Train Harder, Run Faster, Be Better

The night before a race, I usually have a variation of three possible nightmares:

1 – I overslept or got there late and missed the start of the race.
2 – I got lost during the race.
3 – I realize halfway through the race that I am not wearing running shoes, or worse, that I am actually butt naked.

I always wake up feeling relieved that it was just a dream, and check my 2 alarm clocks for the hundredth time to make sure that at least nightmare #1 doesn’t come true.

This particular race had a few close calls…

I wake up on time (5:30AM) and start my pre-race rituals:

I double check that my bib is securely pinned to my shirt and that my shoe tag is on properly, making a perfectly round circle with my bib number facing up (yes, I’m that anal).

Then I eat half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—which is pretty much the only thing I won’t throw up during a race—and save the rest to eat once I get there.

I lather Body Glide all over my feet and under my sports bra to prevent chafing and blisters.

I put on sunscreen on my arms, legs, and face (SPF 70, that’s right).

Then I do a mental checklist of all the items I need to bring: Garmin running watch, iPod, camera, iPhone (all fully charged!), dry change of clothes for after the race, jacket, old sweatshirt (to wear until the race starts and then throw away), sunglasses, half eaten PB&J. Check, check, check.

I take a cab to the start line of the Marathon, where there are buses that will take us to Golden Gate Park for the 2nd Half start line. After waiting in line for over 10 minutes, I get on the bus and breathe a sigh of relief. My relief did not last long, however. The bus driver went all the way to Ocean Beach, and then kept driving by the beach… for a while, for too long.

I start to panic a little. Where are we going? We already passed the park!

I glance at the folks around me to see if anyone else is freaking out, but they all look completely unperturbed. Two Germans are chattering loudly behind me, oblivious to the fact that we were obviously going the wrong way. Just as I’m about to reach for my iPhone and Google Map this disaster, a lady gets up and walks to the front of the bus.

Lady: “Excuse me, but I think we passed Fulton Street a while ago. Weren’t we supposed to turn there?”

Bus driver: “Really?! Why don’t you sit up here and tell me how to get there!”

I assumed he was being a smartass.

Lady: “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help, but I’m pretty sure we were supposed to turn there.”

Bus driver: “OK! Sit here and tell me how to get there!”

He wasn’t being a smartass. He was actually LOST!

I begin to panic. This can’t be happening. What?!?

The bus driver then executes a highly illegal U-turn and the lady guides him to the park, where the other buses are lined up. Crisis averted!

I later learned that the same thing had happened to two friends of mine, only their driver wasn’t able to find his way, and they ended up having to run 3 miles to get to the start line. Ouch!

Once I got off the bus, I started to get mad at the race organizers… how can they employ a driver who doesn’t even know how to get to the start line, when that’s ALL.HE.NEEDS.TO.DO?!

But my anger at the race organizers disappeared completely when I got closer to the start line and realized that they had HEAT LAMPS to keep the runners warm while they waited. HEAT LAMPS! BRILLIANT! I was so happy, I wanted to cry. I dropped off my race bag and walked over to a heat lamp, huddling with the other runners. Only in San Francisco do you need heat lamps in July. This weather is ridiculous! But I was so happy not to be freezing, that I temporarily forgot my bitterness for being cheated out of a real summer.

I chatted with some of the girls around the lamps and traded racing stories. One of them was running with her iPhone—something I’ve always wanted to do, but always find my phone too bulky. She said that her husband sends her encouraging texts at every mile. Awwww. She doesn’t get to see them until after the race, but just hearing the little “ping” once a message comes through, she said, is enough to give her a boost. How cute is that?

It’s finally time to line up. After a good luck hug from my running buddy Mick, I turn on my Garmin, throw off my sweater, and before it know it – BAM, the race has started!


I’m freezing. FREEZING. So I run faster to warm up. The first mile goes by and my watch beeps to give me my split: Mile 1 – 7:40. I’m off pace, but I don’t care. I’m feeling good, but wondering how long I’ll be able to hold a sub-8 minute pace. I do a quick inventory of how my body is coping… Hips/TFL? Good. No pain. Knees? Sore, but not too bad. Might go away. Back, shoulders, quads? All fine.

Mile 2 and I’m already slowing down. Mile 3 and I’m getting tired. WHAT!?


I’m messing with my iPod, trying to skip past old songs in my running mix and before I know it, the runners are being split into two separate directions. Wait, what?! Where do I go? I ask a race organizer, “2nd half goes this way, right?!?!” He yells, “YES!”

Ok, ok, whoosh. Thank goodness. But wait a minute, this doesn’t look familiar. Did I run this way last year? I start frantically checking other runners’ bibs. Most of them have a black bib, for the Full Marathon. Oh no, oh no no no no, I’m going the wrong way! Nightmare number 2 is coming true! I keep checking bibs, hoping and praying for an orange one indicating Half Marathon. I see an orange bib, then another, then another. I begin to relax until I notice that these are 1st Half Marathon bibs! Where are the other 2nd Halfers?!! Sheer panic. I begin to slow down. Of all people, of course I would be the one to get lost during a race! Of course! I’m still slowing down and seriously freaking out when I see a mile marker for 3.9 miles. I check my watch. 3.9 miles exactly. I wasn’t off course. Ahhhhhhh.

Relief and adrenaline give me a boost and I run another sub-8 minute mile. Miles 6 and 7 zoom by. Then my headphones stop working. I manage to get at least one side to work, which means that for the rest of the race, I have to switch the earbud from one ear to the other. I decide not to let it bother me. Miles 8 and 9 fly by. We’re running in the city now and although the crowd support is pretty weak, I’m still feeling great. Mile 10. Wow! I only have 3 to go! That’s insane. For the millionth time, I am reminded of how wonderful half marathons are… Knowing that I only have 3 miles to go instead of 16… that is a beautiful thing.

2 miles to go. I realize that not only am I going to beat my record from last year, I am also going to run under 1:50, which I had considered a long shot. That feeling… knowing that I was making myself proud, knowing that I could surpass my own limits, is just indescribably wonderful. That feeling is the reason why I am a runner. That feeling is what makes me want to train harder, run faster, be better.

If I could make 1:47, it meant that I had a shot at qualifying for Boston (according to the book Run Less, Run Faster, a 1:47 Half Marathon time is the best indicator that you’re ready to train for Boston).

I see the finish line, and then hear Coach Joe say “Go Natascha! Finish strong!”

I start sprinting. I cross the finish line with a huge smile on my face and try to resist the urge to hug everyone in sight. I did it! I made my goal! I’m awesome (haha)! Official time: 1:47!!!

After the race, I meet my running group at a local brewery, where I shamelessly consumed and entire breakfast pizza with goat cheese, spinach, ham, and an egg in the middle—it was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

Marathon Training: Kicking My Own Lazy Gluteus Medius

Time to start training for marathon numero 2 this year: The Philadelphia Marathon, in my all-time favorite city.

After much deliberation, I’ve decided to go with Hal Higdon’s Advanced Program—with a few modifications...

First modification: I find it a little obnoxious to run three 20-milers during my training (sorry, Hal). I live in San Francisco and it’s impossible to fully avoid hills for 20 miles, there just isn’t enough city for that. Three hilly 20-milers just seems like a death wish to me. So, no thanks.

Second modification: speed work will be done on Wednesdays at the track. Followed by recovering at the pub across the street.

Third modification: I will finally (somehow) stop being a wimp about these hills and do some hill repeats on a regular basis—and not on an accidental basis, as is currently the case. As my running buddy Josh wisely pointed out, “charging up a hill is a great, relatively low-impact way to improve your VO2 max. It also strengthens your quads and can help prevent overuse knee injuries that crop up with high mileage.” Well put, amigo.

This week, my physical therapist filmed me running on the treadmill both barefoot and with running shoes on. Turns out my form is pretty decent, but I tend to roll my hip out (if that makes any sense) when my foot strikes the ground. Apparently this is happening due to my weak and lazy gluteus medius (butt). Apparently strengthening and tightening my lazy butt will make me a better runner and fix my knees. Alright then.

So I am stuck doing these strengthening exercises at least twice a week. They’re not painful like the evil foam roller, but they take FOR.EVER. to go through. But... whatever works, right?

This weekend I will be running the San Francisco Half-Marathon, despite being completely untrained and unprepared. But so what? I won’t be setting any records here. I just want to get through it, and hey, maybe even relax and have a good time! What a novel concept!

I’ll post some pictures after the event. Good luck to everyone doing the half, and if you’re actually doing the full—my condolences. Just kidding. :) See you on the course!

The Runners' High

It's no longer sport,
No longer just a game.
It has become a way of life.

Every breath is a stride,
Every heartbeat a string of silence.
It is a compulsion from deep within.
It is a passion for glory.
To go through the torment.
To last through the waiting.
To gain that one moment,
Alone with myself.

And only the few,
Who chance to strive,
Can know the experience.
To hear nothing but breath.
To feel nothing but heartbeat.
To feel so much like hell,
Running so close to heaven.

This is the Runners' High.

This is the feeling I live for.
This is the goal I strive toward.
If my chance disappears,
Part of my life would end.

I wish I knew who wrote this because it describes a feeling I know all too well, the feeling of losing yourself in your run. You don't know when it's going to happen. Sometimes running feels like a chore and you have to force yourself to put on your running shoes and get out the door. Sometimes you look forward to that moment, when you can finally breathe in the freedom of running. You never know when a simple run will change everything.

***

Yesterday I had my second physical therapy session. Painful "Active Release Technique," followed by a series of exercises to strengthen my glutes (no complaints there; if having a nice butt will make me a better runner, so be it).

I am trying to decide which running program to follow for the Philadelphia Marathon. Top choices are:

Hal Higdon's Intermediate Program--used his program before for the Silicon Valley Marathon, PR'd and finished injury-free.

Run Less, Run Faster--recommended by a running buddy who qualified for Boston with it. It only has you running three days a week, plus two days of cross training. The only problem with that is that I can't swim and think the eliptical is a waste of time (I barely break a sweat). So that pretty much narrows it down to spinning classes. Which are fine, but hard to fit in my schedule, and they really get old after a while.

Runner's World Training Program--has you doing track workouts and hill repeats every week. Also--scary!--includes two 20-mile runs and one 22-mile run. Hm, seriously?

While struggling with these choices, I am *sort of* training for the San Francisco Half Marathon this month. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not really training for it. I am totally winging this one.

But starting in August, it's time for some serious marathon prep. Adios early evenings on the couch with cheese puffs and trashy TV. Adios sleeping in on the weekends. Adios not being sore all.the.time. Adios healthy hair that is not dried up from being washed every day. Adios impromptu happy hours. Adios cute, blister-free pedicured feet.

All whining aside, the feeling described in the poem above is what keeps me going. Not knowing when that special moment will come, but longing for it, almost tasting it. That is what gets me out the door when it's freezing outside, when I'm tired, when I'm still half-asleep, and especially when I'm angry or upset.

Three more weeks of freedom and then... let the training begin!

A Little Training and a Lot of Heart

The few of you who actually read my blog may have noticed that I recently changed its name to “Run Your Heart Out.”

I recently heard the expression “running with your heart.” This phrase has a new meaning for me after my most recent marathon, which was by far my toughest. I was injured, undertrained and more than a little nervous. While waiting at the start line, I tried not to focus on the fact that my longest run that season had been a slow 14-miler. I was about to attempt running almost twice as far.

I forced myself to stay positive, to think good thoughts. I stretched and chatted with other runners, trying to distract myself, trying to get out of my own head. This was it. There was no turning back now. The race was about to start.

I thought of my father who had lost his battle to cancer, thought of my friend Denise who was fighting for her life, and thought of my team, all of us trying to make a difference in our own small way—we were all in this together. I was blessed to be at that start line. Blessed to have the opportunity to test my limits. Blessed to be part of a great running community and an amazing charity organization.

I would be running with very little training and a whole lot of heart. This race would be all heart. I got up, looked ahead, and ran my heart out.