New York City Marathon, November 6, 2016

I was undertrained and didn’t respect the distance.

After a routine restless night before a race, my alarm rudely chimed at 4:15am. I got up and immediately started rummaging through my things that I had laid out the night before. I made sure I had everything, then headed out towards the subway.

I saw some other blurry eyed runners and sat down. I chatted with them about where we were from, what we did, and what number marathon this was for us. When we reached Grand Central Station, it was Runner central. I was herded with the rest of the cold, layered marathoners into barricades that wrapped us around a city block and onto charter buses. I made a friend, Nicole, and we stuck together as we went through this process. I was glad I met her, because she’s from Long Island and knew the city frontwards and backwards. As we rode the hour or so to our starting point, she would point out different land marks and things that I wouldn’t have seen if I were by myself. It was beautiful to watch the sunrise over the city as we crossed into Staten Island.

After we got off the buses, we went through a major security station to check all bags and belongings. Then we went to our designated villages and corresponding corrals. Nicole and I parted ways; she went to orange and I went to blue. I heard someone say coffee and I made a bee-line to get some. It was cold, but not as cold as I was expecting. Dunkin’ Donuts was there passing out complimentary coffee and beanies. I grabbed both, and a bagel, spread out my trash bags I brought with me, and sat down on the ground. We all looked homeless sitting there waiting, all bundled up and lying on the ground. The corrals didn’t open until 9:00am.

Everyone had a certain time they had to be on the bus, at the village, in the corral, and their specific race start. My bus time was 5:30, my village time was 7:30, my corral time was 9:40, my start time was 10:40. Such a late time to begin a race. But after what seemed like hours of waiting, multiple trips to the porta potties, and lots of entertaining people watching, my wave was finally called into the corrals. I ran in there and went to the bathroom once more, stripped off my throw away clothes, got situated, and was ready to start.

We had to walk a good bit to get to the Verrazano bridge, our start line, but once we turned the corner and saw the grand marshal box, heard a beautiful rendition of “God Bless America”, and then a HUGE cannon blast, we were OFF!

The first mile was completely up the bridge, but I didn’t notice it because my adrenaline was flowing and I was too excited to be running. I kept looking side to side at the city skyline, and the statue of liberty. I flew through the downhill and that’s when the race really started for me. I settled into a steady groove and locked it in.

I breezed through the first 10 miles without much issue. I kept dodging people and water stations. This is the biggest marathon in the world and it was crowded. I had my own fuel with me in a handheld bottle, so I would only grab water at every other station, taking a few walking steps just to be sure I would get as much liquid as possible. My mouth was dry and my spit was thick, my sure sign of dehydration. Great.

I tried not to think about it much. As I crossed mile 13, in the middle of another shorter bridge, my group was stopped at the top of it. There was a man being lifted up in a stretcher and being pulled across the street to an ambulance with an oxygen mask on. That really got to my mental game, and I started praying for strong heart, legs, and lungs during this race. As I was cruising downhill from that bridge, I saw Meghan right by a barricade, shouting “THERE SHE IS!”. That was enough to pick me back up and get me going again.

Then I hit mile 15 and went into the Queensboro bridge. Oh my gosh, I knew I was dying. That was another incredibly long stretch of uphill. I didn’t walk it, determined to not be beat by an incline. I would keep looking up and wondering where in the world the top was. It grew eerily silent in there. There were no spectators, of course, but also the runner chatter had stopped. All you heard were heavy foot steps and heavy breathing, with the occasional expletive being exhaled. That’s when I could feel how tired my legs were.

New York isn’t necessarily “hilly”, but it has subtle inclines that were hard for my Savannah flat legs. As I cruised down the other side of the bridge, I tried to get my heart rate under control by breathing slow and purposeful. I felt a little better, but I was close to hitting the wall already.

I trudged on and finally hit The Bronx around mile 18ish. That was a huge party! Lots of loud music, live music, and crazy spectators, and it was also mainly downhill, so I was smiling and felt good again; like maybe it wasn’t such a dumb idea to put myself through this misery yet again.

Mile 20 came and I was over it. I tried to keep reminding myself of where I was and how much of an incredible opportunity this was. It did distract me for a little while, but my legs hurt and I was cold. Running through Manhattan, with it’s tall buildings and little sunlight really made me shiver. I could also feel my tummy rumble. I was hungry. A station passed out a banana and I grabbed a half and ate it quickly. I came up on another bridge and decided to do what my many fellow runners did, walk the uphill. It was the first time I had slowed to a walk for a significant amount of time during the run; and it was a bad idea. Once you do that in a race, all you want to do is walk. It’s a struggle of run a little bit and then your mind screams at you to walk some more. So I succumbed to that a few times. I would walk to get my breath, take a gel or a few sips of water, then muster up the will to keep trudging through.

The crowd was incredible, and even though I didn’t see Meghan again on the course, seeing other people cheer for me and for everyone really kept me going. I knew the end of the race was near, because we were running alongside Central Park. I also knew that once we entered Central Park we had 2.2 miles left. I was so thankful to enter that park. My brain was YELLING at me to walk, but I was stubborn. I wanted to finish. I ran all the way through the park, smiling as a flock of pigeons scattered away as I turned a corner, and thanking God for it being mainly downhill, crossed under the “Mile 26” banner and could see the finish line through the trees. I crossed with my slowest marathon time ever. Even slower than my very first one. I give that to the fact that I was under trained, and not prepared for the inclines of this course. The course won, but I finished it.

I was awarded my medal and was shivering uncontrollably. I thankfully grabbed the milar blanket, a bag of recovery food and drink, and then was herded to grab my post-race poncho. I bet the ponchos were located at least a mile away from the finish. We walked forever. Everyone was walking gingerly and slowly. I was weaving in and out, pushing through my sore legs, because all I wanted to do was get back to our apartment we rented and sit down.

I met Meghan at family reunion and she immediately took out gloves and hot hands. Both of my hands were white and I couldn’t move my fingers. Raynaud’s had taken over worst than ever before. She then grabbed the edge of my poncho and led me to the subway. We got back to our apartment, climbed 4 flights of stairs, and I had a hot shower. Compression socks went on, pasta and tiramisu was ordered and delivered, and we ate like queens in the bed. I was snuggled up, asleep, by 8:00p. A sleepless night with twitching legs and people fixing their radiator heaters, then up at 3:45a to get ready for The Today Show.

I enjoyed this race, very much, and it was an eye opener. I had forgotten what 26 miles felt like. I got arrogant with this being my 5th marathon and didn’t train like I should have. It’s quite the motivator to get my butt in gear and be the runner I know I am. I still think Chicago is my favorite marathon of all time, but New York was an incredible experience that I will never forget!

I’m filling out my race calendar now to keep me going.
…and miles to go before I sleep…

Multipotentialite

A multipotentialite is a person who has many different interests and creative pursuits in life. Multipotentialites have no “one true calling” the way specialists do.

I believe this is me.

I am drawn to various different paths; most of which have to do with the arts in some way or form. Whether it be music, theater, writing, reading, photography, art… I can’t seem to be satisfied in one area. I love them all equally.

Then I discovered the word “multi-potentiality” and realized that I am not alone. This is a real issue with some people. That we don’t feel a calling to go and stay in one particular area, but are gifted and equipped to exceed in multiple areas – at the same time! I used to beat myself up with negative talk and doubts about why I couldn’t just be content with one area. I even tried to force myself to stay in love with one of them, but when I discovered that I can love all of them equally, explore all of them, and succeed in them, I loosened up a bit. It’s a fun adventure everyday! It prevents life from being boring.

To me, one art cannot exist without the other. You are moved differently by each other them and are very much connected to all of them.

I’ve been labeled with “MUSIC” all of my life. I am extremely proud of that gift! But now I can dare to explore other options while still pursuing music.

Don’t let anyone else’s label, or the label you place on yourself, prevent you from pursuing your dreams and passions. Explore them all. You never know where you will end up!

Post Hiatus

I’ve taken a break, but I want to now dedicate the time to really develop this blog. I don’t know if what I think is important to talk about will be interesting for other people to read. If it’s not, then at least I’ll have a place for all of my random musings.

If you’ve subscribed to this blog, you may have gotten an email and thought “Who is this, again?” Yeah…. sorry about that. Lots of changes. That may be my first real post back.

Stay tuned, friends. More to come.

Somebody Else

Looking at all of the different people traveling through airports has me wondering about their story. Where they come from. What they do. And I pass the time by creating scenarios in my head about them and their prestigious jobs.

My seat mate next to me on one flight asked me what I did. And, of course, as the conversation moved on he learned that I was a runner who taught music on the side. But once we stopped talking and retreated to our mobile devices for musical escape, I got to thinking.

I could be anyone I want.

Seriously. The people that I communicate with while I’m traveling have no idea who I am, and vice versa. I don’t know if he was REALLY down in Hilton Head for a golf tournament with 16 of his buddies, like he claimed. For all I know he is a spy for the Jacksonville Zoo and he was recruited to travel to HHI to explore the various types of undiscovered creatures dwelling in the pits of the sand dunes.

I got to thinking who I could be…

I could be a successful writer who uses long flights to write intriguing novels. I’d go by the name MJ Logashov. MJ for Maria Jose, my spanish name in high school, and Logashov to sound Russian and exotic, but really just a country gal from South Carolina.

I could be a traveling ukulele serenader. Making my way to the west coast to serenade the sea lions at Fisherman’s Wharf. Or an official cheese taster. Or an amateur rodeo consultant scoping out the next big rodeo spot. Or a lobster neurologist. Or a scientist who’s mission is to determine the cure for cancer. Or a pizza connoisseur. Or a parachute tester. Or just a hopeful to make it on The Price is Right.

Not that there’s anything wrong with who I am or what I do. Just that it could be exciting to masquerade as someone else for a few hours.

Then I know I couldn’t keep up an intelligent conversation about any of those things. I can tell you, however, just how excited kids get over candy. How making music with tiny humans is the highlight of my day. How I can control 24 pairs of eyes in my classroom by telling them the story of Haydn’s head, or Beethoven’s struggle with deafness. How to sneakily get kids to line up quietly in your classroom.

So I’ll keep being Rebecca. An okay teacher and an average runner. It’s who I am.

But in my mind, I can be whoever I dream of being for the day, the hour, the minute. And I am all of those things at once. My imagination is that of a 5 year old, and I love it.

#shareyourstory

I was compelled to share my story. I had to be obedient. So with shaking hands, wobbly knees, and a sweaty head, I spoke words out loud that only a few handful of people knew about. And my audience was gracious. They listened and accepted me and my baggage. They weren’t phased and didn’t turn away. I felt safe.

And then I felt freedom. It’s such a relief to let go of a secret. Of something about yourself that you’ve been convinced would be the deal breaker of anyone trying to get to know who you truly are.

I feel more love now that I did before. Both for and from my new work family.

So do it. Share your story. It will hurt. It will be hard. It requires you to humble yourself. But once you do, you will be glad you did.

The Comeback

I hit the lowest point of my life in 2015. I am ready to see it go.

I’ve been struggling to write this out in fear of what others may now think of me, and the fact that by typing it I am admitting to everything, but it is my story and God is directly in the center of it. And anything that involves God working so diligently deserves to be shared.

This year was a year that I did not anticipate in the slightest. I hit rock bottom. I’ve felt like I was in a continuous spiral that was only getting faster and stronger, and I’ve been hanging on with a few fingers just waiting to be flung off into the distance.

The kicker was January 7, when I woke up to my dog not being able to move and foaming at the mouth. I panicked and called my vet who graciously met me at the vet’s office at 6am. She ran multiple tests for over 24 hours and concluded that it was a brain condition that was interfering with her spinal cord, causing her brain to malfunction. As well as heart failure, that is typical to the breed. There was nothing anyone could do. So I got out of school early on that Fri., January 9, and went and held my little puppy, Padgett, and felt her sweet heart stop as the vet pushed the medicine to end her life. Devastation is an understatement. For 4 years it was just me and that little girl. She was my world, my best friend, always there to greet me when I came home, to make sure I wasn’t lonely… I didn’t know just how hard I took her death until the year kept unfolding and only got worse.

I have always been somewhat of an anxious worrier. I want to please people. I am constantly evaluating my words and actions and wondering what the other person is thinking of me. And that part of me got worse. I have this fear of making people upset at me and them leaving me; too annoyed to love me any longer. This kept me up at night, would consume every thought, was a heavy weight that I couldn’t shake off, was robbing me of the joy of living, and putting a severe strain on my relationships. I was not easy to love in any way.

I felt prompted to speak with an old friend from college whose heart is much like mine. She related with me and encouraged me to go get help. I immediately dismissed the thought. No way was I going to be one of those crazy people who needed a shrink. I was never going to lie back on a couch and spill my life story to a stranger, who had no idea who I was. I didn’t need that; I was stronger than that. Turns out I wasn’t. After one too many nights of waking up at 3a sweating profusely and not being able to get back to sleep, I decided that seeing a professional was probably in my best interest. The next day I made the call and set up an appointment two weeks away. That day came and I was more anxious about that than anything else that had been bothering me. I had anxiety about talking to someone about my anxiety. This was a milestone for me. I had to admit out loud to myself, and to someone else, that I didn’t have it all together. I was losing control and falling apart. I was broken and in the dark and not who I knew myself to be. I had to swallow a lot of pride that day and tearfully confess what I’ve been too afraid to speak out loud – that I didn’t know what to do and I needed help. My therapist was incredible and pointed out things that I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling. He mentioned how hard I took Padgett’s death. He also stated that I had a weird fear of abandonment by those who love me. That’s weird because I haven’t truly been abandoned. My parents are still married and my family is incredibly tight. I’m sure there’s something in my past that created this weird spot in my brain. He gave me some great tools to work through my anxiety attacks and I still use them to this day. I also started taking some medication to take the edge off of my thinking habits. I never would have guessed that I’d be seeing a therapist and taking “crazy pills”…

During this time, I felt incredibly alone and isolated. I mean, that’s the biggest attack on me the enemy can throw. Make me feel cut off from my loved ones and I shrink down to absolutely nothing. I felt unreachable, untouchable, and sick. I felt like a crazy psychopath and I just knew that people could tell it by looking into my eyes. Didn’t I have my life all together before? Why couldn’t I control this? Why couldn’t I just talk myself out of feeling a certain way or thinking certain things? I was stronger than that, better than that. That wasn’t me. And I was mad at God for allow me to go through this. I was mad at Him for giving me this thorn.

And things continued to get rocky. I was finally at a point where I could choose and understand love for a man whom I believed God wanted me to marry, and that was taken. I moved into a beautiful farm house on lots of land that I really loved, then four months later had to move out again due to some misunderstandings and disagreements with the landlords. So my bank account was drained. I chose to leave my position as a band director, which if you know me, you KNOW how I’ve wanted to be a band director since I was in the 7th grade. I worked hard for that degree. But felt like I needed to get out, so I switched to elementary school teaching. Which in NO WAY is a negative thing – but it does require admitting the closing of a life chapter, and for me, I grieve closing chapters. My best friend and her family moved 4 and a half hours away from me. Again, not a big deal on the surface, but I was unstable. My sister got married, same thing again. Everything seemed to be crumbling underneath me. And I was hypersensitive to every little thing.

My moods were on a roller coaster, I’d cry at any given moment, I was still losing sleep, I was still taking medicine, I felt like I was barely hanging on by my fingertips at times and then like I was climbing back over the mountain at others. Darkness fell. The sky grew cloudy, God was obscure, and I was lost.

I read books trying to fix me. I read blogs. I researched. I drove people crazy by asking too many questions. I was even convinced my therapist was put off by me and was just telling me something so I’d just shut up and get out of there.

I wish I could say, “But then I was magically and spiritually lifted out of the pit and everything was hunky dory again.” I cannot. I don’t feel like everything is okay right now. I’m still upset over everything that’s happened; I carry this weight of anxiety, stress, and borderline depression around no matter how hard I scream at God to save me. Don’t get me wrong. Jesus has saved, is saving, and will always save me. But I didn’t get a peaceful feeling overall this year. I fell into a hole, a pit of darkness, depression, worry, fear, anxiety… that I was so disabled. I distinctly remember sitting on the floor in my room crying, confused, wrestling with the Lord, having scripture come to mind and me saying it out loud and feeling NOTHING. I journaled, in huge letters across a tear stained page, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” I felt like a fraud in church, leading worship for people on stage. Singing songs to Jesus that I didn’t fully believe, because my selfish mind could only focus on the things that were taken away from me.

So why am I writing this out? Why publish this? Because I KNOW I am not alone in this. I know there are other people reading this who are going through this, or know someone who is. And let me tell you, there is hope. My God is a big, strong, mighty warrior who can handle my crap. He listens to the screams, the disbelief, the uncertainty. He handles my mood swings better than I think I do. He wrestles back with me. Even though I don’t FEEL delivered or set free from what’s happened, I know know know know know that He is there. Loving me, watching me, helping me, hearing me, praying with me, holding me, crying with me, singing me back to sleep at night. And I can trust Him. I am still praising Him; even when it hurts like hell I will praise Him.

My story isn’t over, although this year almost is (thank goodness). I have been given dreams that I think I’m supposed to do something with. I feel that the physical turning of a calendar year brings a blank slate in which God is going to continue to write a beautiful story for me. I have this eager expectation that things will change, because honestly, for me, it’s only uphill from this point forward. There’s a song that I love from one of my favorite bands, Caedmon’s Call, and the song sums up my year. It talks about being in the valley, but also knowing the freeing baptism that Christ brings to bring us up again. I love it.

If you have story similar to mine, please share it with me so I can pray for you and encourage you. You are not alone and there is hope out there.

Caedmon’s Call, “Valleys Fill First”:

This is the valley that I’m walking through
And if feels like forever since I’ve been close to You
My friends up above me don’t understand why I struggle like I do
The shadow’s my only, only companion and at night he leaves too

*Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Now down in the valley, it seems that I’m at my worst
My consolation is that You baptize this Earth
I’m down in the valley, valleys fill first*

Down in this wasteland, I miss the mountaintop view
But it’s here in this valley that I’m surrounded by You
Though I’m not here by my will, it’s where Your view is the most clear
So I’ll stay in this valley if it takes forty years

*Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Now down in the valley, it seems that I’m at my worst
My consolation is that You baptize this Earth
I’m down in the valley, valleys fill first*

It’s like that long Saturday between death and the rising day
When no one wrote a word, wonderin’ is this the end
But You were down there in the well, saving those that fell
Bringing them to the mountain again

A Letter To Myself Before I Step Into The Classroom

I’ve been a band director for 3 years now. One thing I have learned is that I will be learning something new every day that I am there. Here are 10 things that I wish I had known before beginning my new job.

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Dear Eager New Band Director,

Congratulations! You got the job! You didn’t blow the interview. You will actually be stepping into the career you’ve been dreaming of since you were a young lass in the 7^th grade band and decided this is what you wanted to do. You’ve gone through all of the classes, gotten your degrees, and now it’s time to show the world what you’re made of. Put on your big girl panties and change the world one band student at a time. But FIRST…here are some things you should know before Day One of teaching:

1.) All of your students won’t like you. As much as this breaks your heart, it is true. No matter how hard you try to be funny, how you try to accommodate every idea they have, there will be some students who just will not like you. Do not let this get into your mind. They are middle schoolers. You are older than they are. Do not stoop to their level by pouting about a few of them not liking you (trust me, that’s harder than it sounds).

2.) Parents are the best! That’s a lie. Parents can be the worst. They will demean you, call you names, accuse you, tell you how to run your classroom, and swear that their precious little one is never part of the problem. Even though little Johnny deliberately slammed his trumpet on the floor, denting the bell, and pitched a fit, YOU are the problem, teacher. At least, that’s what they’ll tell you.

3.) You DO NOT know everything. College was great. You learned more about music and chords and resolutions and conducting and practicing your guts out and recitals in the 7 years you were there (two degrees. You decided to stay and get your Masters. This is on you, teach) than you could ever imagine. But college doesn’t teach you how to repair instruments, deal with government implemented paper work, faculty meetings, faculty who don’t understand what you do exactly, morning duty, lunch duty, scheduling, classroom behavior, breaking up fights, creating your own curriculum, parent conferences, how to console crying students, etc. etc. These are all things you’ll have to fake it until you make it.

4.) Your band will sound bad. Being a middle school director, you will not get the beautifully tuned sound your ears are used to hearing in college. You will leave everyday with headaches and the ever exciting “Hot Cross Buns” stuck in your head. Forget about Whitacre, Grainger, and Holst. You won’t hear those works unless they’re performed by a much more advanced group than what you’re working with. Be prepared for squeaks, honks, and just air rushing through their instruments. This will frustrate you for a little bit, but you’ll adapt.

5.) 70% of your job is acting. Once you’ve realized your middle school band will never play Children’s March, you must switch into hooking them into the band world. That’s where your great acting skills come in. You’ve got to be so stinking pumped up about playing line #43 from their book as if it was the National Anthem that you were playing for the President himself. You’ve got to convince them that band is the absolute greatest part of their lives and they have chosen it. And they’re good at it. You’ve got to applaud that one tuba player who has missed that one Bb everyday for the past 2 years, but today…TODAY he got it and that’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you!! Because you know that if you make him feel good about being there, about finally nailing that note, then he’ll stick with it. And he needs band more than band needs him. So jump up and down, smile, applaud, squeal in excitement, and put on a show to make them feel valued in your room. That without them in there at that moment, you are somehow lacking.

6.) You automatically take on other roles. You become a mother to 200+ students a day, a nurse, a therapist, a psychologist, a cheerleader, a disciplinarian, a repairman (seriously – so many things break on instruments!), a scientist (“Is that an old sandwich in your horn??”), an actress, a dancer, a singer, a rapper, grammar police (“I don’t understand you when you say ‘I can axe you a question?’”), a relationship coach, a life coach, a musician on every single instrument (because you must demonstrate to them), a comedian, a story-teller, a custodian, a mentor, a recruiter, a motivator, a role model, a travel agent, a mediator, a fight breaker-upper, a babysitter… I could go on and on and on.

7.) Students will lie to keep themselves out of trouble. You will have a student tell his father that you were absent for a week and the substitute made you watch movies just so he wouldn’t get in trouble for not turning in his practice record. When the father schedules a conference with you to confront this issue, try not to laugh when the father says that little Johnny will get a spanking when he gets home for making up such a lie. Other students, good students who you like, will also make up lies to protect themselves. This puts up a barrier between you and the parents. One that will very rarely be broken down. Accept that now.

8.) Classroom Management is an ART. One that you must learn daily. Students are sneaky and manipulative and will try to get away with everything. Soon you will develop another pair of eyes to catch those who are texting, chewing gum, or eating goldfish while they’re counting rests in the music. Take care of these eyes. The students will see you as a super human. “How do you ALWAYS know when I have gum?” It is a great power.

9.) You can’t do it all. You’ll go into your new job with all of these wonderful ideas and how you’ll turn the program around from day one. You’ve done the work, you’re certified, you’re excited, so why not? Soon you will discover that it will take a lot longer than a day. It will take a lot longer than 3 years, in fact. You cannot do it all. And even some of the things you attempt to do you will fail at. You will be upset about these things at first, but soon you will learn to do what you can do and let the other things roll off. You are human. You will make mistakes. A lot. You will learn a great deal from those mistakes and you will move forward.

10.) You have the best job in the world. Giving students the gift of music is something that cannot be described. Sure, the frustrating days will be plenty. You will walk out of the schoolhouse wanting to quit more often than you’ll want to admit. But you’ll keep going back, because each day there is at least ONE reason to rise the next morning. That one student who is on the verge of breakthrough. Or the one who you know has a horrible home life and they only smile in your class. Or for the one who has threatened to quit band 4-5 times, but you convince them to stay in for another 9 weeks…just to see what happens. And surprisingly, they’ve stayed. No, your band won’t be playing grade 6 music. But the relationship you build with your students will become so deep over the 3 years that you teach them, that it will sincerely break your heart when your 8^th graders are nearing their exit into high school. It will all be worth it. Every tiny little thing is worth it. For the one…or for all of them.

So, take a deep breath, first year band director. You face a challenging, yet rewarding, road ahead of you. You will hate it. You will love it. It is the best decision you have made in your life thus far. Keep growing. Keep learning. Keep teaching.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Savannah Marathon Recap

Better late than never.

Saturday, November 8, I made my way to beautiful Savannah to run the marathon. I had run the half portion of this course the previous two years and I loved it. I think it’s a wonderful course, that’s flat and fast. This year, I decided to do the full. Lindsay, my roommate, and I left my house around 4:45a to make it our assigned parking garage by 5:30. As we neared our exit ramp, we were caught up in traffic. Dead stopped. And it wasn’t due to road closures for the race. It was for a city construction project. How inconvenient. This led to me feeling extremely anxious and the urge to use the bathroom was ever increasing.

We decided to maneuver around the traffic jam and take an alternative route. I know Savannah pretty well, so I knew another way to get to our garage. This was a risk, because I was certain we would come to roads that were already closed for the race. And we did, but we still made it quicker than if we had waited out that traffic jam. We parked and quickly finished getting ready. I had to load up my UCan superstarch in my fuel belt. Most of it exploding into my car (I STILL have white powder stains in there. That stuff is impossible to remove.) We made sure we had everything we needed, then quickly made our way to the start. We stopped at some vacant porta potties and went right in. Then we walked over to gear check for Lindsay to drop off her bag. We just kept walking to keep warm. We stood in the bathroom lines for one last emptying of the bladder and then headed to our separate corrals. I was in corral 6.

I made sure my watch was fully on and was able to sync up to the satellites (something I’ve had trouble with in the past). I met with some friends in my corral and was thankful to talk to them before the start. I then shed off my outer layers, keeping my socks on my arms as arm warmers, and we made our way to the start line. The gun went off and there we went.

Pre-Race Layers!

The first mile of this race is completely bottle necked. You’re dodging people, trying to find an open space to settle into your groove. Plus, the first mile is up a small hill. My heart rate shot up, and I made sure to keep my pace slightly under my goal pace as a warm up. We turned to the left (I made sure I looked ahead and KNEW which way we were turning so I could stay on the inside to reduce mileage) and then it spread out a bit. I had my gloves on, and my arm warmers, and I felt pretty good. Very comfortable. I had purchased a pace tattoo that I put on the inside of my arm. This was a LIFE SAVER. I made sure that I was within the projected pace that it had me at. It became part of a game – I would pass a mile, then check my tattoo to see what my next time would be. It was a great distraction.

Race Pace Tat

Around mile 8, I saw my best friend and her family. They were sporting tshirts they made with an incredibly embarrassing picture of me (not in my right mind) and had the words “Turn Down For What” on it. It made me laugh out loud. It was great to see them all and to get a quick boost. I kept glancing at my tattoo and my watch and kept seeing that I was 2-4 minutes ahead of the projected pace, but I felt good, heart rate was in check, so I went with it. There’s not too much to report about the meat of the inside of the race. It was a bit of a mind game when the two distances parted. Half marathoners went to the right, and us marathoners went to the left. The field REALLY spread thin then. I kept my head up and kept pressing on, even up the highway ramps they had us running. The course, still, was beautiful. We ran around Savannah State University and that picked me up some. One girl looked right at me and said, “You are kicking so much ass right now!” That lit me up. I high fived her and kept repeating that as I continued on.

I was feeling pretty beat up, yet extremely proud of my pace, around mile 16. But I kept repeating my mantra, (“You can. And you will!”) and my new friend’s mantra and just kept going. At mile 20 I saw my sister! It was SO refreshing to see a familiar face that far into a race. I got a little teary and ran over to highfive her – and accidentally poke her dog in the eye. She was on an out and back portion, so I got to see her twice. That gave me the energy to push through. I could either invite the wall to take over at mile 20 or I could smash through it. I gritted my teeth and dug deep.

I kept getting closer and closer, and kept passing more people who were walking. Walking was never an option for me. I ran the entire thing. I turned the corner, entered the incredibly long finish chute, and cross the finish line with a time of 3:55! SUB FOUR!

I saw Dave and the kids and went over to see them over the fence. Deb came around and hugged me. I asked her if I did it and she said, “Not only did you do it, you CRUSHED it!” It was awesome. I walked through the finish area, grabbing water, banana, almond butter, then met up with my spectators: Deb, Dave, their kids, Meghan, and Lindsay. We hugged and discussed a little bit. Lindsay gave me my Recoverite, which I swear by. I drank that, and we slowly made our way to Meghan’s car.

Meghan, Lindsay, Deb, and I went to J Christophers (my favorite breakfast place in Savannah) for breakfast where I devoured three huge blueberry crunch cakes. Worth it. Drank coffee, warmed up, and relished in my accomplishment. It was great!

My coach, and best friend, Deb and I at breakfast!

Overall, I do love the Savannah marathon. I don’t think I’ll do this one again, just because of my budget. These Rock ‘n’ Roll events are incredibly expensive.

Up next:
Guana Back to Nature Trail 50k.

Can’t wait to run distance slowly and just enjoy what I’m doing and where I’m at. Bring it on!

I Cannot Count.

And not just because I’m horrible at math…

When I was starting to lose weight, back in 2011, I downloaded an app that would keep track of how many calories one has allotted per day, based on your height and weight. Throughout the day, you keep track of what you’re eating. Whatever you eat, you put into the app and it subtracts the food or drink’s calories from your total. Also, if you worked out, it would add some more to your daily limit. This worked out great because I could see just how much I was consuming. I lost weight by running a lot and making drastic changes to my diet.

After a while, my new adapted lifestyle change was sufficient. I was pleased with the changes and the weight I dropped (40lbs) and I was confident that I could handle the eating ‘challenges’ without logging everything. So I deleted the app and things were just fine. I continued to run and eat healthy and felt great. I wasn’t trying to lose weight anymore, but food was fuel for my workouts. As my mileage increased, so did my appetite, but I knew what foods I could eat to fuel my next long run and I stuck with it. I didn’t diet; just ate the right foods that would push me further. I could finally look in the mirror and not detest what I saw. I became more confident. I was wearing jeans in sizes that I never dreamed of wearing. I loved people’s comments about how good I looked, how tone I had become, and how skinny I was. I finally felt beautiful.

But recently, in the last few months, I noticed my weight was dropping. I saw numbers on the scale that I didn’t even see in high school. And I was thrilled! Not because I was aiming for a smaller number, but that my hard work was paying off. I never thought I would see my weight go from 158lbs to 118. But I also noticed I was crashing on my longer runs. It was said to me, by my trusted friend and coach, that I was too small and too skinny for the type of running I do. That if I were to keep up my level of eating paired with my level of training, my body would start tearing down the muscle to fuel itself with and I would lose a lot of what I’ve worked so hard to obtain. So, to keep track of just how little I was eating, I re-downloaded the calorie tracking app.

I logged every single thing I ate or drank and it wasn’t long before I saw my problem. Not on purpose, but compared to what I burn off I wasn’t eating nearly enough. I read an article about staple foods for runners and it mentioned breads, pasta, and sweet potatoes, almonds; rich, dense foods that are great for fueling. I had been avoiding breads and pastas, honestly, because I was afraid of bloating. I’ve read those “wheat belly” articles and how that’s supposedly bad for you. I didn’t once think of the nutritional values I was missing out on. I went to the store and bought every single item on that list and that week, I ate it all. I could tell by midweek that I had more energy and didn’t seem starving all the time. And the long run on the weekend was the best 20 mile run I have ever had. I felt strong and fueled the whole time. It was great.

With the tracking to see how little I was consuming, I became obsessed with logging everything. I wouldn’t eat something without first putting it into the app, calculating how many calories it was and what it would leave me with, and then determining if it was worth it. I would look up calories on food brand’s websites before buying it. It became more than just an experiment to see what I’m putting in compared to what I’m putting out…it became a prison.

This past Friday night, the band traveled to an away game that was further away than usual and we stopped on the way for dinner. The dinner I had prepared for myself the night before (only weighing 470 calories) didn’t hold over well and wasn’t appetizing in the slightest. It was borderline inedible. So, I threw it out and decided to eat where we stopped. My co-worker announced we were going to Wendy’s. As soon as that word left his mouth, I was on my browser searching nutritional values of their menu and deciding what I could eat there, that would still fit into my daily calorie goal. We loaded the bus and for the first 45 minutes into the trip, all I was doing was “food math”. I was thinking, “Ok, I can get the chicken wrap…but a Jr. Cheeseburger is 200 calories less than the wrap, but who knows what’s in the meat. Also, I could get apple slices, but I’ve already had a ton of apple slices today as a snack. Dang it, I shouldn’t have had that orange, banana, and bag of apple slices today. That would’ve freed up some calories.” WHAT?! I’m sitting there thinking I shouldn’t have eaten fruit full of vitamins and essential nutrients. “I wonder if he’ll let me run over to the Longhorn and get something to go. I know there’s one of those close by. Let me look up that menu nutrition.” *goes over to menu page, finds ‘cheapest caloric’ meal, asks co-worker, negative-no time, back to Wendy’s page* “Okay…hmm…”

I was in total agony over this. My shoulders were tense, I was anxious, I couldn’t relax. And as I was right in the middle of that, I heard in my head, “Look at what you’re doing to yourself.” I sat back and thought of how ridiculous I was being. I couldn’t get over the numbers. I couldn’t “justify” eating a stupid cheeseburger ONE TIME because it would send me over my daily limit. At that point, I determined that I needed an intervention with myself.

I deleted the app. And ordered the cheeseburger, fries, and a coke.

*GASP*

For the rest of the night, I kept thinking about how I didn’t log my dinner and kept wondering how many calories I had left. It surprised me just how much I thought about that. I thought about how much time I must have spent looking up calories, carefully planning my day just right so that I wouldn’t go over my limit (mind you, I never, EVER was even close to going over. In fact, I wasn’t eating enough). And the funny thing was, I was expecting to feel so awful. But I didn’t. I felt satisfied, settled, and actually okay that I ate it.

Eating healthy is great. And for some, counting calories is the way to go. Power to you. But for me, I became an unhealthy slave to this mindset to the point of becoming almost paralyzed when something would thwart my plan. It’s not right for me to put that pressure on myself. I’m just fine. I can stand to put on a few pounds. And even though I won’t, I can stand to “blow my regimen”. I do have my cheat meals, and cheat days from time to time. But they should come as a celebration and I should enjoy them. Not feel guilty and beat myself up over, and contemplate working out harder or longer…or worse, contemplate making myself sick to get rid of it. My mind has got to change.

This weekend, I didn’t log a thing. I also discovered I’m addicted to seeing my weight on a scale. I’m pulling myself away from that as well. It does me no good to see that. I’m going to keep on running and keep on eating foods that fuel the run.

And if I must have, or even if I just want, that cheeseburger, donut, dessert, I’m going to eat it and not kill myself over it. I have learned moderation. I know when to stop and when to say no. I need to trust that. My old ways and habits will not come back. My life has changed.

So, no. I cannot count. And I won’t count anymore!

Chicago Marathon – October 12, 2014

I won’t go into detail over every little thing I did in Chicago once I landed on October 9. But I had a wonderful time and it was a great mini-vacation with one of my dearest friends!

Here is the nitty-gritty of the Chicago Marathon, October 12, 2014.

My alarm went off at 4:15a on Sunday morning, after a restless night due to loud neighbors until 3a. I was in and out of sleep the whole night, probably not getting more than an hour and a half of sleep at one time. I gave myself plenty of time to wake up and check and double check that I had everything I needed for the run. It was nice and relaxing. Got dressed, ate half a clif bar and a banana. Said bye to a groggy Callie (my #marathonsupport), and headed towards the Pink line to catch the 5:37a train. Got downtown around 6a and made my way to security Gate #3. Because it was so early, security was a breeze. No lines, no wait. Found a monument with steps and sat down to wait until the 8a start. It was cold. I could feel my feet getting numb, so every now and then I would get up and walk up and down the corrals to keep blood moving. I used a porta potty once when I got there, then around 7:15 decided to go again. While waiting in line, I drank my pre-run fuel of UCan mixed with orange juice. Disgusting, but I swear that stuff works wonders. Peed one last time, then entered Corral F, the second wave of the marathon.

They announced that the crank marathoners were off, then the elites, then wave 1. At 7:50, they slowly moved us towards the Start line. I went to the side and stripped down of my layers. Threw away a sweatshirt and some wind pants and felt the chill of the 43 degree weather. I still had on my “arm warmers” (an old pair of tube socks with the toes cut out), my gloves, and a headband covering my ears. As soon as I saw the Start line, I became so nervous and excited…and also felt like I had to pee. I convinced myself it was just because I was so amped up and ready to go. I prayed and took in a big breath and mentally tried to get settled down and in the zone. The gun went off, I gave a big “WOO!”, and off I went.

We immediately went under a building and street. Very Batman like. Which was super cool, but my Garmin watch bugged out big time. I think it killed the whole connection for the rest of the race. I went by heart rate and tried to manually lap it when I crossed over mile markers, but I rarely knew my true pace. I started off running shivering and cold; half due to excitement and half due to truly being cold. It was exhilarating to be running with so many people (45,000 runners) and to be surrounded by so many people there to cheer you on (over a million spectators). The first mile and aid station came up super quick. I felt my bladder talking to me and realized that my nervous pee I felt at the beginning of the run was in fact a true need to pee. I saw a sign at the aid station for porta potties, and then saw a ton of runners veer off to say hello to them. But I kept going, trying to convince myself it would go away and I’d sweat it off. (Weird things go through your mind during events). As I was approaching the second aid station I could feel the urge to pee with every step. I was uncomfortable, and I knew I had to stop. I saw the red sign for the pots and headed off towards them. I immediately dipped into an empty potty, dropped my pants, and peed as fast as I could. It definitely wasn’t a nervous pee; it was totally legit. No way could I have run that whole race without stopping.

Callie and I had plans to meet up at mile 3, 13.1, and 25. I told her I was going to stay towards the left of the road, since the majority of the course had left turns. I also knew what she was wearing – a beautiful plaid scarf she had purchased the day before. Wouldn’t you know that EVERYONE was wearing that same scarf that day?! I kept scanning and trying hard to see her, but I didn’t. I passed the 5k mark and kept going, hoping she was okay and hoping I’d see her at the half.

I kept trying to calculate my pace. My watch would read 5:30/mile one second, then 15:50 the next. I guess the buildings, bridges, and underground places we had to run really tinkered with its connection. At mile 6, I was in the sun and warmed up quite a bit. I threw off my socks…I mean arm warmers, and headband, but kept my gloves on. After a while my hands were sweaty, so I threw them off as well. As soon as I chucked them, we turned into the shadows from the buildings again and I was shivering. Oh well. The raynaud’s kicked into my hands pretty hard. Couldn’t feel my fingers until much later in the race.

I ran as usual. Tried to settle into a pace and rhythm and just enjoy the sights. I was running by buildings that were discussed in the architecture tour that we took the day before, over bridges that were carpeted so you weren’t running on the slick grate, but I peeked at the water underneath. I laughed at the hilarious marathon signs people were holding up (“Slow down, I’m trying to count everyone.” “Smile if you’re not wearing underwear.” “Worst parade ever.” “Hurry up, my arms are tired!” “You’re almost there. Just kidding. It’s mile 2.” “I thought this race was 2.62 miles, not 26.2!”), they never get old. I acknowledged random strangers who made eye contact with me and deliberately cheered for me right then. I high-fived little kids, waved at live bands that were playing, gave thumbs up to those people who offered water and fuel at the aid stations. I was genuinely having a wonderful time. I wasn’t listening to music. I was being fully present and soaking in every single thing I could see, smell, and feel. I was so grateful to be there in that moment.

I knew my second meet up with Callie was approaching, so I scooted over to the left and started scanning the thousands of people along the streets. I was about to give up, when I came down a small hill and FINALLY saw her. Tears came to my eyes. Out of the millions of people lining the course, plus 44,999 other runners, I connected with the one person in the city who was there for ME. I ran over and grabbed her hand and heard her say “You look strong. Keep it up!” I heard her let out a big whoop as I kept running and I felt a burst of energy. It’s so refreshing to see others who believe in you, know how hard you’ve worked to get where you are, and who are there to be your support when you need it.

As I went I was sipping on water and UCan from my fuel belt. I didn’t slow down for an aid station on my own accord, but sometimes I was forced to just by the sheer volume of other runners out there. You were never by yourself the entire course. I bumped into a lot of people and dodged a few taller ones who almost elbowed me in the nose a few times. Had to jump to move around those who would suddenly stop at water stations, and one lady just stopped in the middle of the road to tie her shoe, causing a few runners behind her to literally jump over her in leap-frog fashion. It’s dangerous being a marathon runner.

I kept seeing a few pacers that concerned me. I saw “4:10”, “4:05”, “4:00”… I was getting down on myself for being behind them. I knew my goal was to run a sub 4 and it was demoralizing to see myself behind these pacers. So I picked it up a little bit and went in front of one. I turned around and noticed that their bibs were red, signifying that they were in wave 1. They were pacing for Wave 1, not my wave! Wave 2 had blue bibs! I saw a girl who was a blue bib and was a pacer that had “3:55” on it and I stuck by her like a sucker fish to a shark. I stayed with her for a few miles, but then she went off to the side at an aid station and I kept going, my confidence a little bit stronger. My watch was still acting crazy, so I really had no idea what true pace I was running…so frustrating. The spectators grew thinner as the miles kept going and I started to notice my legs. I threw in my ear buds and turned on some music around mile 17 to check out and not hear myself breathe.

We turned into Pilsen and it was one big, latino party! Lots of drums and people and the smell of tortillas! I read all of the Spanish signs, noticed the Spanish shops, and the beautiful people there. I almost responded to a cheer of “Vivo Mexico!”, but knew they would know I was a poser judging by how white I was. But I thought of my Tapachula family and running with Gustavo, David, and Uli while I was there this summer. I prayed for them. I then saw a guy in a mariachi suit, complete with sombrero, holding up a misting water hose and was spraying water on the runners. Why not? I ran over there and yelped as a burst of cold water hit my face. It made me laugh out loud and really woke me up!

We ran through China town next. Not as big of a fiesta as Pilsen, but still cool to see. By mile 20ish, I was feeling every step. My legs weren’t hurting, but they were tired. My brain was beginning its argument about why I should start walking. I knew that if I walked now I would be in a run-walk routine until the finish, just like I had my previous two marathons. I didn’t want that. I was aiming for a goal and I determined that I would rather miss it by slowing my pace down (which I still had no idea how fast I was running), than to walk and surely miss it. If I missed my goal it would not be because I walked any of it. I fought against those feelings and kept going. The crowds picked up again, and the Sears Tower was now in view, so I dug in deep and kept going. I ate half of a bonk breaker bite to try and perk me up, but as soon as I put it in my mouth I was nauseous and kept chewing. I swallowed it back with a swig of UCan and threw the rest away. I turned up my music, told my legs and my mind to shut up, and kept going. I was giving it everything I had.

I knew Callie would be around mile 25, so I started to look for her. I was on a long straight away that I had read about from other blogs and forums. They warned that it would seem to last forever. They were right. It was a straight up mental BATTLE at this point. I even had to say “NO!” out loud a few times to convince myself I was going to run this entire course. I looked and saw this crazy, yelling, jumping girl and knew it was my Callie. I don’t think I smiled at her, although I was truly glad to see her. Part of me was sad that it wasn’t the end yet, so I could stop. I wanted to just grab her and get back on a train back to the hotel right there. She trotted a few steps along side of me and told me I was almost there! I looked up and saw a video screen. They had those periodically around the course, showing video feed of the runners. I knew a turn was close. I exhaled hard, and picked it up as best I could. I had also read on the blogs that there was a wonderful hill to end your 26.2 mile journey on…

They had signs counting down your distance, which I hated. 800m is an insanely long time when all you want to do is be done. I turned the corner and saw the hill on Roosevelt St. I have now renamed that hill “Expletive Hill”, because everyone running up it was shouting out all kinds of colorful words. I ducked down into a steep hiking pose and “ran” (very loose term) up that hill that seemed to reach into the sky. My legs were burning more than I’ve ever felt them before. I didn’t walk. I didn’t stop. I did, however, feel like I was going to throw up. I swallowed hard a few times and kept going. It finally evened out and we turned and there it was: The Finish Line. Thankfully, it was a slight downhill. But my quads burned by having to “put on the brakes” a little bit. I crossed the finish line, stopped my watch, and saw “4:00:45”.

Immediately, my phone was blowing up. Everyone who was following me saw that I had finished and I felt it vibrating like crazy. I pulled it out and it said that it was disabled for 15 minutes. Stupid belt was hitting something causing it to lock out. So I could feel people talking to me, but had no access into my phone. I slowly, and carefully, made my way through the finish chute. Wrapped up in an aluminum blanket, was awarded a sweet medal, grabbed a banana, water, and a grocery bag full of good protein foods. I felt my phone vibrate longer than usual and it was a phone call from Deb – my coach who has been with me every single step of this journey. Apparently, I couldn’t get into my phone but could access calls. I answered and my first statement was, “I didn’t do it. I’m so sorry.” I honestly don’t remember the rest of our conversation – the brain must shut off after you’ve completed a run. I heard her say she was so proud of me and that we’d talk about the details later. Then Callie called and we were trying to figure out how to meet up. As I was walking away from the chute, I came upon stairs. “Callie. There are stairs here.” She laughed. Me and the other runners just stopped and stared at them, trying to look around for another way. Very painfully, we made our way down the steps placing both feet on the platforms before moving forward. I called Callie back and told her where I was and that I was going to wait for her. She came around the corner and I could finally celebrate the finish with someone. She hugged me tight and we celebrated the end!

She grabbed two ice packs, knelt down, and held them up to my quads. That was heavenly. I told her I just needed a minute to sit down. We plopped on the grass right there. I placed the ice on my quads and calves, and she handed me the recovery drink I asked her to bring. I chugged two whole bottles of water there and my drink. I curled my legs under me and bent my back forward. That felt awesome. She told me she had connected with Celeste, a friend of mine from Indiana, and that they wanted to meet up. I took off my belt and gear, threw on a newly purchased Chicago marathon pullover, and stood up. My legs felt so much better then and I was able to walk without much of a limp. We walked over and found Celeste, Lily, and Brooke and hung out with them for a while. I kept walking around so I wouldn’t get stiff. I found a Kashi tent where they were passing out their protein packed cereal. I grabbed a bowl and ate it, even though I wasn’t even slightly hungry. I also ate a banana. Callie grabbed all of my stuff, wouldn’t let me carry anything, grabbed my hand, and we walked over to the Cloud Gate (“The Bean”) for some medal pictures. Took a few snapshots there, made our way back to the Pink line, back to the hotel for a shower which revealed all of the lovely places I had chaffed, into compression socks and in the bed for some down time of watching 30 Rock and a nap.

We got up later and went to dinner at a local Italian place, where we split a dish of their homemade pasta with amazing vodka sauce with crumbled sausage in it. I ate an incredible amount. Callie kept asking how I was feeling and kept saying I looked exhausted. I was, but I was thrilled at what I had accomplished.

I didn’t meet my time goal I had put out for myself. I didn’t sub 4. My official time was 4:01:16. A lot of things could have affected that. My bathroom stop, my watch not cooperating more than half of the race, or the fact that the course was longer than 26.2 miles (my watch read 26.84). But I’ve got another one in 4 weeks. After a few rest days with shakeout runs and rides, I’m getting back out into training hard and I’m going after sub 4 again! I’m not going to stop until I get it. BUT I DID run that entire course without stopping or slowing to a walk. I DID shave 11 minutes off of my previous marathon time. I DID bust my butt on my training; never missed a work out! I’ve come a long way…and I’ve got miles to go.

It was such an incredible experience to run this race in such a beautiful city. Chicago Marathon is one of the top 6 World Marathons and it’s easy to see why. The support from the city leading up to it, the huge expo, the crowd support, the organization, the flat course, the finish line production… If you ever get a chance to run that event, do it. I don’t think I’ll do it again. It’s quite expensive. But I had a BLAST and I think I’m still on a runner’s high. I will have these memories to last a lifetime. Never would I have imagined that when Callie and I were hunkered down on my couch during finals week, studying our guts out in 2007 (or drawing science and music symbols on each other’s feet), that we’d both be in Chicago 7 years later and I’d be running a marathon. Incredible. I am so thankful for her and her amazing support during this journey and especially during the weekend. She was constantly asking how my legs were feeling and how I was doing leading up to the race, then held my hand and helped me navigate the crowds and carried all of my items after the race, and was checking on me as we were flying home as well. I needed all of that and I’m so thankful I have a friend like her to be there for me.

So now I’m resting and recovering. Today my legs have felt great; still a little sore when I bend down, or go from standing to sitting and vice versa, but they are getting better. I hope to run this weekend. I’ve got work to do. Watch out, sub 4. I’m coming for ya!

Next up: Rock N Roll Savannah Marathon in November!