If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon. Emil Zatopek

I include this picture of Emil Zatopek for 2 reaons: A) he is one of the greatest runners ever and I like this quote.  B) I like to think I look like Shalane Flanagan when I run, while I fear after mile 7 I instead resemble a male Czeckoslavakian marathoner.

It has taken me nearly two weeks to write about Eugene.  I had to let the race experience sit for a minute (or two).   I needed to re-establish my running routine.  I needed to get an excellent massage (thank you fellow Eugene finisher Willow at Inner Elements) and work my IT band on my roller.  

Mostly, I needed to stop procrastinating.

My expectations about this race were few;  I wanted to finish and I wanted to maintain a positive outlook while running.  I understood Eugene would be a different experience than Chicago six months previous.  Chicago was about redemption.  Behind every training run loomed the memory of my last ill-fated and uncompleted marathon, my health tale-of-woe.   It was big city, big money (for me - hotel, air tickets, etc. - I'm not a big spender by necessity, people), do this thing right.  During the race I was so focused on my time that truly I have little memory of the unbelievable neighborhoods we ran through.  And for that, I PRd.  I love Chicago.

I went into Eugene with a whole different mindset and a just a little bit of denial.  We trained, but we slacked as well.  And two days before the race, you could find me having a beer or three at Fire on the Mountain with my husband.  Like I said, denial.

Morgan and I left Portland Saturday afternoon, a cooler picnic of goodies stacked in her Subaru, too many running outfits in each of our bags.  It was lovely not to have to worry about airplane fees.  The weather was perfect - sunshine, high 60s.  The drive from Portland to Eugene is a little over 100 miles, all beautiful green fields and rolling mountains.   

We arrived at our hotel in Springfield around 3:00.  We had both been remiss about finding a hotel until about a week before the marathon.  Again, denial played a part, but I also mistakenly assumed that Eugene, a small city of a little over 100,000 people, would have plenty of hotels to accommodate a marathon of 8000.  I mean, all those people go down to see the Ducks play during football season, right?  They must have somewhere to stay, right? Right?

Wrong.  Morgan called 7 hotels before finding one that had a vacancy.  When we arrived, they had one room left and the lady at the front desk told us the person before us (a fellow marathoner) had been to 17 different hotels before getting a room. I would have given up and slept in my car.  It seems that not only was the marathon happening that weekend, but also the Spring Game and a tattoo convention.  When told this, Morgan and I nodded our heads like we knew what the Spring Game was.  I follow some NFL, as I'm from New England and my father is a genuine and in-this-order Patriots/Celtics/Bruins/Red Sox fan. However, I went to a small liberal arts school on the border of New York City, partially chosen due to its lack of a Greek system and sports teams.  I hold no allegiance to college sports and couldn't tell you a thing about the Ducks other than they have some wacky uniforms.  After several years living in Oregon I should recognize how devoted their true fans are.  Sping Game = spring scrimmage and it had a record turnout this year.  Note to self. 

Eugene is not all football, though.  There's also hippies.  And beer!  Spread out and dominated by the U of O, the city itself has the slatternly look of most boozy college towns.  Nice homes are mixed in with places that look like meth houses but are, most likely, continuous college rentals or frat houses.  There are some good restaurants, an excellent brewery (Ninkasi, oh how I love thee) and a mediocre one (Steelhead, but they serve food and they have outside tables).  

After we checked into our hotel, we headed down to the expo to pick up our race packets. A little info about race expos - they terrify me.  In Portland, they're held at the downtown Hilton.  To get inside one has to walk an IKEA-type maze with people in front and behind.  All I can ever think is, "Don't yell fire.  Don't yell fire."  I don't know why.  And Chicago - Chicago was 45000 people.  Nuf said.

Eugene by comparison was lovely.  I'm sure it had everything to do with the small number of people, but we drove and easily found free parking by the downtown Hilton.  Inside the pickup was organized and easy.  We decided to eat the pasta dinner, again for simplicity's sake.   The food was fine, plentiful, and we sat with a man whose father and grandfather had driven all the way from Ohio to cheer him on.  It was heartwarming.

Meb Keflezighi was the guest speaker at the expo.
 I am a big Meb fan, have been ever since I watched him win the ING NYC marathon in 2009.  Meb is the first [US] man to win a medal (silver) in the Olympic marathon since Frank Shorter won in 1972.  He was really interesting to listen to.  Genuine, humble, and grateful for both his ability and his success, he spoke about family and his training.  On his OFF days, he runs 10 miles a day.  From the sounds of it, he runs a marathon at least once a week in training so that during an actual race he knows "I just have to do it faster."  It sounds so simple, doesn't it?  I thought often of his talk while running the next day.

Morgan and I turned in early after the expo, watched bad tv, and tried to ignore the cigarette smoke drifting in from the rooms on either side of our discount motel. Other than logistics (time we planned to get up, coffee, etc.), we did not discuss the next day.  Again, denial.  And instead of my usual pre-race insomnia, I slept.  It was as if I had not only convinced my brain I wasn't really running 26.2 miles the next day, I had convinced my body.  Poor thing.

At 4:45, Morgan and I were up .  By 5:30, we pulled up to Dutch Brothers to get some caffeine.  

ASIDE:  If you are ordering coffee first thing in the morning from a lone, obviously overwhelmed gal at a Dutch Brothers and there are four cars behind you and two cars at the other window waiting to be served, DON'T F%$ING ORDER ANYTHING BUT COFFEE.  I feel a lot of love for marathon runners of all types.  But I focused all my nervous pre-race energy into irrational rage directed at the matching sparkly pink-spandex ladies who ordered 5 frozen coffee drink concoctions plus some sort of caramel espresso thing, forcing everyone to wait a good 15 minutes for their order to be completed.  You all are the equivalent of corral bumrushers and I am done with you.

Upon finally getting our medium coffees (2 minutes.  2 flipping minutes - ok, now I am done) we drove to the Valley River Center, where we parked for free, used the bathroom, and got on the readily available shuttles that left every 5 minutes for the marathon starting area.  The start/finish line were at basically the same place - Hayward Field.  The weather was perfect - low 50s.  

Morgan and I were both in corral 1.   To me, waiting in the corral is the longest part of the race.  I get cold and start yawning, all nerves, although not so much this time.  This time, I decided I was just going to see how I felt.  Morgan said, "It's all about feel for me.  Not time."  

The gun went and we were off.  There's nothing quite like the flow of a marathon.  I heard an onlooker say as we went by, "There's a sound to it!" And he's right - there is. Not just footsteps, either - it's the sound of concentrated motion.

I found my rhythm early and stayed with it.  Unlike Chicago, I decided not bust out too fast.  It's a hard decision early on - I feel so good, should I go with it?  Or do I hold back, knowing that later I will need this reserve but I'm not going to feel this kind of energy?  It's a decision that could have dire (timewise) consequences.  Bust out too early and nothing will be left at the end.  Don't give yourself enough rope and you'll finish knowing you could have run faster.

Or just run.

That's what I decided to do.  I stepped into the 3:35 pace group and stayed with them. After one or two miles we melded into a cohesive group. Initially, people talked.  It happens in marathons, though I'm not one to participate.  Training runs, yes, most times I like to chat, but races I believe the energy diverted to conversing should be directed to the matter at hand.  

People recognized each other and said hi.  People encouraged one another.  People asked about splits.  The half marathon and the full ran together until about the 10 mile mark, but few people seemed to be aware of that.  I'll admit I looked forward to the split, not because I don't respect the 1/2 marathoners (13.1 miles is still 13.1 miles and props to you for running it), but because it would mean more leg room. Though not elbow to elbow, in my experience all races start out a little tight until people find their comfort zone.  At the 10 mile (I think) point, the 1/2 marathoners peeled off and the race noticeably thinned out. 

I kept running.

There was a hill at the 8 mile mark, but for the most part the course was flat.  It wound through town and then back towards Hayward field.  We left the roads at points and headed into parks, sticking to bike trails and listening to the river.  It was beautiful.  The crowds were sparse but the volunteers were wonderful.   

At certain points, I felt like I had the course to myself.  Such a rarity in a marathon.

At mile 18, I felt the physical presence of The Wall.  I fell to the back of the pace group and didn't fight it, nor did I fight myself.  Internally, I made a deal:  I will not beat myself up.  Sounds cheesy, I know.  But I have spent marathons and other races berating myself and my faults.  Long-distance running is isolation and movement, two elements that can hum my tired mind into a three-hour mantra of negativity.  This time, I decided it would be different.

It was.  When my mind wanted to leap ahead - "Great, mile 19.  That means you still have 7.2 miles to go."  I stopped it.  I thought, "We're just jogging now.  That's all we're doing.  We're jogging."  I don't know why that particularly phrase worked, but it did.  I could deal with jogging.  Racing, running - the Rs weren't working for me.  But I could get my tight hips to jog.  When I lost sight of the pace group, I let it go.  I didn't think about who I was letting down.  In fact, and just go with me on this because it is a little schmaltzy, I thought about Meb Keflezighi and his speech at the expo the evening before.  I'm paraphrasing, but he said during the last ING NY Marathon (2011) he thought he would not finish.  Leg cramps, foot pain, and he had lost the lead pack.  At mile 17, having hit The Wall, he started taking stock of his life and the people who had gotten him to that point.  Instead of thinking, "I will disappoint these people with my terrible finish," he thought, "I am so grateful that these people are in my life and have gotten me here."  Totally different perspective, and it got him to the end of the race and to a PR.  

To me, that story is the difference between looking at the ground while running and looking up at the world around - your body goes where your eyes tell it.  No need to go into lots of details, but I told my body 20 minutes of positive thoughts.  I got my legs moving, got my hands high-fiving little kids as I ran by, got me over my Wall and to mile 23.  And by mile 23, I always feel I can do anything.

The last three miles were through small paths behind Hayward field, past a baseball field, and then onto the street and into the stadium.  By that point, most everyone is running on their own, no double-up, no crowd save for the onlookers cheering in the stands.  That is the joy of a small marathon. It was a beautiful day - short-sleeved shirt (tied my long-sleeved around me by mile 3), sunshine streaming down.  Not a PR race ( I clocked in at 3:43:42) but not all of them are.  It was a great race with a great friend.  And once again I learned that no matter how many times I run 26.2 miles, it is always a one-of-a-kind experience.

Steelhead brewery after the race, Morgan and I.  To the victors, the spoils.

This is me running the Crown-Zellerbach trail last weekend.  It was my longest run prior to the Eugene Marathon, which takes place next Sunday.  An entire post will be dedicated to this trail, as it is epic.  I almost don't want to tell folks about it, not out of proprietary feelings of jealousy, but because I was glad I didn't know what an asskicker it was prior to running it.  I would have had a very different experience had I known about the nearly 2000 feet elevation climb in 10 miles.  As it was, my trusty running partner and I stepped onto this trail on the advice of one of my hairdresser, an ultrarunner (the 108th reason I love the Pacific NW, I might add.  Let me repeat - my hairdresser is an ultrarunner) with no idea what to expect.  20 miles later, we had seen a bald eagle and one other human soul.  Awesome, soulful run.  Felt great.  More to come.

This week, I managed to get in four runs and felt like a slacker.  There were four of us who were going to run Eugene - now it's down to 2. Happens quite often with big races and it's certainly understandable.  Life definitely intervenes.  Our key holders (otherwise known as our husbands) are also bowing out.  Again, they are forgiven.  As much fun as watching races is for us, apparently it's like paint drying for them.  Who knew?

We ran Sauvie Island this morning.  Sauvie is always a good run and good training for flats.  In this area of the world, it's hard to find consistent flats.  Three of us were out there by 7:30 and ran the loop from the parking lot under the bridge, which clocks in at 12.14 miles.  I have extended that run in the past all the way to 16 m (and know several other runners who have tuned it up to 20) simply by adding out and backs on any of the side roads or trail heads that line the loop.  As always, the traffic that early in the morning was minimal.  

My feelings about this marathon are - tempered.  With my past races (even small ones) they become the events I talk about.  I prepare, I speed train, I have the hotel reserved months in advance.  At some point I put the kibosh on the imbibing, at least for a few weeks.  That has not been the case with this run.  

In the car on the way home from my run today, I realized this about Eugene:  instead of having a time I would like to reach, I have a time I don't want to exceed.  I want to enjoy this marathon and not (obsessively) stare at the pacer.  Frankly, I don't know if that's possible.  I don't know if this relaxed participant exists within me.  I know I can run 26.2 miles.  The reason I keep running them is that every time I step to that starting line, a new mindset emerges.  Totally immersed and loving the experience sometimes, utterly defeated at others, unaware of my surroundings but my feet rule the world at still other moments - and those gift miles where I swear to somebody I've disappeared completely.

That's where I'm at and how I'm feeling.  Pasta feed next Saturday and a celebratory beer at Ninkasi afterwards.  You'll be updated - no worries.

I don't mind listening. For the most part I've heard quite a bit of interesting information from these types of conversations.   I've found great running trails ("Hey, if you like that trail you should try...") and I've discovered quiet country races not advertised ("Oh, Race for the Roses is nice but if you want a truly great race, try....you have to actually mail in your entry form.  Or just show up.  Not even on the internet.")

Running advice has also taught me all about marketing and PR.  As an ad person's nightmare (I DVR everything and I fastforward the commercials.  I have brand loyalty to my sneakers but it has more to do with where they are made than a Swoosh on the side) I realize that a good advertisement is often more important than a good product.  That may sound cynical, but think about how many runners you have heard rave about the benefits of compression arm warmers.  Or my particular favorite:  the awed conversation I was on the listening end of about Nike's upcoming Olympic running shoe, the Fly Knit racer.  It's made out of 2 pieces of yarn - and costs $150.  I know nothing about the shoe.  It could be great.  But I couldn't help but giggle, much to the irritation of the acolyte gazing upward as she spoke of said shoe, at each piece of fiber costing $75 a piece.  

Fly away Fly Knit!  Fly!  Fly!

I digress.  Much information about running comes from major publications.  I read a lot of information on the internet - I'm the geek with the NYTimes digital subscription, flipping through articles on the Washington Post, treading through Salon, wrinkling my nose at Slate, you get the picture.  Advice on the health blog in the Times holds more weight than Joe at the banana station after a race for obvious reasons, but also because so many beginner runners/racers read those blogs. 

Case in point:  Last month in the NYTimes Health blog, Gina Kolata wrote about whether or not one should snack while running.  The article is about the relatively new trend (and subsequently related multi-million dollar industry) of eating as a supplement to exercise.   

 There were certain points in the article I agreed with, namely that the benefits of eating while moderately exercising are negligible.  The article talks specifically about people snacking when doing short runs.  Numerous people interviewed made the point there were no clear benefits for eating blocks, goos, granola bars, etc., when going out for a 5 or 10K run.  In fact, the energy needed to digest such foods could actually detract from a race (as could the sudden need for a bathroom).  Anecdotally, I thought about it from a restriction of movement standpoint.  One of the joys of a 10K or a 5K is that there is no need to carry anything.  It's just you and your race bib doing that thing you trained for - running.  There's no aiming for water stations (unless it's a really hot day) or running people over for gummy bears.  You miss all that if you've got an ill-fitting water belt strapped to you filled with every bar imaginable, trying to open a goo.  

Yet the idea that you have to eat while running is firmly entrenched.  At a gathering recently of friends, one woman spoke to me about training for a sprint Tri the previous summer.  It had been her first race of any kind.  "It was hard to eat the gels." she explained of her 5K practice workouts.  Gels, plural.   Another woman chimed in with a similar story when she trained for walking a 1/2 marathon.  "The shot blocks gave me the worst indigestion." she explained.  I am in now way denigrating my friends' training - only using their experiences as an example of how deep-seated the belief in eating while exercising has become.

The article also talked about more intense exercise and eating.  As someone who currently runs in excess of 50 miles a week and is (somewhat desperately at this point) amping up the mileage for the Eugene marathon, I'm in the pro-eating camp.  I I trained for and ran my first  marathon without the benefit shot bloks/snacks.   I remember a solo training 20-miler on a beautiful sunny day on the Leif Ericson trail.  No food, some water.  When I finished, I shakily got in my car to drive to my house.  I pulled over to the first gas station and consumed whatever brightly packaged faux-chocolate happened to be by the counter when I walked in.   As someone who used to ride their bike constantly, I should have been aware of the dangers of the bonk (glycogen stores in the liver and muscles so depleted that immediate recovery proves difficult).  For whatever reason, I did not apply that to running.

After that marathon, I started listening to other runners and bloks became a part of my long runs.  If I am going longer than 12 miles, I take along my trusty shot bloks, orange or fruit juice flavored, and I eat 3 or 4 spaced out over the last few miles.   I do it for two reasons:  A) it gives me a nice little boost of pure sugar when my body needs it.  I'm sure there's a psychological element which is okay with me.  And B)  If I eat while training, my body won't freak out when I'm racing because I've introduced something new to it.  

 The article doesn't seem to think long-distance runners necesarily need food.  Fine, I'm sure some don't.  I am not one of those, for the reasons I stated above.  I am not one of those RunnersWorld runners who finish a long run and eat 1/2 a potato and a small yogurt, either.  Some people are.  (Liars.)   

This is my advice (and it will have repercussions.  Advice always does).

1) If you're running less than 10 miles, just run.  Pay attention to your body, not the snacks.  They'll be there when you get back.  If you bring anything, bring water.  

2) Any marathon you run well without food you'll run better with it.  And as we've now turned into a society where we have to point out that we're not talking about the most extreme, I'll point out that I'm not talking about the most extreme:  No three-course meal.  When you're sagging, have a block or two.  I realize that the elite runners don't eat while running.  I will pat you on the head like your grandma at this point and say kindly:  You're not the next Meb Keflezighi.  Eat your goo.

3) Don't introduce anything new to your body on race day.  If you haven't worn it training, don't wear it on race day.  And if you haven't been eating it training, don't decide to "try it out" on race day.  The article had this ridiculous example of a long-distance runner on race day eating this new food she saw her competitor eating and she had a terrible race and that's why you shouldn't eat on race day.  Wrong conclusion.  Right conclusion: "That's why you shouldn't try new food on race day."

And most importantly, please remember:

For the past two weeks I have been taking care of business.  Long-delayed business. Health issues, mostly.  Oh, nothing serious.   All of it just part of The Nag. The hamstring pain that taunts me when I run, the lower back numbness that propels me out of my seat after a few hours of working, those persistent itchy patches on my legs/face that numerous MD's have said, "Oh, nothing you can do but take these strong steroidal creams.  They'll shut down your immune system for a bit and that's a bummer but, you know - I'm very busy.  Would you like some narcotics?  I can give you the don't-call-me prescription.  Very popular."  Okay, they don't really say that. That's me being irritable.  And itchy.  Eczema will do that (and Primrose Oil seems to have helped, along with a few other extreme measures which I will discuss in a different post).  

Evening Primrose - pretty

The hamstring (which leads directly to back pain) demanded immediate attention. Eugene is happening in less than 11 weeks .  I'm running it with three good friends and we've settled into a happy and heavy routine.  Five days a week I run between 5-7 miles, one day we do speedwork, and our long run right now is hanging at 16 miles for the next two weeks before we up it.  We feel pretty good where we are.  We've got a couple races lined up that we're using as benchmarks in our training (although we'll be damned if we can find a good trail 1/2 around the end of March/beginning of April, but mostly that's due to scheduling constraints.  We'll probably just end up doing Race for the Roses, which is a great race, I've just done it before and I wanted one that wasn't on pavement).  All of this means that the hamstring needs to get and stay healthy.

Serendipitously, while recovering from a particularly uncomfortable run, I read about a stretching clinic on the Oregonian's RunOregon blog. Held at Inner Elements Yoga Studio on Burnside, it was a workshop solely for runners.   I couldn't believe - it was exactly what I had been looking for.  A 2 hour clinic NOT filled with slender wisps placing the weight of their bodies on their cervical spine while breathing effortlessly!  I signed up.

I like yoga.  I live in the NW, if I didn't I would be asked to return my keys to the city and exit stage left.  I've been an off-and-on participant at various yoga studios since moving to Portland 12 years ago.  I would also put money on the table that I am the least flexible person in every class I attended.  I admit it, I have no shame.  I don't stretch.  And none of this,  "I don't stretch enough."  No, I'll finish 20 miles on pavement and that's-all-folks afterwards.  If you're a runner, you know what I'm saying.  I finished Chicago, got my medal, packet of pretzels and my free beer and SAT DOWN on the grass along with everyone else.  Other than the guy with the charlie horses screaming in pain trying to extend his leg, we were all relaxing, not stretching. And if you're a runner and you insist on telling me that you stretch properly before and after every run, I'll nod politely.  I won't believe you, but it's okay, I won't judge you.  You're secret is safe with me.

It's not that I doubt the benefits of stretching.  I do - wholeheartedly.  I look at yoga folk (or hell, people who can touch their toes without moaning) and I'm jealous.  Jealous like I'm jealous of 6-minute milers.  I do not understand this block in my cerebral cortex that prevents me from doing what is so obviously right.  

All this brings me to the clinic.  I went.  I went and I stretched for 2 hours and it was, as I'm sure you can imagine, astonishing.  There were 12 of us, all runners, all with various aches and pains, all still running.  Our fearless yoga leader, Willow, took we ill-tempered, stubborn runners through stretches and strength building for our feet, calves, thighs, hips (oh, the hips - parts of the body I didn't even realize were so tight!) and the back/shoulders.  I could have continued for hours more.  It was a repetitive and necessary coming-to-Jesus moment.  This makes running better. 

I think part of my issue is that I view stretching as a form of cross-training (and yes, I know that's irrational).  And cross-training has been my hurdle.  I understand the benefits of cross-training just as I understand the benefits of stretching.  I do other physical activities besides running.  I attempted Xfit and felt results almost immediately. I have friends who go several times a week and insist it would be difficult to go back to running marathons without the kind of strength and endurance it brings them.  I understand and see their results.  I also know, after attending a few times, that I cannot pay someone to yell at me like that.  It reminded me of high school gym class and the reason I gave up on sports entirely for almost a decade.  

My husband and I bought tennis rackets for Christmas.  We meant to use them.

We hike.  Our dog gets walked.  But it all feels like it's taking time away from what's important - running.

Hopefully, it will be different with this yoga studio.  I signed up as I really like Willow, the lead instructor and owner as she works a lot with runners, and because hope springs eternal.  I believe my mental block can be overcome.  Funny how I can get myself to run however many miles a week yet going to an hour long yoga class takes so much mental preparation.

I did speak to Willow about issues with my lower back/hamstrings as I filled out paperwork.  In reply, she took this flattering picture of me:

No matter what - the double chin rears it's head.

She said the way I stand correlates with my back pain.  I stand like a toddler.  Gut out and core deactivated, lower back decompressed, hamstrings stressed/stretched.  She called this Dead Bottom Syndrome.   She had me stand up and unlock my knees which immediately pulled my stomach in and activated my glutes.  "Pay attention as you go through your day."  I cannot express the difference this simple advice has made.  Those words and this picture of my poor posture - I mean, really?  Between the ages of 2 and 35 I apparently never contemplated the words, "Stand up straight!"

Packet pickup was the day before the race at Foot Traffic on 2nd Avenue and Yamhill. Morgan (on the left) had arranged for us to do this event as a team as we were looking for an SYA February event.  She found me inside and said, "Oh, we're next door having a beer."  That pretty much set the tone for this 12K, and not just for Morgan and me but Adam and Theresa on their own separate adventure as well.  None of us really accepted we were running a race until we were standing at the starting line Sunday morning.  

Not that we went hogwild Saturday.  No, just a few beers and lots of wings at Pok Pok (just saying "wings" and "Pok Pok" makes my mouth water.  I'm not even hungry and I still have a Pavlovian reaction).  But to quote Morgan, "Did you think I'm racing tomorrow?  I'm not - I'm running."

That's how we all felt.  The 12K/SYA race would basically be a timed training run for us. Training races are brilliant and should be included, in my own humble opinion, in all training plans.  They stave off boredom and stir up those competitive feelings that drive you at the starting line, even if you're only competing with yourself.  When I finish a race of any length, motivation is greatly increased, even if it's driven by not wanting a repeat of the race experience I just had.

We parked under the Hawthorne bridge on the east side and walked across.  Note to runners - parking on the east side is the way to go for downtown races.  You don't pay, you don't have to worry about post race traffic (although in the case of the Fanconi/Anemia race, there wasn't any), and it's a short distance across the river.  

At the start line, there was a person holding up a 12K sign, a few paces behind an 8K sign, and further back the 5K for runners and walkers.  

I couldn't say how many people ran/walked, although the 12K was by far the smallest number.  I would guess about 1000.  Our teammate Theresa checked out the competition.  She's the gal who won her first marathon.  And came in third at the last Fueled by Fine Wine 1/2 marathon.  Folks, have you run that race?  It's brilliant, and outside of my marathons the most difficult race I've ever run.   Needless to say, we weren't planning on running with Theresa.  

The buzzer sounded and the race began at a good pace.  We ran down the esplanade towards the condos and the Old Spaghetti factory.  Morgan, Adam and I chatted and kept our pace right around 7:45.  People scooted past us and, after we hit the 2nd mile marker, we scooted past them.  The paths, while narrow, worked well for a race of this size.  Volunteers were plentiful and in appropriate positions on this somewhat circuitous route.  If you've run the Eastside/Westside esplanade loop (Springwater starting by OMSI, up over Sellwood bridge, west side taking paths through industrial area into Willamette Park and then through the condos) then you know this route.  

Again, let me comment on this stunningly mild February weather.

See the two in brown up ahead?  Adam and Morgan.  

And also let me comment on these photographs.  I ran with my old camera in my hand instead of a water bottle for the duration of the race (oh, the things I do for you, WPE!). Needless to say, picture angle and lighting were not foremost in my mind when I took these quickie shots.  My apologies.

Normally, I'm not a big fan of out-and-back races.  Regardless of the scenery in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "I have to do this AGAIN."   Perhaps it was my familiarity with the course, or the distance which I quite liked, but the out-and-back didn't bother me much this time.  

We turned around at Willamette Park and headed back.  There had been a bit of crossover between the 12K and other races prior to the turn-around, mostly with the fast 8K runners.  Running back into town we now encountered The Walkers.

Let's talk about The Walkers.  Not everyone is a runner (I know - shocking!).  Walking is a much more accessible avenue for charity events.  So many people are able to take part who wouldn't otherwise if the event was only for runners.  Their entry $$$ help pay for all the waivers and permits needed for the race, just like mine do.  And it would be ridiculous for an event dedicated to health not to have an event for people perhaps not healthy enough to run.

All things I told myself as I dodged walkers at the end of my run.  Whenever I run a race/walk combined, the above paragraph is my mantra, which I hope will someday replace the  much-less evolved other voice in my head going, "GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!"

That said, the dodging at the Fanconi Anemia run was not nearly as bad as it has been at other run/walks (ex. ANY Shamrock run).  Plenty of room, a level of awareness about the other people on the course.  Enough said on that subject.

We finished back where we started under the Morrison Bridge.  Morgan, myself, Adam. Theresa cheered us on from sidelines.  She came in second for women, fourth overall. Did I mention she was at my house recovering from having her wisdom teeth out last weekend and this is the first time she's run in a week?  Even if I'm not fast, I like having fast friends.  

Homemade cinnamon roles provided at the end of the race.  We thought a lot about these while running.  

[Update: February 17, 2012 - 1200 runners and walkers took part in the Valentine Fanconi Anemia run and they raised $46,500.

Results for the 12K:

I have lived near Rocky Butte for nearly a year. It is as near to my home as my favorite running destination, Mt. Tabor, though in the opposite direction.  I was aware of its existence but had little idea what the running conditions were like.   When I entered "Rocky Butte" into Google, several articles about teenagers falling off cliffs, the Grottos Festival of Lights, and a Red Lizards forum from 2006 that talked about the short, very steep trails covering the butte popped up.  I found very little evidence of a running communiaty or running trails.  My own experience at RB was limited to a bike ride six or seven years prior. I remembered a fort and little else.  As I was in need of some motivation and new routes, I grabbed my trusted running partner and we headed out.  It was Saturday and the weather was stunning - sunny, clear, and blustery.  

We headed towards Halsey and crossed the Banfield at the 74th overpass bridge. We turned right at Tillamook and ran along Rose City Golf course towards 82nd.  Rose City is a municipal course with well-kept grounds that seems to be ever open.  I can't speak to what it's like to play there - I am not a golfer, just the daughter of an avid one.  That means I been taken on school vacations at many, many golf courses.  What I will say is this - I like running around and through golf courses.  To generalize, they're usually well-lit and the roads surrounding either have sidewalks or wide shoulders.  Tillamook has both, plus cool retro-looking houses I can't get enough of.

At 82nd, we went straight through the intersection to 92nd. We passed Hancock Park on our right, a small park filled with old Douglas Firs that I have a little bit of a crush on.  It has kid play structures and is smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood with wide streets, well-kept houses and shiny cars.  The folks in the houses waved and called out "Nice day!" when we went by.  I like this area a lot.  It helps that it is decidedly and unabashedly uncool.

You can see Rocky Butte over this neighborhood.  

Tillamook Street - Rocky Butte in the background

It's not overly imposing.  A butte is an isolated hill with steep, often vertical sides and a flat top.  Rocky Butte is a volcanic cone and is one of about 50 throughout the Portland area (there's also Kelly Butte and Powell Butte, to name a couple others), all part of the Boring Lava Field.  For more detailed history about the butte, check out The Columbia River.

More important for a run, Rocky Butte is a little over 600 feet.  At the end of Tillamook, we took a left onto 92nd Avenue.  There is a sidewalk on the left side and a wide dirt shoulder on the right.  We passed Jason Lee Elementary on the right.

92nd Street 

(If it seems odd that I have no pictures of Morgan or I running on this beautiful day, it's due to my not having a camera with me.  No, we ran out 10 miles and enjoyed it.  These pictures are from 24 hours later, when I walked the first 5 miles with my dog.)

Go for the hill, it's worth it.

At the fork, we took NE Rocky Butte Road.  Yes, it's that simple.  The sign reads Rocky Butte 1.4 miles.  The road winds it's way up and around the butte on a steady incline.  There is no sidewalk, however there is a shoulder on the left side that was more than comfortable to run on.  

Two of the eight people I saw in the two hours I spent at Rocky Butte.

Head up.

The tunnel has a narrow sidewalk on each side.  Again, I felt totally comfortable both running and walking my dog through this.  Also, on the other side of the tunnel on the opposite side of the road there is a trail.  This trail looks like you can climb straight up to the fort, therefore bypassing a good section of road if one so chose.  I only noticed it today and have not in fact tried it.  I will update this post when I do.

Keep going up.

Buster found some sort of discarded meat bone here on the side of the road and was kind enough to bring it to me.

At the top of this hill, there's a plateau.  Views of the city stretch to the west, the mountains to the east.  We did a sort of U-turn around large houses built on cliffs and dense tree stands and headed toward the fort, which we still could not see. 

Fort!

Finally, we see some stone work.  I need to point out here again that the weather was stunning.  It is February.  In the Northwest when the sun comes out, people emerge from their housing units like moles from dirt.  We blink our eyes warily and then start doing odd things - furiously garden as though we may not see the sun again for weeks (we might not), or planting ourselves outside in lawn chairs in winter hats, fleece jacket and shorts, drinking growlers.  Everybody - and I mean everybody - gets on their bikes. Or at least gets them out of their garage/living rooms and contemplates them. This past weekend was by far one of the most beauitful in the last six weeks.  And this was the count for # of folks seen on Sunday at Rocky Butte: cyclists (10), walkers (5), cars (4) and runners (1).

Caveat:  My husband pointed out to me that Sunday happened to be SUPERBOWL SUNDAY. Hence, perhaps there were less people out.  I will cede this point.  However, I'm sticking to my guns - Rocky Butte does not appear to be terribly trafficked. 

Entrance to the Fort.

Joseph Wood Hill - short version:  prominent guy from first part of the 20th century, started a military academy in NW Portland, later moved it to Rocky Butte, now like a mini-Lewis & Clark several things in NE are named after him.

There was no question we would stop once we reached the top, heart rates be damned. It was simply too pretty.  We were richly rewarded.

 Hood.

Again, it was just us.

St. Helens

When I look at these mountains I recognize I am fortunate.  I am lucky I live amidst such beauty.   Through some unexplained providence I live a mere 2 miles from this glory.  It is breathtaking and it is within reach.  Not only that, individuals within this city have had the forethought not to privatize areas like this.  Anyone can get to them. Anyone can run to them.  No gated communities were bypassed, no "No Trespassing" signs.  

Look, a river! 

We played around a bit more before continuing our run.  We ran down the other side of the butte on NE Rocky Butte Road.  An older gentleman stopped and asked us if we had run the entire way up.  He had a hat on that said "Jesus."  He told us the last time he had been up to the top was 50 years previously, when he had graduated from college. He was revisiting old haunts.  He wished us luck and we carried on.

We ran past the Multnomah Bible College until we reached the fork of 92nd Street and NE Fremont.  We ran straight down Fremont to the intersection at 33rd, than turned around and headed into the Alameda neghborhood, across Halsey, and into Montavilla to return to my house.  Our total mileage ended at 10.07.  Depending on where you start, one could easily add or subtract 4-5 miles.  We plan on running from Tabor to Rocky Butte within the next two weeks.  I can't recommend it enough.  A lovely run with good hill work.

Oh, and my dog loved walking it, as well.  When he and I returned to our house on Sunday, he drank two bowls of water and curled up with his favorite plush toy.  A good day.  

Buster, happily tuckered out after our Rocky Butte walk.  My sister sent him the squeaky toy dragon. I will be sending my 2-year-old nephew a drumset for his birthday.

The insomniatic flow chart goes like this: 

a) not going to make it to the race on time

b) not going to accomplish my goal time set for the race

c) not going to ever pay my bills

d) not going to pay off my outstanding debt

e) not going to accomplish anything in life so I should simply give up completely (it's 2 am, time to toss and turn and bring out the big guns).

On some rational, sane level I understand that this is my anxiety speaking and not reality.  I also have done enough races to know that nothing will kill a quality race faster than shame-cycle insomnia.  Counting sheep doesn't help me.  Yogic breathing makes me feel guilty for not doing enough cross-training.  Instead, I focus on the IF-ONLY game.

Initially, the IF-ONLY game will seem counter-intuitive.  Stick with me - I'll explain afterwards.

Some background:

 Buster, our lab/Rottweiler.

My dog, Buster, the world's happiest dog.  Look at this picture - he's running!  He's smiling!  He's joyful!  I've run with him several times and he has proved to be a wondrous speed trainer.  He'll gallop along our city streets, pulling me towards whatever dog park is imprinted into his dog brain.  Until he comes to a lilac bush.  Or a cigarette butt.  Or another dog (higher power save you if your are walking the other dog, as Buster must have your attention and the best way to do this is hump your dog while looking at you).  

 We got Buster the Big Buddy less than a year ago.  I never wanted a dog.  Ever.  I had cats growing up.  When I met my husband, he said he had one rule:  no cats.  Two months later, we got Ramsey.

Ramsey the Super Doodle in our former apartment

Ramsey and my husband adore one another.  Ramsey also adored our former landlady, which was a problem as we weren't allowed to have cats in that building.  We were asked to leave.  Ramsey's new name became Little Eviction.

Out on a bike ride near our new apartment, we heard meowing coming from a nearby field.  There, Sprocket found us and informed us we were acceptable and he would consent to live with us. 

Sprocket at another former apartment. We move a lot.

So, cats yes.  Dogs, nope.  Mike wanted a dog.  We live in Portland and it felt like every person we knew had Australian sheepherder dogs.  Untrained Australian sheepherder dogs. Untrained Australian sheepherder dogs that went batshit when they were released from little tiny apartments instead of playing in big huge fields herding sheep. I repeat, I did not want a dog.

And then, on my husband's birthday, we got robbed.  We were not home. I changed my mind about getting a dog.  

So we have Buster, who is massive.  He's big, all black, and has a gigantic bark.  He's also the biggest lover in the world.  I didn't expect to love him quite as much as I do.  Is there anything better than coming home to a dog?  Why don't dog owners talk about this?  It's like Christmas presents at the end of every workday.  I walk through the door on the days I don't work at home and here is this being that is breathlessly, unabashedly happy to see me.  It's brilliant.  It makes up for every walk in the rain and all that poop I pick up.

Buster, however, does impact the running on many different level..  

Level 1: sleeping.  My husband is a baker.  He gets up at 3 am several times a week. The cats don't notice.  In fact, our cats are great sleepers.  Cats try to convince you to sleep more.  They're good like that. Buster, not so much.  Buster is an alarm clock.  He gets up with my husband, who then feeds him at 3 am.   Of course, you can't feed an animal at 3 am SOMETIMES.  He nuzzles, he shakes the bed, and then when we still ignore him he simply goes downstairs and goes nuclear.  That loud bark I was so into when we got him?  My neighbor isn't such a big fan at 3 am.

All this reminds me of stories my friends who have children tell me about 2 am feedings.  Except those children will grow out of those feedings.  I don't believe Buster has any intention of doing that.  IF ONLY we were better dog parents and didn't continue to give in to him.  IF ONLY I could sleep more. IF ONLY he didn't have such a stupid cute face (and he does - look at that picture. Bastard).  

I get up an hour earlier in order to walk him before I go to work.  I used to get up an hour early to go running.  IF ONLY I didn't have to do that.  Now my running is relegated to after work.  You know what often happens after work instead in the winter?

Okay, this was taken at the Purple Pig in Chicago, but it could easily be any place in Portland in the winter.

IF ONLY I had the willpower to say, no, I am going out in this 42 degree pouring rainy darkness instead of to a cozy brewery with truffle fries and garlic aioli and good friends and I am going to do something good for my body. 

Which brings us to diet.   I can lie in bed and play the If-Only game for hours often solely based on food.  It's January and several people I know are on diets.  Gluten-free, macrobiotic, etc. The other night I was having wine at a friend's home and we discussed the possibility of doing without processed foods.  I fully took part in the conversation without admitting that that day I had consumed frozen pizza and Cheddar Chex Mix. And nothing else.  See, I live in a food mecca but eat like I am surrounded by a food desert. Hand-crafted and local are extremely easy to get in Portland.  My husband works for a local natural grocery store, we get a sizable discount and yet I still have Fritos in my cupboard.   I am blessed with a hardworking metabolism, but think what a runner I could be IF ONLY I drank strawberry-cucumber smoothies and kale chips!

IF ONLY!  

So how the hell does the If-Only game help me go to sleep?

If only gets me thinking about my dog and my cats.  They, along with my husband, are my family and they crack me up even as they drive me wild.  My diet? Ack, I like Doritos and I like being a contrarian (can you tell?) so even as I bemoan my nutrition-deficient ways, there's a part of me that likes the fact that I'm running races my way.  I feel myself calm down when I play this game.  The anxiety dissipates, replaced by the excitement about the upcoming race.  Sure, I'd have a better race if I gave up my dog, my cats, my wine and snack food, but the reason running is such a wonderful form of exercise is that it doesn't require me to give up my life.  

I'd happily give up the bills, though.  Junk food, yes, bills, no.  Who's with me?

via hellogiggles.com

My gym teacher was the same stereotype. Ms. Stone I don't believe could run to save her life, but she enjoyed nothing more than a 45-minute track workout with no breaks. I do believe phys-ed trauma is at least among the type-5 reasons for children turning away from exercise.
My favorites on this list? 5 and 10.
(And yes, I know I'm slacking by reposting someone else's blog. I'll be back later with my own post, promises...)

I take my vacations in January.  My husband and I both work in professions that require us to be available during holidays.  We work, others play.  I don't mind it, to be honest.  I haven't celebrated a Christmas morning with relatives since I was 18 and I did not cling closely to traditions prior to that.  And January is a lovely time to get away - burnout is nearly complete and flights/hotels are cheap.

Arizona was not our first choice, I'll admit.  But my folks, who live as far away from Oregon as one can get and still be in the same country, were in the SW playing golf.  So we scooted down for a week of 70 degree winter temperatures and a free place to stay. There had been talk, months ago, of running the Rock N' Roll marathon in Phoenix.  By November, I knew that wasn't going to happen.  I needed a break from training.  I needed to eat and drink and sleep.  I needed weekends without a self-imposed schedule.  So I skipped the race but not the downtime.  As I relaxed around the pool (I'm a Northeasterner at heart.  70+ in the sun and I'm in a bathing suit) I realized it was the first vacation I had taken in over 2 years that didn't involve a race.

Phoenix far exceeded my expectations.  I had been before when I was 16.  My family ostensibly came so I could visit ASU.  My father took one look at the massive campus attended by, at the time, upwards of 20,000 students and said he wasn't sending me to a warehouse.  I remember I looked at the desert and simply failed to understand it. We swam in hotel pool in Scottsdale and drove to Sedona, which had the red rock we expected.  We drove to the Grand Canyon, looked at it, and drove away.

This trip was different.  This trip, I appreciated waking up to run in January and putting on only a long-sleeved running shirt. I heard a weatherman say, "10% chance of rain," one day.  I ran 5-6 flat miles three of the five days we were there.  The other days we hiked, once Camelback Mountain, situated in the middle of Phoenix, and once we drove up to Sedona and hiked a box canyon whose name I don't remember.  I saw jack rabbits and coyote, both lost in the endless cul-de-sacs and golf courses creeping through the desert.  And I ran along the drainage canals.

Drainage canals, Phoenix

The canals filter through the city, Scottsdale, Mesa, lining the neighborhoods and strip malls and gold courses.  Flat and unpaved, they are urban Arizona's trails.  I would run for time and then simply turn around and run back, or grab a guide from the resort we stayed at and follow their directions.  They all involved the canals.  The canals couldn't be easier for a traveling runner and everyone seemed to use them.

Prior to flying out, I met up with some Hood to Coast teammates. Karl, Bart, and Mel live and work in Phoenix.  Julie, Sam, and Morgan had flown in from Portland to run the Rock N' Roll.  They, too, had planned on doing the full marathon but life had altered their plans and all were pleased to be doing 13.1 miles instead.  The following day, they would had great races with 60+ degrees and sun.

We talked about those of us running the upcoming WWR race in Colorado and shared lots of battle stories.  My husband is a good sport.  He drank beer and listened patiently as we compared shoes, times, and wounds.  

And now I'm back and there is an inch of snow on the ground in Portland, a rarity already being eaten by this morning's rain.  I ran Mt. Tabor last night with my running group.  Today I'll run 7 miles on my own.  Tomorrow, Theresa, Morgan and I are up and at the track at 5 am for speed training.  Vacation is over but I feel refreshed and ready for the next round of training.  Motivation has kicked in again.

Let it begin.

The name grabs you attention, right?  Hopefully, you find it amusing.  Maybe you're offended.  Either way, you're mind is focused on the name.

You pause and wait for the pack of runners to move past you.  You see the back of the shirt.  SYA's hope is that the name will stick with you, for whatever reason, and soon, you'll make an appointment for a routine procedure that could save your life.  

Save Your Ass's (SYA) is a new nonprofit organization established by my friend Morgan to spread awareness about colectoral cancer detection.  Colectoral cancer is cancer of the bowel, rectum, or colon.  Basically the areas of the body so many of us like to pretend aren't there.

What does this have to do with running?

Let's talk.  Let's talk about training.  Let's talk about being successful in past races and setting goals for future ones.  Let's talk about training for months both alone and with a running group, dedicating all those Saturdays and evenings to get the mileage in, watching the diet (you think), doing the strength training (okay, you actually don't do well at the strength training but that's your aim for this marathon).  And regardless of the work, all you feel is fatigue.  Not I'm-tired-but-proud, but clear-cut exhaustion. When you run, your extremeties hurt and feel like not enough blood is getting to them. Walking up two flights of stairs to the cafeteria at work causes shortness of breath.  

But, dammit, you can run those 20 miles with group, even if you're nearly comatose afterwards.

In your head, you know something is wrong.  But for three, than four months, you push that thought away.  You're getting older.  Running just feels different at this age.  What woman isn't tired?  I didn't eat well yesterday.  I paid for this stupid marathon I don't care if I have pneumonia I'm not bailing on it.  To ensure you run the marathon, you tell everyone and their mother you're not only running but attempting a PR.  

Get to marathon.  Run 13.5 miles.  Collapse.  Go to doctor two weeks later (because even failing to finish marathon doesn't get you to a doctor.  Wounds your pride too much to talk it about at first).  Doctor does tests.  You are extremely anemic.  Your hematocrit level, which measures the percentage of red blood cells in the plasma, is a 4. Normal for women my age is between 36 and 46.

What does anemia have to do with SYA and colectoral cancer? My doctor insisted I have an EGD (esophagogastroduodenoscopy - there's a million dollar word!), short for an upper scope.  I also had to have a colonoscopy, as they had to find out why I had such severe anemia at such a young age.  The determination?  I'm a long-distance runner with a shitty diet.  Note to self - eat more iron.  

What was particularly hard for me about this experience (and it wasn't the procedures. Actual colonoscopy - no big deal), was my reluctance to see a doctor when I knew I was so obviously sick.  That has everything to do with SYA's mission.  As an athlete, I thought of and think of myself as healthy.  To admit that perhaps I wasn't poked a hole in the persona I had created.  When I told people I was ill, people responded (without animosity), "But you're so active!"  I wanted to shout, "I know! I run so I don't have to see doctors."

I think a lot of people have this mindset, even if it's hidden.  We don't want to go see doctors.  We talk about our family history ("Oh, no one has colon cancer in my family, I'm fine."  or "My parents/grandparents/uncles/aunts lived to be 100 and they never had a colonoscopy/doctor's appointment.")  Or we don't talk about it all.  As a runner, I feel that I'm in the rare section of the population where we talk about our colons, if only to discuss how regular they are and how many bathroom breaks are needed at races.  But I certainly don't get into discussions with many other people about them.  And to be frank, until the whole anemia thing I don't think I'd ever had a conversation with my own DOCTOR about bowel movements, either.

SYA wants to get people talking about colonoscopies.  They want to get beyond the excuses.  Put out some fun teeshirts, make a fun race.  Then make the appointment. The name was chosen so people have to talk about the obvious (A stands for ASS people - just thought I'd bring that up again).  Wouldn't it be a different world were you could talk about colon cancer detection in the same way as people now talk about mammograms?

The Save Your Ass Foundation website will be up soon.  We had our inaugural race on December 24.

Seth, Morgan (founder of SYA), Dan, Adam, me, and Buster the Velvet Bulldozer

There will be more races and more events soon, as well as a working website.  In the meantime, information and/or inquiries can be found and sent to this site.

(On a sidenote that all of us involved found very funny, SaveYourASS has already been taken as a domain name by a donkey rescue foundation.  Honestly, you can't make this stuff up.)