Training has been heating up over here at Running Chick headquarters. The last few weeks have seen a gradual increase in running miles to 30+ miles a week, with 5 days of running. Plus, I'm back on the bike two days a week, with one shorter ride of 25-30 miles during the week and then a longer ride on Saturday mornings, usually around 50-60 miles. Then, there's two days of yoga and a day of swimming.

This has been quite a change compared to the previous 'maintain the sanity' level of running 4 days/week for 24-25 miles (and nothing else) which had become the 'norm' for the past 9 months.

The results? Yup. I'm exhausted. But in a good way. Not in a stressed-out-school-makes-my-brain-hurt-and-there's-too-much-too-do way. Each week, it gets a little easier and muscles are reappearing where I love seeing them. I'm getting stronger.

However, a curious thing did happen on my 'long' run last weekend. As I rounded the corner to attack the last big hill of the day, I felt something vibrating against my waist. At first, I thought it was my cell phone which was tucked inside the pocket on my Fuel Belt. Nope...that wasn't it. Besides, who would call me at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning?

Then it happened again. Only louder this time, and more forceful. What the heck is going on? Suddenly, it occurs to me....it's my stomach, growling and grumbling like the hungry beast it has become in the transition period to more intense training. My stomach continued to be persistent about being heard and felt, but having already eaten my one Gu, and almost out of Accelerade, there was nothing to do except dream about the breakfast I'd whip up once I got back home.

In case you've been wondering, I have been running. And biking. And there's even been a little bit of swimming and some yoga. While I still haven't selected any real 'goals' yet, I felt the need to jump back in to training as if my life depends on it. In many ways, it does.

I crave the routine and focus that come with training. Formulating a plan, setting up a schedule, tracking the data - all these tasks bring me a sense of calm, a sense of order and control. After placing my life on "hold" for the better part of the year, it's a relief to be grinding up hills, planning 400 meter intervals and falling asleep too soon after dinner.

The first few weeks back are always the hardest - mentally and physically. The lazy relaxed pace is now reserved for 'easy' days as I struggle to get the legs to turn over faster. That's been a shock to the system - shifting gears from a constant slow and steady pace, to something that requires work, concentration and some amount of pain.

Reflecting on my goal-less decision to inflict pain on myself, I realized that if I didn't turn up the heat, I'd just continue to tread water, content to get lost in the zen-like steadiness I'd already established. Then last weekend, I decided to push outside the comfort zone a bit, and bravely opted to ride the B-ride with my cycling club (15-17 mph average pace). I knew I wasn't quite ready, but I also knew that if I didn't just jump in head first, that I would continue to find reasons to leave the training wheels on.

At about 50 miles in to the 61-mile ride, I realized that I had taken on a bit more than I should have - eyes bigger than my stomach, so to speak. I was tired, over-heated and cranky. My legs were sore - my quads were toasted. I was mortified that the group had to wait for me on more than one occasion. I desperately tried to find a shorter route home, so I could ride alone in my suffering. But they weren't having any of my whining, and one of the riders insisted that he would stay with me for the rest of the ride, no matter what.

I was on the verge of tears. I whined a bit more about how I had still had to ride home from the ride start/finish point. An offer was made: 'Once we get back, you can throw your bike in my truck and I'll drop you off at home.' That was all it took. I responded: 'Nah. I'm a tough guy. I'll pedal the 3-miles home at 10 mph before I'll accept a ride.' Happily, my pace didn't need to be quite that tame, and I made it home in one piece with *most* of my dignity still in tact.

As I was cruising bloglines a few days later, I came across a post that Little Miss Runner Pants wrote, which featured some (many) inspirational words via Gym Jones. This rings so true for me, I had to share it:

"You have to be willing to bite off more than you can chew, to overdose, and to fail. If you won't risk the answer you won't ask the question. If you lack the will to ask then consciousness will not unite with muscle and bone. I criticize such a lack of will (especially in myself) and ask, “What's the worst that can happen?” The fearful part of me replies, “I may fall short of my expectations. I may not be who I pretend to others. My perception of self may be proven wrong, very wrong.” The confident part of me says, “So what ... only after breaking myself apart may rebuilding begin.” So go ahead, break stuff. Break yourself on the once-hard edges of yourself. And recycle the debris into the foundation of your future."

Even though I was a bit broken by the time I got home, I am rebuilding and ready to try some more, try harder and will gladly suffer in the process.

I don't do these very often, but both runner-bloggers were kind enough to tell me that I had been tagged, so I thought I'd give it a shot.

Tag #1

Morgan tagged me with Five Questions:

1. How would I describe my running 10 years ago?

A casual fling. Running and I would hang out together on the treadmill once in awhile, but I spent more time with Mr. Free-Weights and Mr. Elliptical in the gym. On a few occasions, Running and I even went outside together, but at that time I lived in Tucson, AZ and did not enjoy running in the heat. (I still don't.)

2. What is your best and worst race experience?

Every race is the worst race when I'm in the middle of running it. Then every race is the best race once I've crossed the finish line.

All my races have happened without incident, except for the infamous "Did Not Start (DNS) due to The Ick" at the San Diego Marathon in 2006. Aside from that, I have enjoyed every race experience in some way. Each one is unique and memorable. (Yes, I'm one of those annoying people who can find something positive in every situation.)

3. Why do you run?

As stated in my first blog post in April 2004, I run because I can.

4. What is the best or worst piece of advice you've been given about running?

Best advice: Pace yourself. Start slow then build speed and feel like a Rock Star. (And invest in good shoes!)

Worst advice: None that I recall. Although, I have learned that it's necessary to experiment and then pick which techniques/methods work specifically for you. There is no standard training formula for running that fits every single runner.

5. Tell us something surprising about yourself that not many people would know.

Secretly, I hate running.

Just kidding.

I'm such an "open book" it's tough to come up with something surprising, or that only a few people would know. How about this: I got engaged after only 6 weeks, and will be celebrating 11 years of marriage (to the same man) in July.

Tag #2

Jeff (one of many "jeffs"...not to be mistaken for the amazing-hip-lower-case jeff) tagged me with the seemingly simple, yet mind bending task of coming up with a "6 Word Memoir."

Hhmmm. Sum up my whole life and personality in six words? Feh. I can't do anything with less than 3 paragraphs! Here's my shot at it:

Seeker of challenges, strength, positive energy

That hurt my brain.

Feel free to tag yourself for either/or and play along. Let us know in the comments!

First in a series of posts about the impact that running has had on my life.

In January 2003, I (re)discovered my passion for running. Fifteen months later, I craved more information, more connections with other people who shared my passion. Turning to the Internet, I stumbled across a small number of running blogs. Quickly, the few grew into many and I joined the fray. In doing so, I formed cyber-friendships with runners from all over the country. Comments often led to email exchanges and friendships blossomed. The friendships varied from casual to practically-siblings.

One particular friendship even rewarded me with a coach. jeff, aka the amazing hip, coached me through my Boston qualifying marathon, and then not only coached me to my PR-setting Boston debut, but he also ran each step of the epic-weather marathon with me.

He’s been more than a coach, and more than an acquaintance. We joke about being BFFs (best friends forever) but honestly, that’s about as accurate a description as I can create. He’s like the brother I always wanted but never had – perfectly filling that role by being the first person to give me a nickname that stuck (Flipperhead. Or just Flipper.) We’ve cheered each other on through countless races "virtually" from across the country as well as in person. We've celebrated each other's successes and consoled each other during darker moments. We have visited each other's house, and met each other's tolerant, understanding, wonderful spouses. We even have annoying 'inside' jokes.

While I could spend hours listing off all the many incredible qualities that make up my BFF (not to be confused with BTT - http://www.breakingthetape.com/) the one thing that stands out time and time again is his incredibly generous spirit. It's impossible to count the number of times he has gone out of his way to help me, as well as others. Rarely have I heard him say "No, I can't do that." Usually, he's one step ahead, anticipating where he might be able to offer some assistance, and then doing the right thing.

Over the past two years, he has listening to my endless stream of whining and complaining about school, marathon training, school, my expanding backside, school and my ever increasing stress level. He's listened patiently. He's offered advice, support and most importantly, he's made me find a reason to smile. As if he hadn't done enough for me in the past, a few weeks ago he completely out did himself by sending me this:

a Garmin-licious gift to congratulate me for surviving three semesters of intense coursework.

Seriously. He sent that to me. I know. My jaw dropped too. They don't call him the amazing hip for nothing.

Because of running, I have a friend like jeff in my life.

Labels: because

Slowly, I can feel my senses returning to me. I breathe in the smell of the freshly unfurled ferns as the warm rain pelts my skin. The pounding of the rain drops on the leaves reaches a thunderous level as the skies open up. My wet socks bunch up under my toes as they grip the inside of my shoes. My legs move methodically, but not swiftly, leading me back home.

I can feel myself emerging from the self-induced coma. The cobwebs of eight months worth of academics coupled with a near full-time work schedule have begun to release my brain from the stranglehold. I remember conversations I'd forgotten about; promises made but not yet fulfilled; activities that formerly occupied my time; and dreams that have to be fully realized. I ache for everything to return to me at once.

Stepping back, I can appreciate the lessons I've learned over the last year. Not just the tangible lessons from the classroom about all the things a physical therapist assistant must know...but the underlying lessons about the person I've become. Just when I thought that I had found myself in running, school helped me realize that I could dig even deeper and find much more.

Slowly, I am waking up, and deep within I can feel the bubbles of excitement and anticipation surging upwards. My eyes are open, all the synapses are firing in sync, and the wheels are spinning, gearing up for the next adventure. I cannot wait to see where it takes me.