The Hills Are Alive or Black People Like Trees Too

Guess what?

 I'm black AND many of my "hobbies" take place in the woods or in/near bodies of water.

For some, these two concepts are mutually exclusive.

 

Some people think that I became an outdoor enthusiast during my time in boarding school or in college, because how could I, a little black girl from Bushwick even know that there were trees and mountains outside of the ones in the annual Thanksgiving airing of The Sound of Music? The hills are alive....

This is not the case. I blame it all on my parents.

First they sent to me to sleep-away camp Upstate New York at the tender age of eight. I was hurled  into a world of nighttime stream hikes, swimming in a LAKE, playing in grass, climbing trees, camping out under the trees next to the lake, and taking walks in the woods for the sake of taking walks in the woods.

Then in middle school they signed me up for trips to the Adirondacks. The purpose of the trips was to reward those students with good grades with a chance to get out of the city for some quality time with the teachers we loved in the sticks.  (Imagine a busload of urban kids hanging out in the mountains for a few days, living it up in lean-tos, scaring the "hard" boys of the group into believing there were black bears right outside their shelters in the middle of the night. Imagine.)

I discovered pretty quickly that I preferred to do this kind of stuff rather than worry about not being invited to popular kids' parties. I felt an immediate and reciprocated kinship with anything green and outside. As an adult trail-running, hiking, kayaking, canoeing, and ZIP-LINING!!!! are among my favorite things to do for exercise and for simply being in nature. 

 

All of those activities bring back myriad memories from camp and those yearly trips up the Northway to the mountains.  I breathe in the scent of pine or sassafras and I'm immediately taken back to that one time we shivered in the lean-tos in the late April snow....

A Year of Magical Running: Part 1

This has been an incredible running year for me, despite the ups and downs of my intertwined personal and professional lives.  I've had the opportunity to participate in many different types of races, group runs, solo runs, and runs on the treadmill (and I'm sorry to all you runners who detest the "dreadmill"--I LOVE IT!) and each one has made me a better person, mom and wife, athlete, community member, etc. For this, I am grateful to the running gods for allowing my legs to move, my lungs to breathe, and my mind to rid itself of negativity as I toil away towards good health in body, mind, and spirit.

March 28, 2012 (New Jersey Trail Series Ultra Fest-Marathon Distance)

So the year started out with my second marathon ever (or my first trail marathon). It was organized by my favorite RDs of NJ Trail Series (WOOT WOOT!) up at the Sussex County Fairgrounds in New Jersey. What a BLAST! As part of their Ultra Fest, the marathon was the shortest distance. It was a wonderful entry into trail runs of 22+ miles,  mostly flat with some interesting features that are unique to trail running: rusted and rotted out rail-bridges that were challenging to navigate, a place where the bridge had completely rotted out that was fit with wooden boards, so the runners wouldn't um, fall to our deaths (okay, okay, there was only a four-foot drop, if that),  a field full of roosters cock-a-doodle-doo-ing, long stretches of rugged but flat (incline-wise) trail, and a few loops on one of the Fairground's road that made up the first 10K of the race.

 I felt great until mile 22 or so but was saved by popping a few Endurolytes, and one last Clifshot gel (THEY ARE BOTH  MAGIC). Miles 24-26.2 I was joined by two guys from Queens who would be completing their 40th mile and were en route to taking a short break before tackling the next 60.  I looked at them in disbelief, not simply because they were doing 100, but because they had completed a marathon the weekend before. CRAZIES! During the last .2, I was joined by my good friend Nikki who pushed me til the very end. I ran into the barn where the RDs had set up shop, feeling a little dazed and dizzy, collected my beautiful medal, and shuffled over to my parents who had been supporting me, along with Nikki for 7 hours and 23 minutes. That's dedication, family, and friendship!

Sign up for next year's race here:
http://register.njtrailseries.com/search/event.aspx?id=12712

May 6, 2012 (The North Face Endurance Challenge, Half-Marathon, Bear Mountain, NY)

After last year's disastrous injury that occurred during the TNF Endurance Challenge Half Marathon in Sterling, VA I decided to make a go for it again, this time closer to home and on an even more precipitous course. Bear Mountain, is in fact a mountain. I should have probably taken note of that when I signed up. Of course I knew, having done the 10K version 2 years ago.  It wasn't so bad, I thought. But as soon as I lined up with the runners on that very fateful 4:38 day, I knew what I was getting myself into. 10K times 2 and then some, mostly uphill.

Try like, twelve miles mostly uphill with about 1.1 miles of some short, steep, and dangerous downhills. But that's the fun and challenge (pun intended) of doing races like this. I'm sure it was a bit more rolling than I imagine, but in the midst of it, it seemed like it was all uphill.

At around 3 miles into the race, the course let out onto the parking lot where my car was sitting, all lonely and inviting. I could just.....but alas, MY MOM HAD MY KEY, DAMMIT!

Unfortunately, I did not make the 4 hour cut-off. But I. WAS. NOT. LAST!

Will definitely try this one again next year. This time I'll bring my own food (they had run out already-not their fault but damn was I hungry!). I'll also do lots of hills prior so I can at least make the cut-off next time. And I'll make my son do the 5K instead of the piddly 1K kids race. 1K???? Can I do that one?

Sign up for this race here:
http://www.thenorthface.com/en_US/endurance-challenge/bear-mountain-ny/?stop_mobi=yes






June 2, 2012 (NJ Trail Series Half Marathon (DNF))

Too tired for even one loop, but finished 6.25 miles. I've never been so EXHAUSTED that I simply could not even IMAGINE finishing something. Finishing wasn't a word in my running lexicon that day so, I didn't. It so happened to be two days after the end of school, after a blur of a senior-week spent in the Poconos (i.e. NO SLEEP).

Too bad I physically and mentally couldn't not take advantage of this beautiful, mostly shaded course at the Watchung Reservoir. My parents came out to support me and were prepared to wait a few hours for me to finish and were surprised when I quit after only one loop. It wasn't even the most difficult course I had ever run and it was in fact an absolutely gorgeous, perfect-for-running-in-the-woods kind of day.  But not even this could lift the weight of extreme fatigue and mental fog.  (I never knew you could fall asleep while running. I am living testament!)

After my first and final loop, I gave Rick (the RD) the signal that I was done.

"I'm done", I said, hobbling on shaky legs.
"You sure?" he asked. "Just let me know if you decide to go out again."
"Oh, don't worry. I won't be doing that."

10 Things I Love About Running

1. Being able to do something that many people my size won't or can't do.

2. Getting harassed by people who DON'T run. In yo' face **tches!

3. Enjoying bagels and potato chips as essential parts of my diet.

4. Driving long distances to run 3.1 miles and maybe score a t-shirt.

5. Getting new kicks every two or three months.

6. Having my husband wake up at 5am and ask, "You ran ALREADY?"

7. It's an excuse to be out in the COLD with very little clothing on.

8. Knowing the exact mileage every road, dirt path, and trail within a 10 mile radius.

9. Learning a new language: RUNNERSPEAK

10. Being out in the HEAT with very little clothing on.

Metaphors

There's something to be said about the metaphorical value of the word marathon. 


For some it may mean endless airings of docu-dramas or worse, that inane not-for-kids-but-they-watch-it-anyway cartoon about a yellow sponge and his motley assortment of idiot friends. 

For others it may refer to that great tradition of running for many, many miles for no apparent reason (but the sudden onset of insanity.)


For me, a marathon retains its literal meaning (read previous post for details here) but is quickly taking on the the meaning of my life at the present moment. 

I'm writing this post in a rather nicely appointed hospital room in the pediatric ward watching my son suffer from and fight pneumonia. It is the beginning of November and the poor child has already had 2 week long illnesses since the third week of September. And now this, which interestingly enough is the exact same weekend he was hospitalized for pneumonia 4 years ago. 


Last weekend I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in the middle of the Fatrunner's Life Is A B* Marathon (sorry, no t-shirts-this is a no-frills race)

1. First, I fractured my ankle in June.
2. Then, I couldn't run for 8 weeks.
3. Then, I started marathon training late in the game.
4. I was still in pain.
5. I ran and I didn't.
6. Then Irene came and the power went.
7. Then school started (I'm a teacher-so this means THREE WEEKS AHEAD of the first day)
8. Relative staying with me was hit by a car
9. Then school started (I'm also a grad-student)
10. Then school started (the students showed up)
11. Then school started (The kid's in 3rd grade)
12. Illness #1 visited the schoolboy
13. Mom in ER
14. I still had to train, work, write, mother
15. Illness #2 visited aforementioned schoolboy
16. Ibid #12
17. Car #1 wouldn't stop on the road--> brake failure
18. Car #2 broke down on highway a week later
19. Ibid #16
20. How to get to DC for Marine Corps Marathon?
21. Rented a car-->bankrupt
22. October Blizzard of '11 hits
23. Treacherous driving to DC-many, many accidents.
24. Marathon
25. Returning rental: oh no, stuck in a ditch.
26. Pneumonia strikes

What does marathoning mean anyway? Running 26.2 miles, of course. In the beginning, body and mind are synced, though not perfectly. The legs must acclimate to the demands of the mind, and they do so willingly. In the middle, mind and body work in tandem as well oiled machinery. In those last few miles, the mind takes over, the body defers. The body must keep moving. The mind is resilient, and so is the body.

Such is life.

Ich bin eine Marathoner!

On Sunday October 30 of 2011, fatgirlrunning became a marathoner. 

The morning was a cold one. One of those post-FREAK-blizzard-in-October types of cold mornings. The sky was a clear, chilly morning sky occasionally peppered with flights leaving from Regan International.

The runners congregated in one of the parking lots of the Pentagon. There were many, many of us, to the tune of about 30,000.

My training had been haphazard due to her painful ankle fracture taking its sweet ole time to heal (more about this in another post), but I managed to push through many a long run, many a missed run (the various maladies of an 8 year-old do not care in the least about whether or not you're supposed to get a 5 miler in that day), and many a day where the shadow of doubt darkened the sky of marathon promise.

But I made it to DC despite both cars having died the previous week. Despite almost missing the last few minutes of packet pickup because a BLIZZARD decided to grace us with its presence in New Jersey and Pennsylvania right as I drove the rental car off the lot. I made it to DC despite not really being able to afford it, but how many people would be disappointed if I hadn't shown up and run? 

Of course I couldn't sleep. Of course I woke up every hour on the hour. OMGDIDIOVERSLEEP? C'MON, it's just a marathon....

Special K bars and Granola for breakfast. Not really that hungry, but I must eat. I must eat.

Nice helicopters and Ospreys. Nice tandem jumpers. Oh, is that an American flag? Very, very cool.

Wait, I'm still not moving? It's 8:15. 

Okay, finally. 8:20 and I'm off!

Mile 1: Nice and easy, despite some hills no one bothered to mention in the literature. WHAT? (Good thing I trained a lot on those. Thank you, rolling hills of central NJ!)

Miles 2 and 3: Really? More hills? Oh yeah, this is the MARINE CORPS Marathon, not the sissy marathon. Nice 5K time.

Miles 4-5: Don't remember: I was trying to take it easy. Trying to take in the scenery, so to speak. There was a river somewhere. Trying to not waste energy. ONLY 21 more to go! Mental games.

10K: Only TWENTY MORE! Oh, and this is not such a bad 10K time considering the last actual 10K.....well, that was a trail race, hon.

Miles 7-8: Really? More hills? Georgetown. Pretty. Thanks for the Vaseline.

Mile 9: Funny guys with a fake finish line. Fatgirlrunning needed that humor right at that moment.

Miles 10-12: Dammit, where is 13? WHERE IS THIRTEEN POINT ONE?

Half Marathon: Oh, that wasn't so bad. I even beat my last half marathon time. Just think if I didn't actually have to run 13 more miles. This could've been a PR if I hadn't had to save all that energy. Yeah, keep dreaming.

Mile 14: Ok, this isn't so bad. I've done 14 before, and frankly this feels better than that 14 miler I did with plantar fasciitis on a trail that seemed to go uphill both ways. Tons better.  I got this.

Mile 15: I don't got this. Dammit, I need a gel. Or two. And some beans. And, oooooh ORANGES!

Miles 16-19: Really don't remember. Wait, yes I do. RUN LIKE HELL. The damned pace car is right there. Scary and stressful. WTF are all these school buses for? OH, stragglers! RUN! Where the hell is this energy coming from. Oh, anger. The legs are like just moving, separate from my brain. Weird.

Mile 20: Is this ever going to end? Here's the wall. This is bad. Yeah, I beat the bridge. But why do I care so much? I wanna stop. This is stupid. That sign that said "this sounded like a good idea three months ago" rings very, very true. MY FEET HURT. Can't like, jump of the bridge though. That would be sissy-pooh. Yeah, and the girl next to me is crying. At least I'm not crying. At least I didn't stop to stretch and retch. Just make it to mile 21.

Mile 21: Just make it to mile 22. And stop telling us that mile 22 is just around the corner.  What corner? I DON'T EVEN SEE A CORNER.

Mile 22: Oh, mile 23 must be right down that street with all the flags. Wait, it's an entire neighborhood? These miles are getting LONGER AND MORE UNBEARABLE. Ok, not so unbearable. HI SON AND HUSBAND!!!!!! Wait for me! Don't move. I'll be back, in like a mile.

Mile 23: Okay red flag to red flag, then you can walk. Purple to purple. Green to green. 

Mile 24: HI SON AND HUSBAND. Meet me at the finish in like half an hour. Where is it? I DON'T KNOW!!!!!  FIGURE IT OUT!

Mile 25: Only one more mile to go? This is going to take all day. I could fall asleep right now. While walking. Seriously. Just walk over me. Don't worry, I'll be passed out. 

Wait. This is almost over. THIS IS ALMOST OVER? Holy CRAP.

But I don't see the finish. They said it was close. I don't see it. 

Oh, there it is. 

Another hill. ANOTHER HILL GODDAMMIT! WTF???? The nerve! Um ok. It's just my feet that hurt. The legs can do it, right?

Mile 26: A few more steps. Oh no. Tears. 

Mile 26.2: High-fiving my new friends, the Marines, getting wrapped in mylar. Oh yeah, baby. 

You can put that medal right here.

I Had No Choice But To Finish: Part 2

I did not fall. Everyone assumes that I fell. Again, I did not fall. I owe it to all the core-strengthening exercises I had been doing during the spring! I hobbled a bit, in shock from the INTENSE pain that followed the very loud popping sound. "Wow, I heard that" said the man that I had passed about two tenths of a mile back. I sat down on the rocky slope, wincing and cursing pretty loudly. F**************K! He looked at the ankle, said that he didn't see anything sticking out, so I should be good.  He then continued on. This too was my plan.

I got up. This was a long and laborious process, though. The ankle HURT. This is a bad, bad sprain I thought. Other times when I have slipped, I have generally found it relatively easy to get back up and limp a little-eventually the pain would subside. This time was different. I had to roll over onto my knees, grab a tree trunk and then hop onto my right leg without putting any pressure on the left foot. The first step was excruciatingly painful, the next a little less so, and the third was I-can-get-to-the-next-aid-station-if-I-limp-really-fast painful. I hobbled for a little over a mile, still mostly downhill, until I reached the aid station. The guy who had *tear* passed me had alerted them to my condition.

On my way to that aid station, I toyed with the idea of DNFing (not finishing, in runners' argot). This is how the conversation went in my head: should I stop at the aid station and wait for the medics to take me back to the start?  Should I try to finish this even if it takes me four hours? Should I sit down and cry? Should I stand here and click my heels three times? (Well, no, that would incur more pain-so that was out of the question) Should I try to finish? Should I try to finish? SHOULD I TRY TO FINISH?

And then I imagined the potential scene back at the finish area: me being helped out of the medic's ATV. Fat girl limping.

NO THANKS.

I had to do this for fat people. I had to do this for me. And I had to finish because I didn't want anybody thinking that the fat girl couldn't do it.

I arrived at the aid station. The volunteers were ready for me. Do you want us to get the medics out here? HELL NO! I would like some Advil if you have any. I took 3, re-tied my shoelaces and went about my way. A few minutes, I was able to limp-run-walk-hop, wincing less and less as the miles went by slowly. I tried not to think of the throbbing coming from the ankle and tried to focus instead on staying ahead of this woman who I had passed a long time ago gaining on me.

At one point, she passed me as I was taking a break. Then I passed her. Then she passed me, and then INTENTIONALLY BLOCKED MY WAY on the single-track on the way back to the finish for about 3 miles. Okay, missy. I got this. I stay right on her tail until we reach a wider part of the trail. And then she stops to take a break. I pass her, without even glancing back. I won't publish the string of expletives I was calling her in my head.

Mile 10 comes along and the pain is returning somewhat, but that woman is still about a half mile behind me, so I slow down a bit until I arrive at the first/last aid station and guzzle tepid Gatorade. There's still about 1.7 miles to go so I walk until I hear the people at the last aid station start to cheer. I look back only to see that woman trying to gain on me.

And then as if in a made-for-TV drama, I scream NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I hobble-run-walk-hop-skip-limp as fast as I can to the end, this time because I was MAD and certainly wasn't going to let this woman get ahead of me and gloat that she wasn't last. She was last, and the fat girl wasn't.

I gathered enough energy-adrenaline is AMAZING-to run through the finishing chute raising the roof.

Now I could visit the medics on my own terms.

I Had No Choice But To Finish: Part 1

During June and most of July this year, I was a fairly unpleasant person to be around. This was due 100% to my first big injury. 

There are several races that I look forward to all year. One of them is The North Face Endurance Challenge which has several different locations throughout the year.

This year I signed up for the Endurance Challenge trail half-marathon outside of Washington DC, whose route boasted mostly flat, mostly single-track on the Potomac Heritage Trail. I felt pretty good about my prospects of finishing well (relatively speaking) since I had done a brutal (I thought) and pretty technical trail half marathon a few weeks earlier. 

At the starting line, there were lots of excited people! There was also a good share of nervous boasting in the form of I-just-did-such-and-such-marathon-at-altitude, blank stares, and a very long line for the port-a-potties. And there was me, anxiously looking for any Clydesdale/Athena types who might also be taking the plunge with me. Nope-just some taller, big-boned people who could probably run like gazelles and do like, 7 minute miles in a trail race.

I do this at every race, look for the fat people. I always wonder what their journey is, and how it has been for them. I wonder what running means to them? Is it a means to lose weight? Are they intent on changing their physical and ultimately emotional lives? Did someone drag them here? And most importantly, will I be able to PASS them and leave them in my fat dust?

I line up near the back of the pack, not kidding myself about my expected pace. I'm hoping to try to maintain at least a 14 minute per mile pace, given that it's, you know,  a TRAIL race. The announcer counts down and we're off across the parking lot, down a hill, and onto the Potomac Heritage Trail. The first 1.5 miles are a breeze; I run a little faster than normal, because apparently that's what you do in a race, but it still feels good. I was pretty far in the back, but not dead last and pretty confident that I would be able to pass some of the more smug runners. You know, the ones that go out entirely too fast and burn out by mile 3! Still feeling pretty comfy, I run through mildly technical sections on the trail, along with some absolutely gorgeous and peaceful single-track. 

I'm used to being in the back and running alone-this way I don't have to pretend like I have enough breath-control and cardio-conditioning to hold a conversation with anyone. I run, and enjoy being in nature while simultaneously listening to Ludacris, Nicki Minaj, Cat Stevens, and The Indigo Girls on my iPod. They help me pass a few struggling skinny runners. AHA! I catch myself thinking mean thoughts-which I won't share...Anyway, at around mile 3.5 a steep incline COMES OUT OF NOWHERE, complete with switchbacks. UGH. Ok, I still got this, right? I had already passed about 4 people, so I was feeling a little smug myself. I had done a lot of hill work with my cross-country girls in the spring, so although the hills were still difficult, I didn't feel as though I was dying. I kept a steady power-hiking pace and got to the top of the mountain-hill. And then I started the series of steep descending switchbacks. It felt awesome to power-run down the descent, leaving yet another runner in my fat dust!

And then, somehow without falling, I rolled the outside of my left ankle a good 90 degrees.