The Jitters

One week out from my first half marathon, I have an ailment rest and ice can't touch. I've come down with the jitters. After months of hard work and mornings up long before the sun, I feel completely unprepared.

My not-so-long run Saturday seemed harder than my longest run so far. It had been a long week, and I returned from an exhausting overnight trip to Pitttsburgh only to lace up and head out. My knees started to hurt immediately, and my mind followed suit. It filled me with thoughts of walking the race, of buckling leg cramps and stomach pain, of being passed by people walking.

The fact that lots of runners were out didn't help matters. I was passed twice by a man who was doing, at minimum, 120 mph. A woman with rock hard abs proudly on display ran with the perfect form of an antelope.

My mind finally convinced me to stop early. "Doomed," I texted my husband.

"Exhausted," he sent me back.

I returned home defeated. When he called I cried as I recounted the run that beat me. "You've already done all the work. It's done," he assured me.

Even with all the aches and heavy legs, the real reason I stopped was 100% mental. Going into this week, I am going to try and dope up as much as possible with positivity. The work is already done.

My body knows I can run this race; I just need to convince my mind it's possible.

That's Not How I Look in My Head: Race Photo Woes

I don’t know what cruel person invented the race picture, but I hope they’re really unphotogenic.

Before my very first 5k, the prospect actually piqued my interest. “I’ll have proof that I ran a race and looked good trying,” I thought. I took special care to pick out what I thought was a cute running outfit for the cold race morning, and after the finish I could barely wait to find the photos.

This is the finish line photo. In my defense, I never did see the person who took this. I was in my own little world.

I look like I may die. Maybe I’ve already died, and my body just hasn’t realized it yet. That's my husband with me, and he doesn't look great either. I was so excited to have finished my first race, and all you get from this picture is that I am running on empty.

As you can imagine, I never posted that one to Facebook.

When I ran that race again the next year, I had lost some weight and hoped for a Facebook-worthy picture. When I finished this race I imagined I was a butt-kicking running machine. I beat my previous year's time by almost 10 minutes.

Here's the photo I ended up with:

My clothes are way too baggy, and I look very angry, fairly close to serial killer mugshot angry. I'll say I look determined here if that makes it any better (which it doesn't). 

Would race pictures look better if we all smiled at the finish? Take this as Exhibit A that they wouldn't be:

This is not an official race photo. This is my sister with a camera, and I knew exactly where she was. I ran this 5k with my mom, and I was so proud of her for doing well that I threw on a smile for the photo. A giant cheesy, dorky smile. 

There are those out there with great race photos. They look amazing whenever and wherever they run. It looks effortless and very photogenic. I will never be that person. The best I can hope for is that when I do get caught on camera, I'm wearing a goofy smile and not the pallor of impending death.

I'll Get Bionic Knees!

Running 10 miles is not as hard as you'd think. I know, you're calling me a liar right now, but if you run often and train well the mileage starts to seem almost too easy.

Until you stop. The problem isn't the miles; it's the impact on your body after.

In training for the Athens Half, I've encountered aches and pains I wouldn't wish on anyone. Piriformis syndrome (my personal nemesis) has literally been a pain in my rear, a deep throbbing ache. Running gives me no problem at all, but sitting can be torture.

For two long weeks, I dreaded the drive to work and made every excuse not to work at my desk. I ate meals standing over the sink rather than subjecting myself to the dreaded chair. Stretches didn't ease it off, and ice barely helped.

My sister Katherine put it best. "You're an active person now. You're not allowed to sit."

Finally the pain wore off, and now it only starts if I sit for more than an hour.

After my long run last Saturday, my knees decided to let me know they weren't happy. My knee caps ached and snap, crackled, popped with every movement. "I'll get bionic knees," I thought as I struggled to bend my leg. "I'll be faster, too!" I worried that the problem might linger, but when Monday's run came, they didn't bother me a bit.

Through every ache, pain, and pop I've never thought to give running up. Maybe that makes me an idiot, but I can deal with the aftermath so long as I can still do the run. I love how I feel, who I meet, and what I accomplish. I'll run even if it means standing all day, and if my knees wear out, just pop me in a pair of bionic ones. Maybe they'll finally improve my time.