Limping around the Office. It Must Be Tuesday

I have found a new friend at the gym: the Bosu Ball.

It looks like a yoga ball that has had its end chopped off and stuck on a piece of hard plastic. According to the website: "At its essence, BOSU® Training is about expanding movement capabilities while reshaping the body and strengthening the mind." I don't know about all of that, but I do know that it's a fun tool for those of us who are sick of regular squats and lunges. I used it yesterday as a platform - a wobbly, shaky platform - for military presses and then attempted to do squats on the hard plastic side while trying not to bust my ass. I don't know if it'll make me fitter, stronger, or a better athlete. But hey - it's still fun.

The Bosu is part of my attempt to not be sore after lifting. I thought that I would be able to do more reps with lighter weights, and as a result I wouldn't be achy from the waist down for the next three days. But guess what: I was wrong. Here I am, in my cute little glittery shoes, limping around the office and trying not to whimper.

The Possibility of Fish

Ever since I wrote an eighth grade research paper on factory farming (and made several arguments to my mom), I have abstained from eating meat in all its forms - chicken, beef, pork, and fish.

That was half my life ago.

Recently, after doing some educational reading and TV watching (and a lot of soul-searching), I have been thinking more and more about eating fish once again. No longer do I object to eating meat because animals are killed in the process; I object to eating (most) meat because (most) animals are treated so poorly before they're killed. But fish are usually different, right? The fresh ones - the only one's I'd consider eating - happily swim around for their whole lives until *gasp!* they die from lack of water (or from being bashed in the head / boiled alive / etc.)

I think I'd like to try my first piece of fish on my birthday, February 3rd. My only hang-up is that I couldn't technically call myself a vegetarian anymore. Pretty stupid.

Thoughts? Opinions?

Stress, or a Lack Thereof

I am leaving out names and details to protect the innocent.

This doesn't really have anything to do with running, but it's been on my mind when I run (does that count?)

I recently was reprimanded for not appearing to be stressed-out. Really. I was told that even though I hadn't done anything wrong, and in fact had done everything right, I still should have appeared to be stressed to satisfy the parties involved.

If I hadn't stifled my immediate reaction I would have asked the those parties, "What is the worst thing that ever happened to you? Was it a missed deadline? Did you lose a pet when you were a little kid? Did your high school girl/boyfriend break up with you?"

Perspective. When you experience many terrible, trying, life-changing things, your perspective tends to be different. Something that seems like a big deal to people who haven't experienced profoundly sad situations will not seem like a big deal to people who have because the latter group knows what real hurt and fear feels like.

This sort of a perspective is a blessing caused by a curse. A crude personal illustration: My dog threw up the other day. It was running, smelly, and voluminous. But because I watched my father die steadily for two years by the time I was 10 years old, I experienced the dog throw-up as something icky but minor. She didn't mean to do it, so I cleaned it up, gave her a pat on the head, and went on with my day.

Stress, with the exception of some pretty rare occasions (i.e muggings, car accidents, illnesses and deaths, etc.), is also a choice. While we can't control every situation, we can control every reaction to almost every situation. The beauty of this is that we don't even have to be one of the blessed/cursed folks who have experienced bad shit to control our stress levels. We can have had perfect lives and still choose not to be stressed-out.

Something funny I've noticed about stress is that showing it openly, like a prize, seems to be a product of the mundane. People who really experience stress in their jobs - ER doctors, pilots, firefighters, etc. - are experts at remaining calm under pressure. Those of us who work mundane jobs, watch mundane TV, and do as we're told are the ones who show stress the most. What's up with that?

I have made the decision not to be stressed except in those very rare circumstances I listed above. While I might get in trouble for it, I'm not going to compromise my mental state. So there!

Oh, and running helps.

Do You Need a Spot?

I hopped on a treadmill last week for a quick 10-minute warm-up. The barrel chested man power walking two treadmills over said, "You better not come over here unless you're prepared to do the work for me." We continued to banter awkwardly about having to work out when our family members didn't, and he ended the conversation saying, "But we fat people have to go to the gym." Nice...

We met up once again in the free weight room. Mr. Bodybuilder was on the Smith Machine grunting away while doing some sort of upper body work while I was happily listening to Brent Dennen doing squats next door. "Why do you do them backwards?" Apparently I was facing a different direction than you were "supposed" to (whatever - squats are squats), so he took that as an opportunity to tell me I should do more reps. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, he offered to spot me through my next set. And on the bench press.

While a part of me was weirded out, the other, more athletic part was saying, "But you just did more reps then ever before." Then the other part countered with, "Yes, but you are sore as a mothafucka." True that.

Since our encounter last week, Mr. Bodybuilder and I have seen each other again. I've steered clear of him, but I also smiled on the inside when he said on Saturday, "Watch out guys - the queen bee is here."

Living Deliberately

In the spirit of Thanksgiving...

This is a great period of evolution for me, or perhaps I am just more self-aware. My world view has been changing, my stress-level decreasing, my emotional and physical health improving. Things that were once mundane now give me reason to celebrate, i.e. making dinner or riding my bike to work. (Those things haven't changed. I have.)

One small change I've made has been a decision to savor everything I eat. No more mindless eating, only that which is mindful. The benefits of this seem to be fourfold (at least): I eat slower, I eat only when I'm truly hungry, I eat only foods I want to savor, and I enjoy the whole process. If only I didn't have to keep reminding myself...but I guess that makes me even more mindful!

Barbara Kingsolver writes in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle that we as a nation lack a food culture. Now I am beginning to create my own, developing it with my favorite people. This blog will thus continue to follow my running life while scooping up a little from my eating life - a natural transition.

The words that keep arising in my consciousness are "living deliberately", but I couldn't remember where I'd heard them. Enter: Google. Ah ha! It's Thoreau (duh):

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. -- Walden; or, "Life in the Woods --Where I Lived, and What I Lived For"

Excuses, Excuses...

We don't have the Internet at home, and I've been doing "work" at work lately, so I've neglected to post anything on the ol' blog. A big "I'm sorry" to the two or three people who actually read it.

Next weekend is the Outer Banks Marathon followed by the Richmond Marathon on the fifteenth. The old Molly would be longing to participate in one, beating herself up for "taking it too easy" or not "committing to a goal". The new Molly, however, is enjoying "taking it too easy", which in my case means still working out six days a week. Now I'm just doing it for the fun of it, varying my workouts and sports, and listening to my body. It's taken me 24+ years to learn how to relax, and I'm not quite there, but at least I'm making progress.

The other big news is that it's Election Day, and while this doesn't mean a lot for the running part of my life directly, one could argue that the future president will have an indirect effect on all of our workouts. For example, a better energy policy (better = greener) means cleaner air and water, two essentials for athletes. Also, ending the wars abroad means having more money to spend improving infrastructure at home. Better roads, sidewalks, and bike trails lead to a more pleasant running experience.

Go Obama!

Sore Butt

In my attempts to broaden my exercise regimen, I have been using the weight room at the Y to do heavier lifting than I had done at home during my ultra training. Thanks to my oldest brother's friend, who acted as my pro bono personal trainer during my college summers, I have good technique. BUT I keep making myself incredibly sore.

I lifted on Monday, ran an hour on Tuesday, and swam for 40 minutes this morning (with bicycle commuting thrown in). This isn't an unusual schedule for me, but today I'm walking stiff-legged around the office, massaging my left butt cheek.

I don't think I'm over-doing it at the time. I'll feel great doing my 3 or 4 sets of 5 reps (and I'm not reaching my max), then the next day I'll be all achy. What the hell's my problem? Is this just another example of my perfectionism come to fruition? Ahhh!

OMG! Sarah Palin is Totally Like My Hero

I was the captain of the speech team in high school. I know, I'm a dork. But I was GOOD, unlike some people...

I'm Back in the Blogosphere

I've taken a break from more than training it seems. Oops!

The fall is beautiful here, and I'm trying to take full advantage of it. I've been running, walking, cycling, swimming, lifting weights, and loving the lack of pressure (pressure that I have applied to myself in the past).

I have even been staying up past my bedtime occasionally. This weekend Dave and I trekked to Charlottesville to visit his sister in her gorgeous apartment. We ate out at a tasty Mediterranean restaurant and strolled around the Downtown Mall like tourists. In running news, I discovered a new trail quite by accident. I was feeling down about having to run on sidewalks (gasp!) on a major road when I saw a little sign just beyond the guardrail. It read "Rivanna Trails", so I followed it. Soon I was taken out of the grime and noise of the city street to a green valley full of babbling brooks and leaping white tail deer. It may sound like a Disney movie, but it was really like that. So, my spirits were lifted. It's the simple things...

On a more negative exercise note, my bike is ill. I've been having a lot of trouble with flat tires, and I finally determined that the walls of the tires are deteriorating, causing the tubes to pop when inflated or compressed. Since the bike is my method of transportation, I've been left taking the bus, which isn't so bad but costs money. I'm going to take poor Blue into the shop to see if he needs to be put down, salvaged, or replaced by a more virile cousin.

A Much-Needed Break

I haven't written in a while because I've had actual "work" to do at my "job". Geez. Who do they think I am? A slave?

The Monday before last I made a big decision: I would join a gym for the first time. So I went to my local YMCA, proved to them that I made very little, and was given my membership at a whopping $15 a month. Since then I've been there twice to swim and once to lift weights - I think I'm getting my money's worth.

Belonging to a gym and having lots of workout options - should I take a yoga class? swim laps? lift? shake my butt on the elliptical? - has given me a whole new perspective. I'm still running, but doing other stuff means I'm running a little less and enjoying it a lot more.

The first time I got back in the pool after a two-and-a-half year break was "interesting" (a.k.a. hilariously pathetic). My new swimsuit was too big, I swallowed too much air and water, and I forgot how to turn. Basically, I was a five year old in a much bigger body. Luckily, the second attempt was better.

Recovery

I took three days off from running after the race, enjoying walks in the beautiful weather we've been having.

The next few runs were semi-painful - not surprising, as I had still been going down the stairs backward to keep my knees from buckling. (This is a good trick for anyone with sore legs.)

More precisely, three out of the four runs since the race were too much too soon. On Thursday, two speedy friends, with whom I met by accident, pulled me along through the streets of pre-dawn Richmond for 30 minutes. That Saturday a local group met for a 12-miler. I lasted for about 4, then spent the next 5 miles finding my way back to the car. Finally, this morning I ran alone. I thought I could handle an hour, throwing in some pick-ups for good measure. Well, I suffered. It was stupid. I'm taking tomorrow off, dammit!

Post-Race Reflections

One of the best parts of the Renegade 50 was how proud and excited everyone was (and is) to be a part of that experience. We worked together - not having known anyone before the disappointment of finding out that the official race was cancelled - and we had a successful race of our own. My attitude now is something like: You think running an ultra is badass? Try doing it in a Tropical Storm, bitches!

A fabulous runner has dedicated a website to our trials here.

Alas, my thirst to run a ridiculously long distance has not been quenched. I am looking for good, local races that will fit into my schedule. I am also looking to relax...which is hard. This means not having a detailed plan, perhaps doing other activities (swimming, etc.), and being flexible. I mean this next statement with all seriousness: relaxing may be more difficult for me than training for a 50-mile race.

One Addition

I forgot to mention my time. Or "time".

I ran approximately 50 kilometers in approximately 5:37:00, which is approximately 10:52 per mile.

This picture is a perfect illustration of the race.

Notice the wide eyes, wet clothes, and face being stuffed full of anything and everything.

I also might be giving someone the finger.

Renegade 50km Race Report

As many of you know, I've been training for the Northface Endurance Challenge 50-mile Race since March. Like everyone else who wanted to run, I ran hundreds of miles, paid $95 for the entry fee, booked a hotel room, and organized supplies and food eons in advance.

Twenty-four hours before the event was slated to begin, all entrants received an email: CANCELLED due to Tropical Storm Hannah. But, the email said, we could go up to DC anyway for appetizers and a 50% refund of our entry fee (oooh, how generous).

Ultrarunners responded en masse - how could they cancel for rain?! how could the "never stop exploring" company wimp out?! But anger soon changed into resourcefulness. Plans didn't have to be cancelled, training didn't have to be for nothing: we could just host our own race, dubbed the Renegade 50km and 50mi.

A group of 22 runners and their lovely, supportive crews met at the Great Falls Park at 7am. With an abundance of food and drink available and a palpable feeling of relief for all of us to be on the "starting line", we were off.

A group of fast runners, "the little ones", scooted ahead on the first 4-mile out-and-back. I suppressed the urge to keep up, to prove that a girl could hang, reminding myself that I still had dozens of miles to go.

We went back by the first aid-station and headed into the woods the lined the Potomac. It had begun raining, and the wind picked up, but we were protected somewhat by the canopy and undulating hills. I pushed my pace a little to keep up with local runners: people were already reporting that they had taken wrong turns.

At the second aid station, four miles away, a dedicated two-person team waited with smiles and nourishment. What a relief to come upon their make-shift operation! I've never had a better PB & J.

We ran through some low-lying areas, jumping puddles and avoiding mud. There were two stream crossings where we rock-hopped; I remember thinking, "I hope these rocks stay above the water line." It seemed unlikely that the river could rise that much that quickly, though.

The final turn-around was another four miles away. There were a few gallons of water, Gatorade, and Coke waiting as well as relief for me and my very full bladder. At that point, the rain had turned from sprinkle to downpour. We were soaked but still smiling. By the time we made it back to the starting point, we had run 17 miles. I decided that two more loops would be perfect: just about 50 miles.

I finally got to see Mom and Dave, huddled under the Forest Service shelter with the rest of the friends and family members. I was perhaps too eager to eat: I shoveled down a bunch of solid food, carried more with me, and immediately felt nauseated. That horrible, sneaking feeling of stomach problems coupled with sore legs started gnawing at me. The demons had made themselves known.

Burping seemed like a good thing to do. So I burped. It helped.

My company for a good portion of the second loop was a former Marine named Rob. We talked about HBO's Generation Kill to pass the time and I relied on his orienteering skills to blaze a trail. What once had been a path was now a stream; we soon spent more time wading in knee-deep (or waist-deep) water than running on solid ground.

Rob turned around at Aid Station 2 while I continued to the next river-crossing. Groups were coming toward me, and each shouted the same warning over the pouring rain, rushing Potomac, and wind gusts: "I would turn around at the rocks." Joined by another kind runner, I approached what had been the gentle stream. The rocks were fully submerged - no rock-hopping for us.

Once we got past the wading portions of the course, I felt great. I could feel some tenderness in my ankles, hips, and thighs, but my mental state was good. I was drinking lots and lots of water and Gatorade, taking my salt tablets every hour, and gulping down as many goos as I could find.

Before the Forest Station was even in sight I could hear my mom's signature "whoop". People ahead of me were stretching and drying off; it looked like most runners were calling it a day. I had to decide if I wanted to change the course and keep running or stop. For my own safety and for the sanity of Mom and Dave, I too finished at 50km (31 miles).

Looking back, I'm glad that I stopped when I did. No race is so important that you should put your safety at risk or risk potential chronic injury (running in muddy water on rocks = bad for ankles). Besides, it just makes me want to attempt another ultra.

The final part of our adventure was the seemingly-mundane act of changing into dry clothes. We three were a model of flexibility and finesse as we shimmied out of wet stuff into dry stuff in our respective cars.

Thank you to all who made the Renegade Race happen. Thank you to Mom (The Mom) and Dave (the rebel) for being the best crew and cheerleaders. Thank you to James, Rob, Dave, and Doug for keeping me on course and in a positive state of mind. Thank you to all of the Marines for being so crazy yet well organized. Thank you Tropical Storm Hannah for making an ordinary ultra into a great story.

Two Days to Go!

This is the last post before the big race.

When I'm recovering and no-longer crazed/dillusional/sleeping, I'll right a full race report with all of the gorey details.

Think blister-free thoughts please!

New Season, New Look

I'm listening to a reading by the guy who started the blog Stuff White People Like. He's very hip. I'm not feeling particularly hip. So I decided to up my hip-factor with a hipper looking blog. Do you feel me, hipsters?

The new season in the title of this post references the feeling in the air recently. All of a sudden it seems like fall is creeping up on us. It must be the cool mornings and change in the light because it's still 90 degrees in the afternoon.

As a side note, that bitch Hannah better not mess up my race. I'll kick her rainy ass.

One Week to Go

This is it: the final countdown.

Cue the swelling violins and the training montage, preferably in slow-motion.

I had my swarthy crew meet for a race briefing, and they wouldn't sit still until I plied them with beer. I guess this means I'll be bringing a keg with me to the aid stations just so they will stay focused.

Feeling nervous, excited, and ready.

Cross-Training, Beach Weenie Style

Last weekend my mom and I made the three hour drive to visit my oldest brother and his wife in Kill Devil Hills, NC. It's been more than a year since we've seen them - too damn long! - and it was about time we got our butts down there. As usual, Rob and Deb were gracious hosts, giving Mom lots of prompts to tell stories and me free reign in the refrigerator. Very important.

I managed to squeeze in morning runs and enjoyed the pleasant weather and salty air. But the real Brannan-Snyder athleticism was demonstrated in the following ways:

1. Fighting the current, even while standing
2. Struggling to keep one's bathing suit on in the shore break
3. Robbie's extreme body surfing
4. Saturday afternoon wind sprints on the beach (bra optional)
5. Variations on getting over waves (belly flop, front flip, etc.)
6. Panic attack / heart palpitations (always a good workout)
7. Fishing sand out of various orifices post-swim

The First Taper I've Liked

Running 50-60 miles a week is a good way to gear up for a nice, long taper. Usually I'm fussy and ornrey leading up to a race, but now I'm enjoying a break from getting up in the dark, being worn-out and famished at work, and spending so much time away from my peeps, two- and four-legged.

Having said that, each time I think about the race, I get a little wild-eyed. It's getting so close, and as usual, I feel ill-prepared. At least I don't have a specific time goal - it makes me more relaxed. And I've made a promise to myself not to push through an injury beyond blisters or chafe.

Work Out Like a Communist

After watching the Olympics and learning about the host country for a few days, I've decided (with Dave's agreement) that I would make an excellent Chinese athlete.

I would've been very happy to be selected at age three and pushed to workout all day for many years, eventually receive the adoration of my hugely populated country.

My work ethic would have been a perfect match. For example: in college, not only did I work out with my rowing team for 3-4 hours a day, but I also ran to practice and back (and on the weekends), trained obsessively over school breaks, and woke up early a few days a week to work out on my own before practice.

There's only one problem: I don't seem to be built to be excellent at any one sport. I'm good at most sports I've tried, mostly because I try so damn hard. But what sport wants a tall-ish girl with big hips and no fast-twitch muscle fibers? Long track speed skating?

In lieu of performing at an elite level, I've taken advantage of my determination by throwing myself into many different sports: dance, swimming, weightlifting, tennis, horseback riding, running, rowing, etc. And I don't have chronic injuries like many elites do because of the variety.