Jess runs... and writes

Crazy Like a Loon

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 15:13:00 +0000

There are few things better than a small local road race. The Loon Lake 5.5k in northern Whitley County, Ind. is the perfect example. For the third year out of the six years of this race, on the Fourth of July weekend I wandered a few country roads away from my uncle's cottage on Crooked Lake and signed up to run around Loon Lake with about 100 other people. The race lasts 0.5k longer than most road races because that's just the distance around the roads that surround Loon Lake. Makes perfect sense to me.

This year I arrived a little late (I've never been known for my punctuality) and suffered a cruel fate in the world of road racing -- I missed out on the race t-shirt. They had a larger-than-expected crowd and reserved the shirts only for the pre-registered.

The red shirts said "Crazy Like a Loon"on the front and had a picture of a running loon (a duck-like bird). I eventually picked my broken heart off the ground after consoling myself with the fact that I already own too many t-shirts, then hurried up only to wait in the port-o-potty line for a while. I squeezed in a short one-mile warm-up and headed towards the herd of people already on the road.

Near the start line I positioned myself behind a few gangly high school boys. Wearing their long shorts they bemoaned the fact they were there and had to run hard on a holiday weekend. I had flashbacks to high school cross country practices, waiting patiently behind the boys until I finally passed at least a few of them toward the end of the workout or race.

To my left I saw a young but toned girl, probably 12- or 13-years-old standing next to her dad. She told him she didn't really want to start that far up front. He shrugged his shoulders and made a facial expression that said "too bad, you're staying here." I cringed. So many talented young female runners have been pushed too hard by their parents, usually the fathers. Competitive distance running is too painful of a sport to not have intrinsic motivation to put one foot in front of the other, day in and day out.

The race started and the young girl blew past my not-very-warmed-up marathon legs. I tucked in behind another guy, then moved next to my teeny bopper competitor around the mile mark. She showed no signs of fatigue and for a moment fear flashed through me. Yes, I lack the speed I had in high school and college, but to get beat by someone of the Justin Bieber era -- that would really be a blow to the ol' ego.

Near one-and-a-half miles into the race she started breathing pretty hard and slowed down. I passed one more high school boy at the two-mile mark, and ran by myself for the rest of the 5.5 kilometers. The beautiful country scenery, with fields of corn, a lake and green trees distracted me, as did wondering if I'd rather have an Egg McMuffin or Hot Cakes after the race, and I slowed down significantly in the third mile. The power of focus is a distance runner's greatest asset, and lapses always show up on the clock. It is an unforgiving sport. But fortunately, I pulled out the overall female victory, and came in fifth overall behind four high schoolers.

I congratulated the young girl at the finish line and she told me "you were awesome." That was very nice of her, and reminded me that sometimes even strangers can have a big impact. She and her dad started cooling down immediately after the race, while I was still chit chatting with some of my family who had stopped by to watch the finish. I sat down my water bottle and did my cool down too, exploring the quiet county roads around northern Indiana's scenic lake district. It was quite a peaceful run, followed by a nice family lunch of pulled pork and one last dip into Crooked Lake (I never did stop for the Egg McMuffin or Hot Cakes. I secretly blamed them for my slow third mile).

Even without a race t-shirt, I gained a lot from this little event. For someone who spent years focused only on the clock and the place, it is always nice to be reminded of the other upsides of running - people gathering in solidarity to be healthy, achieve goals, get to know each other, etc.

On the ride home to Bloomington, Scott and I took a little detour so I could use the $25 gift certificate to a running store in Fort Wayne that I won at the race. After Scott dragged me away from the many distractions of shiny running clothes that I really didn't need, I used the prize money to buy some much needed new socks.

During the rest of the long drive on I-69, I-465 and SR37, I occasionally thought of the pony-tailed girl at the race. I only had the briefest of glimpses into her running career, but I hope what I saw was an anomaly. I hope her parents give her the space and freedom to pursue her interests and grow as a runner and a person.

Without soccer, basketball and various school activities to counterbalance running during my formative years, I would not be the runner, or person, I am today. I hope she and her parents remember the other people at the Loon Lake run, and countless other road races, and why they are there: for the love of the sport, for the health benefits, for the camaraderie, and even just for the t-shirt.

*The photo is from last year's Loon Lake race, but I wore the exact same outfit and the corn looked pretty much identical, so it still gives a good feel for the setting.

Monday Monday

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 01:27:00 +0000

What does a famous lasagna loving cartoon cat, Garfield, have in common with a long distance runner? A certain non-affinity for Mondays.

Sunday is my long run day, and my catch up on laundry day, and my work on freelance projects I've procrastinated writing day, and my go to the grocery story day, and my do lots of other stuff day. By the time the Monday morning alarm bells ring, it seems like Jon and Odie slipped some bricks into my running shoes.

It is mind and body boggling when six miles feels longer and harder than the 17 I ran the previous day. My only hope for Monday morning run completion is to establish a routine, stick with it, and download the "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me" podcast from NPR onto my iPod shuffle before I head out the door.

Even though the cat is famous for being lazy, Garfield inspired me to get off the couch in the summer during my younger days. I would ride my bike to the bookstore every time I saved enough pet-sitting money to buy the next book in fellow Hoosier Jim Davis' series.

So, in a way, Garfield continues to inspire my athletic endeavors. By acknowledging Monday's impending ickiness, I know I just need to get through it and there will be a prize at the end. When I come back from my Monday run, I dive into a big dish of the runner's morning lasagna, a.k.a. oatmeal with cinnamon and banana and a glass of fruit juice. Garfield would be proud.

Flashback: IATCCC Hall of Fame Jan. 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Mon, 31 May 2010 14:19:00 +0000

This past January I had the honor of being inducted into the Indiana Association of Track and Cross Country Coaches Hall of Fame.

It was a lovely evening in Indianapolis with the people who made my running career possible: family, coaches, friends and supporters of all sorts.

Thanks to my last name, I was alphabetically the first inductee to speak. My speech was non-traditional and the crowd was silent as I approached the lectern. I felt butterflies in my stomach similar to those I used to get before high school track races. But unlike high school, I didn't down half a bottle of Tums and a mini Snickers bar to ward off the nerves.

Instead, I took a deep breath and blurted it out. It went over ok, I think. At the intermission a few ladies in the restroom told me they enjoyed my speech. It sure was different (and shorter) than the rest of the speeches.

Here's the text, along with a few photos from the evening:

"I wrote a speech for tonight, but it was kind of boring and it kept making me cry when I read it, so instead I put together a little poem, so here it goes...

People tell me I am crazy for running every day

I tell them, YES, I know, but I didn't start out this way.

First, I loved basketball, then later soccer I would play

Until I ran high school track, then I knew this sport would stay.

West Lafayette was a great place to go to school,

Teachers, coaches, teammates and friends - my motivation, they did fuel.

My soccer coaches let me run cross country, and that's when I got stronger

Steve Lewark met me for early morning runs, even though I wanted to sleep longer.

Lane Custer and Chris Williams kept me going on the course and on the track

"We laugh at inclement weather," Custer would say, and to state meets, I fondly look back.

Judy Bogenschutz Wilson took a chance on recruiting a girl from Purdue-land

Since I liked the school and they had kicked out Knight, Dad said - IU, he could now stand.

Coach Wilson was patient with me and we worked through tough times and many a mile

But the good times were more than worth it, and her corny jokes always make me smile.

I have to thank my dad, my sister, all my family and friends for their love and support.

Without their encouragement I would not have gone as far in this great sport.

I am very grateful to be here tonight, and honored to be in this Hall of Fame,

I don't know how all you high school coaches do it, I think those kids would drive me insane.

Thanks now to Brooks and Robert Chapman for letting me continue to compete

My addiction to distance running, I never will defeat.

That's all I have to say tonight, thank you for your time

I appreciate your patience while sitting through my rhyme."

Running: A Global History by Thor Gotaas

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 01:53:00 +0000

Here's a book review from The Guardian that might be of interest:

Running: A Global History by Thor Gotaas

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/jan/03/running-long-distance-global-history

I haven't read it yet as I'm vowing to complete more of the many unread books on my shel before spending more money on books, but it looks really interesting. Here's an excerpt from the review by writer Christopher McDougall:

"Gotaas's span begins with prehistory, arguing that because of our sweat glands and springy leg tendons, humans are the greatest distance runners on earth. Our tremendous efficiency at venting heat and maximising caloric energy allows us to run big game to death by chasing them across the savannah until they collapse from heat exhaustion. Access to meat allowed us to grow big brains, while tracking animals allowed us to use this cerebral hardware to develop abstract thinking, verbal communication and cooperation strategies, the mental skills we'd later use to come up with intravascular surgery and iPods."

Two Miles

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 01:12:00 +0000

Today I ran two miles. I was supposed to run a marathon. I had my sights on the Rock 'n Roll Arizona race in sunny Phoenix, and I was hoping to use it to qualify for the 2012 Olympic Trials Marathon.

Instead, I tied up my laces in partly sunny Bloomington, Ind., jogged out seven minutes and thirty seconds, and turned around. My stomach gurgled. My throat burned. My feet shuffled.

Not exactly what I had envisioned for this day when I was making my training schedule a few months ago; yet, I couldn't help but recall past times when injury would leave me wishing for nothing more than a two mile jog.

Just as I was getting back in to the swing, and the physical pounding, of serious marathon training in late October, I started having gastrointestinal issues. At first I thought it was something I ate, then maybe a stomach bug, perhaps a food allergy.

But a few doctor visits, some blood samples, some other samples I’d rather not discuss, an ultrasound, a colonoscopy, and a three-hour series of x-rays after drinking 20 oz. of barium, I am still having problems. Thank goodness I have COBRA insurance from my former university job, or both my stomach and my wallet would really be hurting.

Sometimes I get confused - am I 25 or 65 with all these medical issues? I have a follow-up visit to the gastroenterologist in early February, which was the earliest appointment he had to discuss the results of the x-rays, which I had on Dec. 29. Five weeks is a long time to wait when running, eating, sleeping, walking, sitting and existing in general are made constantly uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, I am afraid karma will come to get me if I complain too much (I’ve been watching a lot of episodes of Lost lately). It can always be worse. How many people didn’t, and couldn’t, run two miles today? Not I.

So now I will go watch more Lost to distract myself from the fact that I can't run as much as I would like. And who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll be able to get in three miles.

Confessions of a Klutz

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 19:23:00 +0000

In the past five months or so since I last posted I have been running, but nothing much to brag about. Last week, though, I took a newsworthy tumble on the Bloomington Rails to Trail, just past a sign that said "Danger: Falling Rocks." I made it past all the rocks (none of which were falling, just a few nicely placed below a bridge), all proud of myself for staying upright when my right ankle nipped a leaf-covered root and I flew forward, landing on my right elbow. Life lesson No. 7,349 learned from running: Don't be cocky about making it past the big boulders because it's the little things that will trip you up when you least expect it.

Mud-covered and moaning I got back up and decided the fastest way back to my car was to run, so I did. When I got there I realized my elbow was really bleeding, so I high-tailed it back to my apartment and took a shower and tried to clean up the wound. It wasn't very big, but I couldn't get the dirt out.

So I did what any clueless person would do and took a picture of my elbow in the bathroom mirror using my iPhone and emailed it to my friend, Anne, and asked her what to do. As a mother of two I consider her the world's foremost non-physician medical expert on injuries and illness. The fact that she is British makes her seem extra smart as well. After getting her response saying I should probably have it checked out, and then making and eating a bowl of banana-pumpkin-cinnamon oatmeal with peanut butter and some coffee, I went to PromptCare.

Nice folks at PromtCare, but it is anything but Prompt. After two hours I came out with a tetanus shot, most of the skin scrubbed off of my elbow with a plastic torture brush, two stitches, a slightly blue and slightly swollen but not broken ankle, and a bandage around my arm that was supposed to keep me from bending it.

This was a fairly minor incident - a bum ankle and two stitches - but unlike previous

falls, I at least had some evidence that I was in pain. When I flew over the handlebars on my bike and landed on my bum, nobody saw that bruise. They just wondered why I walked around like I had a plunger stuck up my butt for the next three weeks. When I fell two years ago and landed on some rocks on a trail in Dean Wilderness, nobody could tell that every breath was another knife stabbing into my lungs thanks to the broken ribs. On my long list of self-inflicted accidents this one rates at the top for sympathy received and speedy recovery. I would recommend it to all the other running klutzes out there, at least over most of the alternative injuries.

By Saturday (three days post-fall) I was able to run again. I participated in the 10th annual Hoosiers Outrun Cancer event and ran faster than I thought I would in the 5k given I had taken the last two days off and have been doing a lot of long slow base-building work. HOC is one of my favorite road races because the greater-Bloomington community is so involved and the money goes to a great cause. The day started out cloudy and grey but the skies opened up, as if a lot of people were looking down from above on the group of runners, walkers, volunteers and supporters. I stopped by the Rebound Physical Therapy tent in hopes of seeing some of my physical therapists friends so I could show them my cool stitches and regale them with another tale of my running tribulations. But alas, Rebound sent one of the very few people I don't actually know from that operation. So I walked back to my apartment and ate some lunch. And that's the not-so-exciting update from here.

Stride on, friends.

Luck of the Hoosier

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 15:12:00 +0000

Like all runners, no matter how hard I try to deny it, I do harbor some superstitious tendencies. I have long since shed my lucky socks from high school, but I was afraid to write about my running lately in case I jinxed myself. Afraid no more: after almost a month back in my Brooks shoes I am knocking on wood yet happy to report that the miles are slowly but surely falling under foot.

I have been injured before and had to come back from the wasteland of out-of-shapeness before, but there is something special about doing it in the heat, hills and humidity of summer in Bloomington, Ind. When I was on a work trip and ran on a treadmill in an air conditioned room last month I thought to myself, wow, maybe my little stationary bike rides and occasional elliptical machine use really did keep my cardiovascular system primed. Then I returned to Bloomington and discovered otherwise. I sweat profusely up each incline and the four mile runs that used to seem so short now involve some of the mental tricks I once saved for 12-mile threshold workouts.

Not to complain, though, because I would rather be huffing and puffing for short periods than sitting on the couch for long ones. Plus, other factors will contribute to a quick return: no more full time job with its associated sleep deprivation and stress, a pass to the IU Outdoor Pool for some cross training and relaxation, yoga class at the YMCA to keep those tight hips loose, a new running-based strength class at Rebound Physical Therapy Clinic, and a generally more peaceful existence.

My speed and endurance may need a few four leaf clovers to help them along, but I have learned that recovering from an injury is less about luck than patience, not about glamor but guts. There will be many ugly runs in my near future; there is no escaping that reality. No worries, though, because I am just paying my dues before that future breakout marathon, whenever and wherever that might be.

Stride on, friends.

The not-so-mini Indianapolis Mini-Marathon

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sat, 02 May 2009 21:35:00 +0000

Numerous out-of-state acquaintances have commented on the absurdity of describing anything longer than three miles as "mini." But I like that Indiana's most famous half-marathon, the Indianapolis Mini Marathon, can be both "mini" and the largest half-marathon in the country. It exemplifies that Midwestern "aw shucks" attitude that makes it neat-o without being presumptuous. (That presumptuousness is reserved for the car race a few weeks later, which is clearly the world's best pollution-ridden sporting event in the world.)

Friday night I came down with a bad soar throat, but after comparing my list of symptoms to those of H1N1 (a.k.a. the swine flu) I determined I would not be spreading any global pandemics by my presence. I gave some last second advice to Pops, then took some NyQuil to get a few hours of sleep before getting up early to trot over to the starting line for moral support.

Bolstered by the good news yesterday at that the doctor doesn't think my stress fracture is severe and that I can start running again in a week or so, I broke out into a gallop, weaving through the tens of thousands of folks making their way into race corrals, through non-runners looking for a prime spot to wait for a loved one to finish the 13.1 mile race, or past volunteers setting up mounds of bananas and stacked cups of water and Gatorade. For those few minutes with the wind in my face again, I forgot that my throat was on fire, and it was blissful. The snot running down my face quickly snapped me back to reality, though.

The weather was perfect for a distance run: temperature in the high 40s, rain the night before but no rain at the moment, light cloud cover and no wind. I watched the elites run underneath the gigantic American flag hanging between two fire truck ladders, and snapped a few photos of my teammates before watching the masses go by. The wheelchair race was over (about 45 minutes in) before all of the runners and walkers had even made it through the bottleneck at Washington and West streets to start their journey. It is no quick task to move 40,000 people through a 24-foot starting line.

After watching the start I parked myself on the grassy area near the finish line and waited. And waited. And waited. While running, time ticks away too fast, yet while waiting at a finish line, it's as though someone dropped the clock in a vat of molasses and the hands are stuck in goo. I played with a few of the dogs (including a pug!) who were waiting for their two-legged loved ones to finish, then finally finishers started coming down New York Street. Brooks Team Indiana Elite was well represented with the top male and female finishers from Indiana, Jeff Powers and Camille Herron.

My training partner, Dani, heroically finished the race despite being sick the entire last two weeks. I saw a few friends finish strong, but was getting dizzy scanning the thick crowd of runners for a 50-year-old five-foot-eight man wearing black shorts, a white t-shirt and gray hat. There were a lot of people who fit that description. (Note to self: make Dad wear a bright pink shirt next year). Finally I saw my dad run across the finish line two hours and ten minutes into the race, quite an accomplishment considering his bad Achilles and that he has not run more than 18 miles in a week since his marathon last fall.

My body felt miserable because of whatever bug was inhabiting it, but my spirit was uplifted watching all of those runners, of every make and model, finish the half-marathon. This is the second year in a row I've watched this race, and again it reminded me of all those corny touchy-feely reasons why I run, and why I want to run when I can't.

Stress, and a fracture

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 00:33:00 +0000

I'm not sure which broke first: my fibula or my will to go to work every day. For a multitude of reasons, none of which I am quite naive enough to post online, I decided it was time to resign from my position at the IU School of Journalism. Meantime, my daily runs became an achy affair. Everything between my knees and my feet throbbed with each step, but I kept going anyway. Running was the spoonful of sugar that got me through the stress of work. Well, that and multiple spoonfuls of ice cream. And lots of watching mindless TV in Dani's room after a long day of work and workouts.

A sub-par race at the Gate River Run in Jacksonville, Fla. over spring break morphed into another painful month of miles before the IU Mini Marathon in early April. Dani and I ran together every step of the way and split the prize money. (Note: We got second and third to to a Russian woman from Cincinnati who wore those Spira shoes with the springs in them. Not that I'm bitter or anything since I had no springs in my shoes). Aerobically I felt great, and the adrenaline masked the pain in my lower right leg on that sunny and pleasant day in Bloomington. The next morning we rolled out of bed and did our usual Sunday morning two-hour/16-mile part road/part Rail Trail long run. More aching, more throbbing.

In a masochistic way it seems only logical that the mental stress manifested itself into a physical stress fracture (right upper fibula). The more upset I felt, the more I ran, and the worse that fracture was getting while I dismissed it as a tight calf muscle. Ignorance is not always bliss when one is training hard.

I love running, and I love my coworkers at the J-school, but it is apparently time for a break before my bone and my brain literally break. I already miss running, and I will miss my coworkers. Yet, happy trails are on the horizon. As I have seen on the back of many a high school track team t-shirt: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

Stride on able-bodied friends. Rest on all others.

2009 - So far, it's a blur...

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 00:57:00 +0000

An early 2009 update:

Week before Houston Half Marathon - Left knee starts hurting.
Middle of the race - Hurts so much I have to stop, but hey, at least it's warm down there.
After the race - Find out both patellas don't track correctly, causing inflammation and pain, and they're "knobby," according to the trainer. Hmm, so maybe I didn't just have unlucky cases of patella tendonitis every single year while I was in college, there actually was a biomechanic reason for my pain. Amazing.
End of January/beginning of February - Lots of quad and hamstring exercises and stretches.
End of January/beginning of February - HORRIBLE WEATHER, but Dani and I made it through anyway (see pictures).
End of January/beginning of February - Work is insane, can't see the bottom of my desk anymore.
Middle of February - If your knees ever ache uncontrollably and you have high arches, try the Superfeet Green inserts. Amazing.
Middle/end of February - Training coming along, over 80 miles per week now. Dreaming of warm weather in Jacksonville at the Gate River Run on March 14, and then in South Carolina when Dani and I take a little Team Indiana Elite - Women road trip.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again...

Just another manic... January

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 18:31:00 +0000

Busy busy busy lately. Lots of running, lots of work, lots of family, and little time for blogging. So instead of worrying about writing something witty and insightful, I'll just cut and paste an article I wrote for The Herald-Times a few weeks ago about running in the cold weather. The irony of the thing is that after this article was published I have since run twice on the treadmill. Honestly, though, for living in Indiana, twice on the treadmill in the winter is a pretty good record. I am looking forward to going to Houston on Friday to run in the U.S.A. Half Marathon Championship (on Sunday) with highs in the 60s and lows only in the 40s.

In other Bloomington running news, there was a woman attacked on the Rails to Trails just north of Country Club Road in late December. This really freaked me out, as well as lots of other female runners in town. The Women With Will group organized a "Take Back the Trail" walk/run yesterday and it was covered by the H-T in today's paper. I have run on the Rail Trail numerous times since the attack, but always with at least one other person. We have seen some creepy people out there in the past (in tents, with guns, sitting in the woods, etc.). Despite the horrible acts this woman had to endure, this event is a very good reminder to always be observant and to tell people when and where you are running if you have to go out alone. I am debating buying some mace to run with, but given my klutzy tendancies I am worried I will end up spraying myself with it accidentally and never actually using it, so we'll see...

Stay warm, stay alert, move forward, and stride on!

HeraldTimesOnline.com

COMMENTARY
Holiday lights a bonus for running in a winter deep freeze

By Jessica Gall Community columnist December 19, 2008

Many people tell me I am crazy for running as much as I do. So many people, in fact, that I am numb to the comments, as numb as my hands are after five minutes of running on a Midwestern winter day. Yet, during the long winter months and short winter days, these unsolicited mental health diagnoses become stronger and more frequent.

“Are you insane?” is a frequent one, along with, “that cannot possibly be a good idea,” especially when the wind chill dips into the single digits. I was not born with any extra insulation, so no, I do not enjoy freezing my backside off (and often the front too, depending on which direction the wind is blowing).

But the endorphins win out over the goose bumps nearly every time. As for now, the advantages of living in the Midwest outweigh the sugarplums and fairy tales that dance in my head and whisper about these magnificent places where people don’t have to put on three shirts and two pairs of gloves to run outside.

Besides, there is no better way to take a tour of holiday lights through Bloomington than in the self-propelled bipedal fashion.

Ever since I was little, I loved Christmas lights. It is likely genetic. My dad puts so many Christmas lights in and around our three-bedroom single-story ranch in West Lafayette that I am surprised the city council has not made a new sign ordinance to address the issue (and the drain on the local electricity grid). Running is a great way to fulfill my desire for multicolored plastic glowing bulbs, while not having to endure the effort of hanging any up myself.

When my poor pops plugged in the dozen strands of lights he had left on the outdoor trees from last year (anything to save time and money), it was a terribly disappointing display.

Only a few puny strands emitted their Christmas spirit for all the neighborhood to see. Alas, if the Indiana climate proves too harsh for outdoor “weatherproof” light bulbs, why would any sane individual run through it?

After a recent onslaught of claims of insanity due to my outdoor habit of perpetual forward motion, I became slightly less numb to them and entertained the notion of their merit.

Yes, perhaps the treadmill is not the evil machine I remembered it to be. How could it be, if the machines at the YMCA are always jam-packed when I glance at the cardio section on my way to anywhere else but the large belts of monotony?

So I packed my gym bag with only shorts and a T-shirt one recent frigid December day, knowing that would force me to run inside. I even uploaded a new peppy play list of music to my iPod, as I noticed even the retired men at the Y wear iPods in the cardio section.

I may be an experienced runner, but I consider treadmilling a different sport (much like baseball vs. cricket — baseball can take an agonizingly long time, but the matches do not last for days as its English predecessor can), and was taking any social cues I could get.

After four miles on the treadmill (on a normal day I will run between eight and 16 miles), I ripped the earbuds out of my ears, grabbed my water bottle and walked away from the black master of boredom dazed, confused and abnormally sweaty. I decided running outside with the change of scenery, even in the cold, was better than the treadmill.

Once I stepped out the door, though, a blast of wind changed my mind, and I trudged back toward the human version of a hamster wheel.

I did finish my run inside that dreary day, but I also determined that I am not necessarily the crazy one for running outside.

The crisp cool air in my lungs may sting, but it reminds me I am alive, and I find it a better stinging then the sweat in my eyes after five minutes on a treadmill.

The harsh wind outside may cause every exposed piece of epidermis on my body to cringe, but even in the dark, there is a sense of accomplishment for having survived the elements.

Crazy, insane, nuts — you pick the adjective, but while you are deciding on one, I will bundle up and head out the door. I have got Christmas lights to scope out and miles to log.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 23:32:00 +0000

Lots happened in the running world, and in my own running nation-state as well, during 2008...

The Olympics
I absolutely love the Olympics, and 2008 did not disappoint. Olympic fever started for me in April when I participated in the U.S. Olympic Team Trials - Women's Marathon in Boston. I went in with a hip injury and knew it would not be healthy nor smart to run the whole race, so I ran at the front for my (literally) 15 minutes of fame. Some day I'll be running at the front for the whole race instead of less than three miles. Nonetheless, it was a great experience, and by not finishing I was able to watch the finish and see a convincing win by Deena, a breakthrough for Magdelena, and a redeeming moment for Blake (no, I don't personally know any of them, but I like just using their first names). Despite those impressive races, my favorite moments of the weekend were:

1.) Sneaking a camera phone picture of Joan Benoit Samuelson before the start (no, I'm not a stalker, just to shy to actually talk to her and say what a fan I am)
2.) Watching my friend, former training partner and an all-around amazing person Heather May give it every last ounce of her being to finish with a PR
3.) Making a new friend, Camille Herron, who is now a West Sider, a new teammate and training partner and great person as well
4.) Watching the Boston Marathon the next day, including watching Coach (a.k.a. Judy Wilson) finish strong

The summer Olympics were likewise exciting despite not seeing them in person. I have always rooted for Shalane Flanagan as her mom is a native Hoosier, but to see anyone come back from food poisoning to win a medal in a track race is just plain jaw-dropping. That 10,000m race was also the highlight of the Games for me as Amy Yoder Begley, Indiana running legend, also participated. The marathon races were dissapointing for the Americans, and another one of my favorites, Paula Radcliff, but great reminders that even the best of the best cannot win them all. Other favorite moments were former IU teammate David Neville getting bronze in the 400m and gold in the relay, Bryan Clay winning the decathlon, and, of course, Michael Phelps. Amazing.

Injuries
These things stink, big time, but I learned a lot about my body, renewed my passion for the sport, and moved on. Hopefully less of my running time will be devoted to injuries in the future, but if fate intervenes I know from this experience with my hip that I can, and will, overcome it.

Watching Deena's foot snap in half three miles into the Olympic Marathon was heartbreaking for many, but obviously had to be excruciating both mentally and physically for her. Hopefully she can pop "Spirit of the Marathon," into her DVD player and remember that she, too, has a good track record of overcoming injury.

Team Indiana Elite
Ok, this has very little worldwide running relevance, but it was a big part of my 2008. I have a great training partner thanks to T.I.E.W.B. (Team Indiana Elite Women Bloomington), and enjoyed all the conversations and miles with Dani Prince in 2008. I also have a very good coach in Robert Chapman and I think his training will pay off in not just 2009, but in 2010, 2011, and then the next Olympic year. Brooks also gave us more than a pullover and some too-short pants this year, and developed a neutral cushioned trainer that doesn't feel like a boat with laces, the Ghost, so I am very grateful to that company for its support.

Marathons
I did not run any this year, but Dani ran Columbus and won, which was just fantastic. Also, my dad ran his first marathon, the Indianapolis Marathon, and is now hooked. I have created a running monster with him. These two marathoners have me very excited to take another crack at the epic event in the fall of 2009 (Twin Cities? Chicago? I am still not sure which one).

The Weather
Warm, wet, cold, dry, windy, icey, snowy, hotter than Haites, the list is endless. Turns out global climate change was not a hoax after all. Who would have thunk it? This is the first year I have not slipped on the ice and injured myself, though, for which I am extremely grateful!

Here's to a fast and fun 2009! Stride on friends!

Another Thanksgiving, another Drumstick Dash!

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 01:05:00 +0000

I awoke at 5:30a.m. on Thanksgiving morning to my dad blasting Christmas music from his iTunes library. That was my cue; it was time to get going to Indianapolis for our annual pilgrimage to the Drumstick Dash.

Dad was way more excited than I was in my state of sleep deprivation; nonetheless, I do always look forward to this race. There is no better way to start off a holiday than with a run raising money for a good cause. I met Tony, and later Allison, and we did a little warm-up then muscled our way through the masses toward the start.

Over 7,000 people showed up, but the star of the day was indeed Gerry Giblets. Gerry, who is rumored to be a former IU All-American and Olympian not named Bob Kennedy, who was the race starter, always gets a head start. A glorious trophy with a little turkey on top is the reward for the first male and female runner to tag Gerry. I crowded my way to the starting line in hopes of catching Gerry as early as possible then jogging the rest of the way.

The gun went off, and around me zoomed a four-foot tall frizzy-haired girl in a neon yellow long sleeve shirt. I figured she went out too hard, and she did, so I returned the favor about two minutes into the race and passed her back. When I slapped Gerry's wing two-and-a-half minutes in, I realized it was kind of sad that I took such glee in out-running a middle schooler. Actually, though, I was doing her a favor by teaching her to be tough and to aspire to run smarter next time!

After about a mile I finally caught up with my dad and paced him to an average of 8:06 per mile pace for 4.5 miles, over 16 minutes faster than his time last year! I may have won a small trophy with a turkey on top, but Dad was the won who deserved an award for such a huge improvement. And my knees greatly appreciated the faster pace as it hurt them to run over-10 minute miles last year.

The rest of the day was filled with driving, family, actual turkey and hitting golf balls into Crooked Lake. I am extremely grateful for my running abilities, but more grateful for the people I get to share them with, and also for all the people who wouldn't give a darn if I didn't run. Hope you all had a terrific Turkey Day yourselves.

Marvelous Marathoners

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 00:51:00 +0000

As this marathon of a weekend comes to an end, I couldn't be happier for my dad or my training partner Dani. Pops ran 4:24 at the Indianapolis Marathon on Saturday, averaging just over 10 minutes per mile. Not bad for a guy who a few years ago ran the IU Open 5k where the following Monday the IDS reporter covering the meet remarked that there was a Santa-like man bringing up the rear as though he were "looking for some milk and cookies."

On Sunday Dani conquered Columbus and beat out all the other women to take first in 2:48. Also not bad for someone who only a little over a year ago would be hurting during our 12-mile long runs after a 60-mile training week. I squealed like a pig when I got her voicemail after our T.I.E. long run at Morgan-Monroe revealing the good news. The whole run I kept thinking, "Gee, Dani is probably at mile 10 by now. Gee, I wonder what Dani went through halfway in. Gee, I hope Dani is doing well!" And boy was she ever doing well! Next year we will run Chicago together and people will be making a documentary about that - bring it on "Spirit of the Marathon!"

Back at the Indy Marathon on Saturday, I also had the pleasure of running with Brenda, one of my (many) physical therapist friends, who was hoping to qualify for Boston after narrowly missing the mark earlier this year at the Rock 'n Roll Marathon in San Diego. It was nice to catch up with her and hopefully have helped her a teeny weeny bit with her goal. She finished in 3:39 and is now Boston-bound.

After I ran with Brenda I turned around and jogged against the crowd to find my dad again. When I first saw him that day, just after the 7-mile-mark, he was yelling random stuff at people (i.e. he saw someone with a Drumstick Dash shirt on and yelled, "Go Dashers!" as if anyone had any clue what that meant), and even jumping up and down for a few pictures (I carried my camera with me the whole way). The second time I saw him was at mile 15, and his stride was much shorter, so I hopped in and tried to make small talk. He said he felt okay physically but mentally was hurting. I made it through 18 with him then had to stop because running 10-minute/mile pace makes my knees ache something fierce. When I saw him again a little after mile 20 his head was so far down I could see the very top of his black Brooks Pre-Nat's hat I had given him from when I placed in the top 25 at that meet 3 years ago. I made him lift his head up and we progressed through the next six miles.

Out of all the miles I have run in my life, I will never forget running miles 25-26 with my dad yesterday. The whole last six miles I was debating in my head if I should say something "daddish," such as "Just go faster!" or "get your butt up that hill now, Gall!" all typical sayings that have fallen out of his mouth during my races. With immense effort I managed to bite my tongue and make only postive or contructive utterances.

All of a sudden Dad said to me, "I have been waiting this whole run for you to say 'why can't you just run faster?' to me like I used to say to you. Well, every muscle and bone in my body is sorry, they all say sorry!"

This run, for him, gave new meaning to the old saying "walk a mile in another (wo)man's shoes." My dad ran 26.2 of them, and I couldn't be prouder. A sure sign that he is his daughter's father is that he has called me multiple times since the marathon yesterday to tell me he is mad at himself for not running the last two miles faster and finishing under 4:22, and wants to pick another one to do so he can run faster. There is now officially no hope at recovery. Another running-addict is out there on the streets. Lock up your stores of Gu and Gatorade, folks.

Antsy

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 01:30:00 +0000

I am antsy all over right now. I am antsy to cheer on my dad in his first marathon in Indianapolis on Saturday. I am antsy to hear how my training partner, Dani, does in her first marathon in Columbus next Sunday. And I am really antsy for an entire year from now when I run another marathon myself. Being antsy for an entire year is too much to handle, so I will have to find ways to distract myself in the meantime.

The antsy-ness boiled up inside of me last night when Dani and I watched "Spirit of the Marathon," on DVD. Even though I had already seen it, that dramatic orchestra music in the background and the visuals of 40,000 people striding through the streets of Chicago made my heart rate race in anticipation. There is a whole year of waiting and training left, and that's if I don't manage to fall and bruise my kneecaps and ribs (like I did two weeks ago) right before the race, or get some other bizarre injury.

Today Dani and I tagged along with Chapman and the Team Indiana Elite guys to do our semi-long run in Deam Wilderness south of Lake Monroe. I wish digital cameras were smaller so we could have ran with one and captured the beauty of southern Indiana on a sunny fall day, the light sneaking in between tree limbs, illuminating the dirt particles we kicked up with our Brooks shoes. The only part that was not so scenic was all the horse poop we tried to jump over, but other than that it was nice and peaceful. It was the first time I had run in four days because of my "deep bone and cartilage bruise of the patella." Although the knees still ached, I truly did enjoy it. It was the perfect distraction from the days and days, and miles and miles, left to go before marathon day, fall 2009.

Four months and eight days

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Today marks the first time in four months and eight days that I have done a hard running workout. Over a third of a year ago I was in Boston struggling through two-thirds of the Olympic Marathon Trials, left shoulder hiked up and right hip hiked out, a twisted mess of a runner.

Thanks to months of physical therapy, stretching and strengthening, pools and bikes, new shoes and a new beginning, I finally did a lactate threshold run today. I spent all of last night conning Dani into doing it with me early this morning on her one chance to sleep in this week. Being a good friend and teammate, she obliged and we met at the Rail Trail before the sun had fully risen. Through the fog we jogged an easy warm up before hitting the Clear Creak Trail, marked every half mile, for a four-mile LT. We agreed to do the first mile around 6:45 per mile pace, but despite her fatigue Dani took off at 6:00 minute pace. I huffed and puffed and we slowed down to a comfortable 6:30 or faster pace the rest of the way. This was by no means a blazing workout, especially given it was slower than my marathon pace.

The past was irrelevant, though, it was all about living in the (four-mile-long) moment. By the last mile I felt as if I could go a couple more and that was such a fantastic feeling. To once again have my heart beating rapidly, to have the slight discomfort of exertion permeating my muscles and lungs and to have the endorphins, was glorious.

I sat on my butt the last two and a half weeks watching the Olympics, watching people give every last ounce of their being to propel themselves beyond their previous physical limitations. That too was glorious, but it made me wonder if I still had that in me, that ability to red-line for the sake of the challenge. It had been so long since I had done a gut-buster of a workout or pushed myself through a never ending long long long run. While today was neither of those occasions, it did feel good to go hard. This once again proves I am an insane masochist. Bring on the pain - and the gain! Luckily, as watching the Olympics reinforced for me, I'm not the only one!

Cheers to London 2012!

Summer days wasting away

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 11:57:00 +0000

Due to my OCD and perhaps a little to my journalism training, I have a hard time posting anything I don't deem of at least decent quality, so please forgive me for the lack of posting. Since I have last posted anything I have been quite busy, but who isn't busy, so that is no excuse!

Thankfully, part of that being busy has been with more running than I have done in months! The doctor finally released me to go do my own thing, and I graduated from pool physical therapy. I have my last land appointment scheduled for next week. As much as I am glad to be healthy (or healthier) again, it will be really sad to not go to physical therapy. Even the therapist who calls me an "uptight white girl" is really good at what she does and I really enjoy joking around with all of them. And I think they might be the only people in addition to anyone in the School of Journalism in town who actually read my little community column in the newspaper, so I have got to give them props! Last week I finally got back up to forty miles, and everything feels pretty good. I'm not falling apart, yet... Over the Fourth of July weekend I got to do my traditional run and then jump in the lake (thanks to cousin Cathy for swimming to the Island and back with me), and the next weekend got to visit Cheese Country and lovely Oostburg, Wisconsin with my amazing roommate Jane. Her sister took us to a state park to run, and it was so hilly I got in my first workout in three months. I seriously think my heart rate had to be near its max on the steeper climbs. It made me feel so out of shape, but it hurt so good!

Besides running, the main reason I have been busier than ever is that the J-school is hosting fifteen Iraqi undergraduate students for five weeks. We knew it would be a difficult and time-consuming event, but until we met them in person and escorted them back to the Heartland of America, I had no idea what I was in for. They mostly want to shop (iPods, digital cameras, clothes, and wandering around College Mall are popular), so my lectures about Congress, politics, leadership, Indiana Limestone and journalism are not exactly thrilling. Some days I go to sleep thinking about Iraq, I dream about Iraq, then wake up and spend all day with Iraqis. I feel like I am in the Twilight Zone or something... but overall I am learning a lot about management, leadership, culture, and both Kurdistan and Iraq. A majority of our students are from Kurdistan in the northern section of Iraq, where there is relative peace and security and virtually no U.S. military presence. Another new thing I learned about Iraqis - they hate walking, and I make them walk everywhere, so you can guess how much they like me for that!

In non-running related news, it seems a number of my techno-savvy relatives have stumbled upon this little blog of mine. In honor of this discovery, I'd like to give a shout-out to cousin Gary recovering from his big surgery. May the scars heal quickly so we can once again push you into the lake when you're not paying attention!

Gotta love p.t.

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 03:27:00 +0000

Two actual conversations that occurred at physical therapy over the past week:

Wednesday
Receptionist: I saw your picture in a magazine, you're famous!
Me: Thanks...
P.T. tech: Saw your picture and article.
Me: Thanks...
P.T. #1: Yeah, and your left knee was collapsing in, you need to work on that.
Me: Yeah, that's why I've been going to physical therapy for seven months...

P.T. #2: Hey, did you see how your left femur was rotated in that picture?
Me: Yep, working on it...

P.T. #3 (walking by the room where I'm laying on a table doing exercises): Nice rotated leg.
Me: Thanks...

Friday
P.T. #4: Maybe if you weren't an uptight white girl you wouldn't have all these problems.
Me: Hmm, well, there's a theory...
later in the session
P.T. 4 (who is a Caucasian woman as well): Man, you are pasty!
Me: I thought we already established that I was white.
P.T. 4: You're a pasty uptight white girl.
Me: Thanks...

Bruised on my bum, but far from bummed

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 15:07:00 +0000

Merriam-Webster defines masochism as "pleasure in being abused or dominated: a taste for suffering." While no true competitor enjoys being dominated, the rest of the definition is quite appropriate for the philosophy of a successful distance runner. I argue that the injured distance runner is even more of a masochist, trying any legal method, no matter how cruel, in the hopes that it may further the progress toward recovery.

The most painful treatment I've endured during my quest to return to competitive running is called the Graston technique (Graston for short, although there are other names for this same type of treatment). Graston uses a patented set of metal torture tools (invented by one David Graston as a way to treat himself after a water skiing injury) to detect and remove fascial and myofascial adhesions and restrictions. In layman's terms, it's like digging the flat edge of a butter knife into the most painful spot you can find where there are knots or scar tissue stuck on a tendon, ligament or muscle.

I first had Graston done on a tiny muscle in between two of my ribs after I tore it during the track state meet my sophomore year in high school . Before the physical therapist dug in, he warned me that most of the grown men who get the treatment cry because it hurts so much. Great. At that point I was determined not to cry, but boy did I want to, it definitely did hurt.

I had a lovely honeymoon away from Graston for the next four or five years before rediscovering it in the IU athletic training room. Sometimes it really helped, but sometimes I just got bruised. After I was done at IU I had a few Graston treatments at Rebound, the physical therapy place I now use. Again, a few cool bruises, but still tight and restricted in the areas that received the treatment.

Over the last four months, I have had a Graston bruise on one part of my body or another the entire time. When I went to get a massage the masseuse asked if I had been in a car accident. I would joke that someone had pushed me down the stairs, but nope, it was self-inflicted. I had asked for this "treatment." This was a hard concept to explain to non-runners.

The worst of the bruises came when I begged my former IU trainer to treat me one more time before the Marathon Trials in hopes of a miraculous recovery. He had performed Graston on me a few weeks earlier and it worked wonders, until I screwed it up by trying to do mile repeats on the track a few days later (too much too soon). The trainer tried his best to help me again, but unfortunately that time I was left with a bruise that left a shadow over my whole right thigh that is still visible a full two months later and little actual relief.

My latest Graston bruise was somewhat unexpected. While at Rebound this past Friday I was lying on my side as the PT was stretching out my hip. Before I knew it, she was using the Graston tool on my rear side, and I instantly knew why she didn't warn me. It hurt like few other Graston treatments have hurt and I don't think she wanted me to know what she was about to do. My bum has a nice souvenir from it, but luckily it's much less visible to the rest of the world than the bruises I've had down my thigh and around my shoulders.

Thankfully, this time around the bruise seems to be worth it as I went on a pain-free four-mile run yesterday on the Rail Trail. Every time I sit down or stand up I can feel the bruise on my butt and I have a nice reminder of Mr. Graston and his metal torture tools. Masochist or not, I prefer to think of myself as an optimist. I'm hopeful that whichever treatment I am going with now is getting me one step closer to packing in the miles again.

Another state meet weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 00:53:00 +0000

After this past weekend, I have attended nearly twenty Indiana track and field state championship meets (including both boys and girls meets). While my role at the meet has changed drastically since I am now a spectator instead of an athlete, without fail, just being at the meet gives me goosebumps. I do not believe in my entire college career that I was ever quite as nervous as I was for some of my high school state meet races.

In high school, the track state meet was the end-all, be-all of life for me. As a high school freshman I saw the attractive brown ribbons with the Indiana-shaped medals my teammates had earned for their ninth place finish the previous year in the 4x8 relay, and I wanted one. The regional meet had been neck and neck between us and Carmel, and I knew the state meet would be similar. There I was, a 5-foot tall braces-clad freshman with my dorky crew length socks pulled as high as they would go, and I was anchoring a relay with a bunch of upperclassmen. I wanted to puke so badly, but while I was looking around for a good spot to do so, all of a sudden my teammate was charging into the exchange zone and it was time to race. I ran a personal best split of 2:20, but it was not enough to overtake traditional powerhouse Carmel. I ran so hard, though, that I tore a costal muscle in my ribs, but it was worth it for my own Indiana-shaped medal. That medal, though, made the 3200m run later in the meet not quite as fun, and no Indiana-shaped medal as a souvenir for that one.

I didn't think it was possible to be more nervous than I was my freshman year, but my sophomore year proved me wrong. That year we won regionals in the 4x8 and we were favored to do the same at state. There was less of the underdog mentality and more of that heavy "we need to win this because we may never again have such a good shot," feeling. This time, though, I was the third leg and not anchor. The plan was to build a gap so that Carmel's strong anchor leg (who would later be a teammate at IU) could not catch up, or would wear herself out trying to close the gap too soon. It worked to perfection and this time we had the blue medal. I was so giddy I almost forgot to warm-up for the 3200m run later that evening, but the fact that I had used up all my nervousness on that first race allowed me a care-free second race. This time I kept all my rib muscles intact and managed to place third individually.

My junior year was just a delayed sophomore slump. Severe allergies and a deviated septum derailed my grand plans for two more medals, yet we gave it our all in the 4x8 and got the much-adored orange-ribboned medal for sixth place. I didn't even qualify for the 3200m run individually, which would motivate me tremendously during summer training after recovering from surgery to correct the crooked septum in my nose.

By the end of my senior year the roller coaster of a career was back on the upswing. As proof that life comes full circle, I closed my high school career with the same medals I had earned my sophomore year, a blue and a white, but this time reversed in the events. Before the 3200m run, my last high school race, the nervousness demons encircled me. As one of the race officials walked us to the start line I panicked. I had forgotten my BreathRight strip! How could I run without it? My breathing will be off! Oh well, the gun's up now, just go! The first mile I was cautious, afraid to go into oxygen debt without the coveted nasal strip to keep all airways as open as possible. My patience paid off as the leader slowly came back to me and I quickly reeled her in, passing her with 200m to go and never looking back.

Back to the future... and even after finishing college, I still get butterflies in my stomach watching the state meet. I can see in the eyes of the high schoolers that same nauseating feeling, that anxiety, the desire to just know how it will end up, be it good or bad. It's the not knowing that is so hard to handle. I see in some of the high schoolers the joy of everything coming together, and in others, the tears of everything falling apart, and I feel for them both. The joy is so fleeting, yet the disappointments will linger so long.

The biggest lesson I have learned from observing instead of competing in these meets is that high school state track meets are not, in fact, the end of the world. The sun will still rise the next day no matter what happened on the oval or in the field. As logical as that sounds, it is harder to grasp than it seems! It has only taken me ten years to do so...

Bolder in Boulder

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:31:00 +0000

I had been to Boulder once before, but only for a day, and I was hungry for a second helping of this gorgeous mountainside town where my cousin Sallie lives. Thanks to a few extra frequent flier miles from my uncle, I was off to Colorado for an extended Memorial Day weekend.

I was a very bad patient and violated the doctor's recommendation that I not run at all for six weeks. It was a clear beautiful day in Boulder and my running shoes were the little devil on my shoulder, screaming into my ear all day to give into temptation. I only gave in for a 4-miler, and my lungs burned from the altitude and lack of an inhaler, but I was thrilled nonetheless.

Boulder is without a doubt an athlete's town. You cannot walk down any street without seeing bikers, joggers, runners, and occasionally the elite or international star athlete. Organic food seems more common than the normal grub, and I cannot recall seeing one chubby kid while I was there. I kept bugging my cousin to "go to the mountains," and she obliged my request as we went off-roading up Flagstaff Mountain one day. Despite all the dust, it was very cool, it felt like the Dinosaur Ride in Animal Kingdom at Disney World, expect it wasn't dark and nothing popped out at us besides a few wayward tree branches.

On Saturday I was walking down the Boulder Creek Path on my way to check out the Boulder Creek Festival, a condensed and hippie-infested version of a county 4-H fair. Instead of fried Snickers Bars like we have in Indiana, they had a Kashi Cereal stand with soy milk; I was in heaven. They even had a Gravitron, my favorite fair ride, but the urge to ride it now is much less than when I was 10 years-old. Back on the path, two of the Japanese elite athletes who would be running in the Bolder Boulder on Monday jogged slowly by me and I managed to whip out my camera in time to get a quick shot. I kept my eyes peeled for any other elite runners, but no luck.

After wandering around the festival for awhile, I needed to take a shower as the mix of sweat and the incense that many at the festival were burning was too much for my nose to handle. On my walk back on the path to meet up with my cousin and her friends I noticed a slim runner speeding towards me. Oh my goodness, it's Deena Kastor! I thought to myself as I fumbled for my camera, or perhaps a pen to get an autograph. No luck, I had foolishly removed those items from my person when I had stopped at my cousin's condo to take the shower. Lesson learned: showering is bad, save water instead.

Oh well. I ran by her for three whole miles in the Olympic Trials, I don't need an autograph. Then I remembered the time she lapped me last summer at the USATF National Championship 10k. She said "good job," as she glided by effortlessly. She even lapped me again, the second time without enough breath to utter any encouragement. The thought of getting lapped twice in a track race made me simultaneously cringe and laugh. I would give anything to get lapped twice at this year's National Championship - the Olympic Trials. But alas, I will have to wait until 2012 and at that point, I will definitely not be lapped once, let alone twice!

On Monday I again violated doctor's orders by jogging the Bolder Boulder 10k, the second-largest 10k in the country (behind the Peachtree race in Atlanta on July 4). Sallie, her roommate Megan, their friend Michael and myself lined up at 7a.m. in wave HC, set to go off at 7:59:10a.m., a full 59 minutes after the first heat. It was a long and chilly wait, but finally it was our turn to go. I waved wildly at the cameras trying to actually enjoy the experience. It was only the second time I had ever run a road race just for fun and not to place as highly as possible (the first being the 2006 Turkey Trot with my dad).

I thought the Indoor Big Ten 5k was a crowded race, but that pales in comparison to running with 55,000 of your closest friends. The course wound through town, and the light rain and cool temperature was perfect for a morning stroll. There were off-key singers and bands and lots of cheering people for the entire six miles. The belly dancers were probably my least favorite part as they were quite unattractive and just plain bizarre, but they still provided a distraction. The race finished inside the University of Colorado football stadium where a huge screen shows all the runners finishing. After collecting our goodies (including a free lunch box, tote-bag, and many snacks - they better have had good post-race stuff since we had to pay $48 just to enter), we walked back in the rain, which by this point was cold and coming down harder. The nice part was that I got to see the CU campus. I got a cup of coffee at the little coffee shop a block from my cousin's condo, which helped warmed me up too.

The next day it was time to return to reality in Indiana, but the short visit was refreshing and has me hoping that sometime soon I return to Boulder. I don't think my cousin will ever move back to Indiana after spending the last six years in Boulder, and I don't blame her, it's hard not to fall in love with the place! I don't know if I will live there in the future or not, but many visits are definitely in my plans.

On your marks, get set, cook!

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Fri, 30 May 2008 00:51:00 +0000

My Grandma Fran was a great cook. Her parents were German, but she grew up in southern California next door to a Mexican woman who taught her some of the basics of tamales and tacos. As a Navy nurse during World War II, she met a striking Italian-American midshipmen, Nicolas DeFrancesco. After the War they got married and returned to his hometown of Elkhart, Indiana.

The pair started the first pizzeria in Elkhart, Nicky D's. Grandpa could make a great pizza, but he also missed a great opportunity to expand the business. A local grocer tried to convince him to freeze his handmade works and sell them in the grocery to the masses so they could take them home and eat Nicky D's whenever they wanted. Who would ever do that? he thought. Despite the missed opportunity for expansion, Nicky D's remained one of the most popular restaurants in the growing northern Indiana city, a labor of love for both of my grandparents.

My grandpa died of brain cancer when I was 11 months old and Grandma Fran never did completely stop grieving. The restaurant, or "resternt" as Grandma always called it, folded after a few years under my uncle's management, but Grandma never stopped cooking.

She would make fresh bread in the bread machine and when my sister and I came home from soccer, basketball, track or softball practice we would practically inhale it. If we were lucky, she would make a huge pot of spaghetti sauce from scratch, checking in on the Italian recipe between her TV shows to patiently stir it. The best was Saturday nights when she would make pizza dough and pizza sauce, and we each could make our own pizzas with our toppings. Mine was normally doused in cheese, so much so that I now have a slight aversion to cheese since I ate so much of it for so many Saturdays. Saturday homemade pizza was one of the few stable traditions our family had. We may have been (and still are) dysfunctional, but at least we picked a tasty tradition to follow!

Grandma occasionally drove my dad nuts in the kitchen, watching over his shoulder whenever he tried to cook something of his own, normally some large chunk of meat. I ran into the same annoyance whenever I had tried to make desserts for any school or sporting event. I barely got to bake the "just add water" brownies on my own. She was the master chef, and we all knew it.

When I left for college Grandma Fran wrote down most of her recipes on index cards in her beautiful cursive writing. Without her to cook dinner I started experimenting on my own while in college and have come to love cooking. One of the best parts of running is that I burn a lot of calories, so I can cook a lot of food for myself. I occasionally use some of her recipes, but have not had the guts to try her signature tomato sauces or pizza because I know I won't come close to what she would have made.

Grandma passed away last summer and it really hit me hard. I was glad she was no longer in pain, but who would I call when I didn't know how to cook a porkchop or why the the banana bread didn't rise. A few months ago I decided to try a new pasta sauce that was on sale at the grocery store. Not thinking much of it, I poured it on my noodles and took a bite. Tears came to my eyes, it was the first thing I had tasted since Grandma died that came anywhere close to what her sauce tasted like. To be clear, it is not as good as her sauce, but it could definitely be a cousin in taste.

Cooking can nurture in more ways than the physical. I marveled at Deena Kastor cooking her enchiladas at the end of the Spirit of the Marathon movie as it reminded me of the simple pleasures of good food. Often when I cook I think of Grandma, although my "style" differs greatly from hers. Someday I will make that sauce from scratch and again have homemade pizza on Saturday, but until then, I'll nourish my body and soul with my own concoctions, then go run some more so I can have more ice cream.

I ran across this cookbook on http://eliterunning.com/, it's called The Runners Cookbook and was compiled by Allison Wade. It has tons of recipes from elite American distance runners, from Shalane Flanagan and her mom to the Gouchers and Alan Webb. I ordered it and to my amazement, the cover is a picture from the Tufts 10k I ran last October, and on the very right-hand edge you can see my eye, part of my arm and part of my leg! Go to http://www.runnerscookbook.com/ for more information or to order it. All proceeds are split evenly between the Jenny Crain "Make it Happen" Fund and the Ryan Shay Memorial Fund.

Another in the better-late-than-never catagory: Indy Mini '08

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Thu, 29 May 2008 01:03:00 +0000

Ever since I started running I've wanted to run the Indianapolis Mini Marathon. What could be cooler than running the largest half marathon in the country right in my own backyard? And getting to run on the Speedway, oh how I want to do it! Alas, the dream will have to wait another year (or more, who knows what 2009 will bring), but I got a good taste of the event watching friends and family run on May 3.

Friday before the race I went to the Expo to pick up Jane's number for her and to listen to the legend, Frank Shorter, speak. As soon as I had positioned myself in a fantastic spot to hear the '72 Olympic marathon gold medalist espouse his wisdom, my cell phone rang with a request from my aunt. I ended up going with her to the airport to pick up my cousin and her roommate who were flying in from Denver to run. Good thing I went to navigate because if I hadn't, my aunt likely would have been in Lebanon before she realized that I-65 N does NOT go to the Indianapolis Airport.

Even without listening to Frank, it was a lovely evening. My aunt, cousin, her roommate, my dad, his girlfriend and I had dinner at Harry & Izzy's, an offshoot of the famous St. Elmo's. We had some of their famous shrimp cocktail with the horseradish sauce that will light your nose hair on fire if you're not careful. After dinner we walked back to our respective hotel rooms and called it a night.

Even though I was not running I still had the fluttering-stomach excited feeling. I couldn't wait to watch my Team Indiana Elite teammate Dani race in the elite field as I knew she was in good shape and would easily PR, especially since her first half marathon was the hilly IU Mini last September. I was also anxious for my cousin and a whole posse of her friends to run because I had written them a training plan for this, their first half marathon. I wouldn't call myself a coach, but I do know a fair amount about the sport and this was the first time I would see if I could transfer any of that knowledge onto others who had very little experience with the longer distances.

Additionally, I was hopeful that my dad would have a good run. I was guilty of talking him into it and signing him up for it, so if it went poorly I would probably be hearing about it for a while. He had actually trained for this race more than any of his previous half marathons, so I was hopeful. He started running a full two months prior to the race, which was quite an improvement on when he ran the Flying Pig half in Cincinnati a few years ago off of two weeks of training.

I set my alarm so I would make it to watch the start, but when it went off my dad came into my room and told me to just sleep in and catch later parts of the race. Sounded good to me, and it also let me get in a good breakfast while watching the start of the race on TV. I get grumpy without a good breakfast, and also can be grumpy when I'm not running, so I at least needed the food in this recovery phase of my training!

After grabbing some grub Nancy and I piled into my Prius and we headed toward the Speedway. We rushed down 16th St. to get as close to the race track as we could and got dizzy watching the throngs of people running, jogging and slogging past us back towards downtown. I clutched my digital camera waiting for a glimps of Pops and my cousin and her friends. We eventually saw Sallie in her "eighties-tastic" pink capris and got a few good shots of her, but never did see Dad. He must not be feeling well, we thought, so we decided to head to the finish to catch him there. Again, we stood staring at the sea of humanity running the last .1 of their 13.1 mile adventure

Hundreds after hundreds ran into the checkered finish area and no sight of a Mr. Tom Gall. One of the extremely rare times that my dad did not have his cell phone on him we had no idea how we would locate the man. We eventually found the "G" station at the family reunion area and there he was proudly wearing his race car-shaped medal and drenched in sweat, even a little blood (he forgot to use the Body Glide I had given him, huge mistake for a male). Ends up he had run so much faster (2:09) than his goal pace (2:15) that he had finished before we even got there. Way to go Pops!

After that I found out that Dani got fourth and my cousin and all her friends finished well under their sub-2:20 goals (they were all around 2:15). The sun was shining and I was grateful to be able to watch such a wonderful spectacle of the human race. Athletes do not always get the chance to see what they are doing as they are right in the thick of it, so it was a glorious day to be a spectator. I was beaming with pride for my fast friends and family and just happy to be the supporter instead of the supported for once.

Long overdue: My Olympic Trials Marathon experience

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Sun, 25 May 2008 17:52:00 +0000

Over a month removed from the big show I think I finally have enough perspective on my Olympic Trials Marathon experience last April in Boston to put the weekend into words.

It all began Friday, April 18th, the day that Indiana shook. With a 5.2 magnitude earthquake in the wee hours of the morning awaking residents in states more known for tornadoes than tremors, I should have taken that as an omen that the weekend and following weeks would be a little shaky.

When Ben and I arrived at Indianapolis we found a few runner friends on our flight to Boston's Logan Airport. Once we arrived, we showed Camille how to navigate the Boston subway. After we got off of the subway and emerged above ground, we managed to roll ourselves and our luggage to the Boston Sheraton. I couldn't get to the official Trials check-in room fast enough to see what goodies awaited. I was not disappointed. All participants received a technical t-shirt with logo, Nalgene bottle with logo, oversized cotton gloves with logo, poster with logo, Camelback bookbag (without the water bladder) with logo, and stuffed lobster (no logo on the lobster). The good people at Brooks contributed to the goodies galore with another book bag, gloves, ear band and very nice jacket.

Friday night brought with it the first official Trials weekend activity: the Welcoming Reception. There were some nice cheese and crackers and clam chowder for hors d'oeuvres, but I was mistaken in thinking this event was a dinner, oops. The best part of the reception, though, was reuniting with my old training partner and friend Heather May. It was so nice to see her again. Second best part was the slides show they had on two large screens with "playing cards" shown for every single runner. I missed my own photo the first go-round, so stared intently at the screen for the next five minutes so I could see it again. It flashed quickly then was gone, but I was pretty excited nonetheless. After the reception we met up with my good West Lafayette friend Mary and had some scrumptious cheesecake at, where else, the Cheesecake Factory.

Saturday morning Ben and I went for an easy run along the Charles River. Apparently everyone else in town had the same idea. We passed a gaggle of Hanson's Runners on our way out. After a couple miles I stopped to stretch my hip a bit. As I looked up I saw a yellow blob approaching? Could it be? No, surely not... but wait, it was! Lance Armstrong just ran by me and looked me in the eye! I started running after him, Ben rolling his eyes at me, but then the Livestrong clan went a different direction so we went back to running our own route. On the way back to the hotel we passed the Team USA Mammoth Lakes clan, then saw a few Ethopian elite athletes before watching both of the Hanson brothers run down to the river as well. It was like flipping through a real-life Runners' World magazine with all the famous runners we saw, my excitement level increasing with every run-by.

Saturday afternoon we toured historic Boston with my cousin Ann and had a great meal in the Italian section of town. Afterwards we went to the Boston Marathon Expo, the granddaddy of all race expos. We visited with Blake at the USATF stand in the corner and I loaded up on a few free Lara Bar and Power Bar samples, got a Livestrong poster, bought my dad a t-shirt and then was satisfied. Saturday evening was the pre-race dinner from 4-6p.m. at the Sheraton. Not to be an ungrateful snob, but the food was pretty bad. Dried out chicken and bland pasta sauce, topped off with melted ice cream was what the Boston Trials committee served us. Nonetheless, it was free!

It was only 6pm and we were already done with dinner, which only meant there was way too much time for mischief. Since my hip was hurting I knew I wouldn't be able to finish the whole race, so there was really no need to rest up and stay off my feet. Ben, Blake and I headed down to Fenway Park to see if we could find some cheap tickets to the Red Sox game. We ended up getting leftover handicap seats that had a fantastic unobstructed view, right at the first baseline. The game was great fun, even though I'm not a huge baseball fan, but by about five innings in I was absolutely freezing and wanted to leave. My compadres weren't about to leave, though, so I toughed it out and we got to see Manny Ramirez hit an eighth-inning come-from-behind homer to secure the victory for the BoSox.

While waiting for the subway to go back to the hotel we ran into two guys running Boston on Monday. One of the guys was so excited to find out that I was running in the Trials that he had his friend take a picture of the two of us. That pretty much made my day!

Unfortunately I got to bed much later than I had hoped, and 5:30a.m rolled around much sooner than I had hoped. With bags under my eyes I made my way down to the elite athlete breakfast and ate the crumbs left over from all the other runners . Note to self: bring breakfast or eat earlier in 2008.

At 7a.m. all the athletes were waiting in the designated hallway to be paraded out onto Boylston Street and our designated staging area. I wanted to talk a paparazzi picture of Joan Benoit Samuelson, but restrained myself. The temptation proved too much, though, as I did take a few of her with my camera phone once we made it outside. Even though I was not really racing, I still got chills walking outside arm to arm with all these amazing athletes and seeing so many fans out to watch us compete.

I did a one mile warm-up back and forth along Boylston and could tell from it that it was going to be a rough run. I managed to get the leg heated up enough to not limp, and the adrenaline from being in close proximity to Joan Benoit Samuelson, Deena Kastor and so many others also helped alleviate the pain. Before the final run-outs I found Heather and told her I'd love to pace her for as long as I could. She would be running 6:15s to 6:20s and that sounded like a good pace for me since I could barely run mile repeats much faster the week before.

After the national anthem I weaseled my way toward the front of the line and found a spot conveniently just behind Deena. While we were waiting for the start, two women pointed to the huge bruise on my leg and told me it looked pretty cool. Then all of a sudden the gun went off and I felt like we were crawling, although the pace quickly became more respectable. I decided to go for my fifteen minutes of fame and stay up front for at least the first 2.2-mile loop. I could hardly believe that I was running right next to Deena, and in my euphoria I forgot about the pacing-Heather plan. I managed to stay upfront long enough that I knew I would be clearly visible on the live Web-cast, which also contributed to my amnesia about the original pacing plan.

After three miles I let the chase pack (Magdalena Lewy Boulet had charged to the lead at the start and built an early gap on the rest of the field). As I settled in to a more comfortable 6-6:15/mile pace I tried to soak up the entire experience, watching all the cheering bystanders, enjoying the view, imagining myself still in the lead and feeling comfortable. I even saw Ryan Hall cheering at one spot on the crowd, and heard a friend yell "RDP!" from the sidewalk (RDP is my high school's motto - Red Devil Pride). At the 180-degree I could see the runners behind me, and saw Heather. I remembered my promise to pace her and felt guilty for not following through on it, but was still so hyped up that I could not bring myself to slow down. Ah, the vigor of inexperience.

After the first loop, bringing me to 8.2 miles, the adrenaline began wearing off and the tightness took its place. Both my left shoulder and neck and my right hip were aching and my form was deteriorating more with each passing mile. Around 10 miles an awful stench made its way to my nasal cavity and I quickly became nauseous. As a lady in a dark blue top but brown shorts and brown legs passed me, I realized what the smell was and felt both sorry for her and increasingly sick to my own stomach. Before I could stop it, I leaned over to the side of the road and puked up all the Gatorade I had drank that day. Ever since I was little and had to clean the litter box I've had a really hard time with that smell.

The last half of that second loop was rough, and once I passed the medical tent at 14.2 miles I decided it would be stupid to put my body through any more pounding. A very nice volunteer walked me back to the tent where a very nice lady sat me down on a massage table. An athletic trainer came by and saw the huge bruise on my leg from the Graston therapy and freaked out, told me I had developed a huge hematoma and needed ice immediately. I told him I'd had the bruise from Graston and it had been there for a week. He shook his head and just walked away. Evenutally a sports massage therapist, Helen, came over and I had a new best friend. She knew exactly what she was doing and my tight muscles could not have been more grateful. After she was done rubbing me out she put my participant's medal around my neck and told me best of luck in 2012, which made me tear up a little.

I changed quickly and rushed back outside to catch the end of the race. It was quite inspirational to see Deena gliding in to easily win her first Olympic Trials Marathon. I felt re-energized watching everyone finish, knowing that with a few more years I too could be up there competing with them. I also got to see Coach again and made plans to meet up with her after she finished her own marathon the next day.

After the race was over Ben and I made our way to the Hansons-Brooks Post-Race Party. I was most excited about getting another very nice free Brooks bag, and the free pizza and Diet Coke were big winners in my book as well. Ben schmoozed with some Brooks big-wig while I talked with friends and fellow participants Ann and Johanna. After party number one it was time for the official Trials Awards Banquet. We sat with Camille and her husband, Purdue cross country coach Connor Holt. They were a riot and I thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with some fellow West Lafayetters (even if they are transplants, they still count).

The banquet was another serving of inspiration for me. There were many people in the top 15 that I have at one point or another competed with, and nearly all of them were older than me. This helped me not feel as badly for not finishing (one of my absolute least favorite things in the world) and reassured me in the need for patience in this masochistic sport of distance running. My time is yet to come.

The next morning, Patriots Day, Ben and I went for one more easy run along the river. This time we did not see nearly as many famous people. My hip still ached, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that it might be my last run for a while. After cleaning up and again eating the leftover scraps at the athlete hospitality room we headed out to watch the finish of the Boston Marathon. We saw Ethiopian Dire Tune and Russian Alevtina Biktimirova sprint to the finish in the elite women's race. Not long after, Robert Cheruiyot passed by us. He completely dominated the men's field; it looked like it was a playground foot race and he wasn't even breathing hard.

We walked further up Commonwealth Avenue to find a good spot to look for Coach (a.k.a. Judy). Ben hoisted me up onto the ledge of a light pole and right before she passed me I finally saw her. I screamed "Go Coach!" at the top of my lungs and she turned her head and gave me the thumbs up. I also managed to get a picture of her - mission accomplished. It took a while to wander through the massive crowds of weary finishers and anxious family members, but I eventually found Coach in the family reunion area. She and her old college teammate and I waddled back to the Prudential Center food court to get some grub. I enjoyed catching up with her and she very kindly listened to me vent about all my current frustrations. When it was time to leave to catch my flight and I had to say good bye to her, I once again got teary-eyed. You don't know what you've got till it's gone, that's for sure.

After a long flight and solo drive home I finally got back to good ol' Bloomington. I dumped my bags on the floor and passed out on the couch, didn't even bother to walk to my bed. I was physically and emotionally drained. Alas, I have many things to take from this experience: lots of free junk with the cool '08 Trials logo on it, and a truck-load of inspiration, enough to last me a good four more years at least.

Coach Hep Cancer Challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Jessica Gall) — Thu, 08 May 2008 15:32:00 +0000

Okay, I know I've been woefully bad at posting on this lately. I have a lot to write about (Marathon Olympic Trials, watching the Indy Mini last weekend, and more), but just have not had much free time, or mental energy. All these events and everything in between have been slightly traumatic and I'm still sorting through it all and recovering. Nonetheless, I promise there will be updates soon.

For now I just want to make a quick plea to support the Coach Hep Cancer Challenge in Bloomington this weekend. If you are in town you should sign up to participate at www.CoachHepCancerChallenge.org. There is an event for everyone - 5k walk or run, 40k bike ride, 100k bike ride and 40k ride/5k run combo.

If you can't come, or don't want to, consider making a donation. Here's my Active.com fund raising site: http://www.active.com/donate/DontQuit/JGall1

I don't care if you donate to me or to anyone else participating because it is all going to a great cause. Donations go to the IU Simon Cancer Center (where Lance Armstrong was treated) and the Olcott Center for Cancer Education.

As Coach Hep used to say, Don't quit.