If Melissa can do it, I can do it! So thanks, Melissa! I approached this race with the exact same frame of mind that I did Van's birth, namely with a flexibility that I can give up if I need to, but with a belief that I wouldn't really need to. I am beginning to think that this frame of mind works really well for me. I spoke in my marathon relay post last year about my desire to run a half-marathon, but I've decided to put that on hold for a little bit. Though it may be my ultimate goal, a more realistic goal in the meantime is picking up my pace. Yes, I ran all of the 10K, but it took me nearly an hour and 20 minutes to do it. Can I work hard and shave some serious time off? I sure hope so. I would love to run a 10K leg in less than one hour next year, so that's what I'm going to train for. If I can accomplish that goal before the relay, then I'll run the 7.6 next year instead, finally biting that big bullet for my team. (This year, the headwind coming off the lake was supposedly the most discouraging part of the entire course. It was the only part of the entire leg that my sister had to walk briefly during, and we heard one marathoner complain that he missed his time goal by 40 minutes because the headwind from the lake sucked his soul out and he never recovered.) So, on that positive note, let me leave you with encouragement: if you live in Oklahoma and you've ever considered running even short distances before, sign up for next year and make yourself do it! You could do a relay or the 5K run. The race is amazing and unifies the entire state. Sideline supporters give "Thunder high-fives," and perhaps only in this race can you find the staunchest of OSU fans (me) directly handing the relay chip to the staunchest of OU fans (Amber) with nothing but love for the other and all we stand for. In other words, on Memorial Marathon day I even find myself loving OU. Now that's some power! I'm thankful to my relay members, to my parents who volunteered at a relay station, to friends who volunteered at water stops, to all of the support and love on the 26 mile course, and to all the FB love. With love to all.

Remembering the 168. We'll be back next year.

Relay on My Mind

Here we go again. Spring is rolling around and it's time to sign up for the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon Relay. As I pointed out in my post Hammer Time last year, in case the italics isn't adequate enough to bring attention to the word 'relay,' I'll just go ahead and iterate it here with its own special statement: we are merely running the relay. I say this because each of the last two years some friend who reads this and obviously believes the best in me says in deep reverence, "Wow! You're running a marathon!" No, friends, no. I run marathons in my dreams; I run marathon relays in real life. I very much love this event and feel that little else brings the city together as much as this annual run seems to do. In remembrance of the 168, we gather together to run our hearts out and we are supported by miles of sideline spectators who do their best to amuse and love us. The high-fivers and sign-holders, both motivational ("You can do it!") and hilarious ("Don't look now, but there's a zombie behind you!", "Shut up, legs!", and "Smile if you're not wearing underwear!") are my favorites. BJ's all-time favorite supporter was an older gentleman reclining in a lawn chair in his yard in an historic neighborhood, clad in a suit and fancy hat while smoking a cigar and sipping a martini. Apart from the amazing support, there is so much motivation to meet one's goals in light of the reason for the race in the first place--the tragedy that took beloved members of our city from us. Last year I chose an angel from the 168 as well as one of my family members to dedicate my race to, and this year I have done the same. I like to keep those kinds of things just between myself and my angel until the race is over though. Here is a photo of my last year's angel, Anthony Cooper, age 2. I also dedicated the race to Silas, who was Anthony's age at the time.

This training season I once again find myself in a postpartum situation, which I seem to be in frequently these days; consequently, my training is stop-and-go depending on how I'm feeling and how much sleep I'm getting. I can hardly seem to make myself get going when I've only had five hours of sleep, and yet two years ago I had no choice because George went on a growth spurt and requested my presence frequently for nighttime feedings during the week leading up the run. Maybe this year will be my last year to run tired. I have committed to running a 10K leg of the relay, which consists of five legs totaling 26.2 miles. The fifth leg of the team remains undecided, but so far I have finagled BJ (always a member), my sister Christa, and my brother-in-law Dave into participating. It should be pretty great. As is the case with every year, I'm getting very little help with deciding a team name and so I threatened my teammates with an obscure Saved By the Bell reference if they didn't help me choose something better. I did the same by threatening "Hammer Time" last year, but was bitten in the ass by that when two of my teammates loved my threatened name and the other two were mortified but not enough to help me choose an alternative, so Hammer Time it was. Now, of course, two of my teammates love the threatened name "The Zack Attack," and voted for it instead of my other ideas (Pumped Up Kicks, Scrantonicity, Sisters & Brothers, The Alternates...). Feel free to weigh in.

Aside from naming the team, I remind myself that I need to get my butt in gear and actually go running. Has anyone else mentioned how hard it is to run when you have three small children and no time? Seriously, the ONLY time I have to run is in the dark, either early in the morning or late at night. I no longer have my 90-pound lab Tex to run with since he lives with my parents, and Chanda moved seven miles away (oh, how I miss her!), so I'm left with the choices of 1. running at a nearby park with a can of mace to deter possible psychos and 2. running around my cul-de-sac over and over and over again. I choose the latter. Hence, my training runs are circling the same six houses at this point until the sun comes out for longer or time somehow becomes available during the day. Could be worse. I'm also in the process of reading The Runner's Handbook, which I am hoping will educate and motivate me. It seems to be doing its job so far! At this point I'm fairly comfortable running about a mile and a half, but I have a lot of work to accomplish in ten weeks. I'll keep you updated!

3rd Annual Relay and Running with Mowgli

Now that the cat is out of the bag, I'll tell you about Mowgli. Mowgli, dubbed by "Jungle Book" fan Silas, is our unborn child. Mowgli is of course the interim name for our third addition, as we're obviously not allowing our toddler to name our baby. He or she is due December 19, giving us the greatest Christmas gift we've ever had! BJ and I are thrilled; we wanted three children and we wanted them close together, and so far we've been extremely lucky! Sharing the news about Mowgli seems appropriate in the timing of our marathon relay run yesterday in order to explain the large discrepancy between my publicly-stated running goals and my ultimate contentment with my actual performance. In this post dated February 19, I proclaimed that I would run my 5K leg of the relay in 29:59 or less, and I have to defend myself by saying that I was most definitely on track to make this goal. I had picked up my turtle-like pace and was easily clocking nine-minute miles in early April, which was exactly where I needed to be. My biggest accomplishment was jogging 2.5 miles in about 23 minutes, and I knew for certain that with race-day adrenaline and sideline support, my goal would be accomplished.

Then on April 11, I found out I was pregnant. Joyous news for our family! Within a few days of that, utter fatigue had set in. I, a girl who literally takes a nap about once a year, was so exhausted that I was napping about every other day and crying on the days when my schedule wouldn't allow it. My usual running routine went from being easy to being a horrendous debacle; if I could even drag myself out there, I could only go a mile and that was with some major self-encouragement! In the last two weeks before the marathon, I ran only three times...a slow two miles with Chanda, and then two one-mile runs on my own, each with the strong belief that I might perish somewhere around the fourth minute. My running goals for yesterday went from "finish in less than half an hour" to "get out of bed, make it to the race, and run/walk your leg in whatever time need be." Melodrama is my middle name.

 

The race itself was wonderful, as always. There is just something magical about the OKC Memorial Marathon, and I am always so proud to run in a race that day, even a short one. The relay is particularly fun because you have teammates depending on you and likewise for you to cheer for; shuttle buses take you from stop to stop so that you can see various hand-offs and hang out with each other in the meantime. The sideline support is absolutely unbelievable and makes me proud to be an Oklahoman.  Supporters range from high-fivers to shouters to holders of signs, both motivational ("You can do it!") and hilarious ("Don't look now, but there's a zombie behind you!", "Shut up, legs!", and "Smile if you're not wearing underwear!" were among our favorites.). BJ's favorite supporter was an older gentleman sitting on his lawn in an historic neighborhood, reclining in a lawn chair near the curb, clad in a suit and fancy hat while smoking a cigar and sipping a martini. I always notice that there are times when I'm running and the support in an area is so overwhelming and loud that I actually forget what I'm doing, which is sweating and grunting my way through a running course with 26,000 other runners.

The runners and supporters alike know that there is an underlying cause for the enthusiasm on the morning of the race. It's impossible to forget that we're running in remembrance of 168 lives lost to the act of terrorists in 1995, including the lives of many children; the target was originally chosen because of the "collateral damage," as McVeigh defined it, namely a daycare center on the second floor that was alongside the street where McVeigh parked the truck. I don't need to remind anyone of the heartbreak; it is still felt among Oklahomans, especially in April and especially on the day of the race. Imagine the meaning that the Boston Marathon will take on for its city next year and the coming years, and you can imagine what this race means to this city. 168 seconds of silence are always observed before the start, and many runners choose a person, whether angel, survivor, or rescue worker, to run for. This year I chose Anthony Cooper, this precious two-year-old who was in the daycare with his mother at the time of the explosion. They both lost their lives. I chose Anthony because I have a two-year-old also, and it really hits home.

This is the first of the three years that I have dedicated my run to an angel, and I didn't consider tying my race bib onto his memorial chair until we had already gotten in the car and left. I have decided to now though, so we'll head back downtown in the next couple of months so that I can find Anthony's chair and leave my bib for him with a note on it, in case that kind of stuff makes it to his father.

 Race day was sunny and beautiful this year. I ran in my tennis skirt and a thin hoodie, but by the end of my leg I was down to a yoga tank top. Absolutely lovely weather. My leg was second, and it began not well to say the least, which is what I expected. I struggled so much in the first ten minutes; it was only the shame of walking within single-digit minutes of my start that compelled me to not stop jogging. By the time I was partway through Lady Gaga's "Just Dance," which was the third song on my playlist, I had definitely found my groove though. The downhills seemed more noticeable than the uphills, my songs felt like friends to me, the support was strong, and the sights of this leg were all new to me. Before I even really realized it, I was 2.1 miles in, and at that point I knew I could make it. At 2.5 miles, nothing besides a torn muscle or a sign from Mowgli that we were done would have stopped me. My leg was 3.3 miles and I finished it in roughly 36 minutes, not a step of it walking. In honor of Anthony and Silas.

After my leg, I took the bus to Chanda's end point, which was Matthew's beginning point, and hung out with Matthew and BJ until Chanda arrived. We were at the mile-20 mark, and I served as sideline support for the marathoners that were running by. Watching them is so very interesting to me. During the period of time that I was at mile 20, we were watching the pacers of 3:50 to roughly 4:15 go by, and those people were hooked. We recognized some of them as neighbors, coworkers, and even the Lt. Governor. I thought then and there, I have to do more sometime. Not next year, since Mowgli will still be young and the exhaustion of newborn times will undoubtedly be seeping into those critical spring training months, but the year after that I am making it official: I'll be joining the ranks of the Half Marathon. I think I can do it. I had at least 10 friends that did it this year, plus many in years past, and I think if they can do it then I can do it too. I really want to, and I feel that same sense of determination coming on that I have felt with every hard thing I have ever done and accomplished: graduate school, breastfeeding on a no-dairy/no soy diet, and pretending to like the horrendous meal "ship on the shingles" for years so as not to hurt my mom's feelings (sorry, Mom).

In memory of the 168. We'll be back next year.

The Nature of Us

There are some opinions that I hold that are indisputably true in my mind: Ketchup does not belong on hot dogs. Ross and Rachel should not have ended up together. Mosquitoes and wasps should all die fiery deaths. Betty White simply must host another SNL Mother's Day episode. And Anne Frank and I have at least one major thought in common; in her eloquent words, "...I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart."

I realize that I probably stand in the minority with this viewpoint, particularly among many Christian friends who believe that people are inherently wicked and sinful. Through my years on this planet though, I just can't help but come to a different conclusion: evil does exist in this world, but by and large the vast majority of people are inherently good. One might argue that the recent tragedy in Boston is a direct contradiction to this statement, but I see the tragedy in Boston as a confirmation of my belief actually. Let me expound.

Have you ever read the book Lord of the Flies? Classic though it may be, I hope for your sake that you have spared yourself because it is such a depressing read. In the book, William Golding creates a situation in which several boys are stranded on an island and left to fend for themselves. What follows is an increasingly awful disaster in which a sort of dictator takes hold of the group, and what psychologists term groupthink takes over, resulting in the bullying and death of a child and the utter unraveling of order and structure. The argument is what many people think would happen to a group of people left to their own devices, with no established government to keep them in check: they would go flippin' hog wild and kill each other and become monsters. But let's think about this for a minute, really. If the island in this setting is a microcosm, then let's just consider this whole planet a macrocosm of the same sort of project. Here we all are, all 6.9 billion of us, floating around on this planet called Earth in our various little places with our unique cultures and languages and customs. The planet really is an island in the middle of nowhere, and we are the boys who are stuck on it. What can be said of us? Are we savages, running around and killing people? Well I'm not! Are you? Of course not! No one that I know is. In fact, nearly all people that I know, and I think I have encountered thousands of them, are people that hold doors for struggling people, that wave hello to their neighbors, that smile when a loved one walks in the room, and that feel sadness and a sense of wanting to help when they see a tragedy occur like the one on Monday. People who are actually IN the situation like the one on Monday typically react like heroes, pinching off a stranger's artery like the cowboy pictured below to save a life they have never met, stepping in as emergency personnel to help however they can, donating blood and time and money, and sharing positive thoughts and prayers. THESE are the people that I see in this world. Yes, one deranged individual, or perhaps a small group of them, orchestrated an event that demonstrated the presence of evil...but the response of love from this entire country, from ground zero all the way to California, has far surpassed the evil and has shown the true nature of people in general: that is, they are good, and they want to help other people. For every bomber out there, there are 100,000 working against him.

So, returning to William Golding's story: we are a floating island of little boys. As a group of people  sharing this planet, what have we turned this place into?  When I look around me, I don't see a world of utter chaos, with evil, self-serving individuals being the norm. I'm not blind; of course I see violence, rapes, mistreatment of people and animals, dictatorships that threaten basic freedoms. Apart from some isolated places and people in turmoil, I by and large see humanity working together. We have established ourselves into civilized societies out of some inner need for structure and peace. I just can't believe that we are destined to become savages if left to our own devices because we have been put to the test, and so far we haven't! Look around you, and you'll find gentle vet techs, compassionate chemo nurses, hard-working plumbers, patient schoolteachers, weather-beaten crossing guards, and enthusiastic volunteers. You'll see librarians smiling at children, motorists pulling over for funeral processions, and subway operators re-opening doors for tardy arrivals. You'll see strangers chatting for hours on airplanes, people asking if you're okay when you trip, neighbors pulling stray trash cans back up to houses, kind Home Depot employees passing out suckers to children, and people returning lost wallets and purses to store clerks. These are not forced actions; they are chosen ones. This world is not filled with bad people. We were born and created with the breath of goodness.

I have seen floating around my Facebook newsfeed this image of Mister Rogers with his quote beneath it. I know that the helpers are always there because I grew up with one of them. As the daughter of an emergency rescue worker at the Murrah Building bombing in Oklahoma City, I can recount the horror done to my city and my terror knowing that my dad was in that collapsing building, doing all he could to save others. I also saw an outpouring from my city that I never imagined possible, and felt the love just as strongly as I felt the grief. Each year, BJ and I run in the Memorial Marathon Relay in honor of our city, those who lost their lives, and those who stepped forward and gave back. If your perception of the world is of evil and irreparable horror, I challenge you to reconsider your position, if only for a moment. The news will portray the world in this manner because it focuses on the violent and the scary; the stories about the goodness and the helpers often only get airtime when the anchors have run out of the gory narrations, because goodness and helpers are the norm, not the aberration. As I raise my children, I will tell them to focus on the helpers; they will run the children's version of the marathon with us, and they will see the outpouring of love that comes from Oklahomans so many years after the fact. I will help them to focus on the good in this world and celebrate love, so that they may become helpers themselves when they are boys and men.

God bless us all, and God bless Boston.