A Different Kind of Training

It’s time to start training again.  After a year plagued with pregnancy, broken bones, and relocation, it is time to get back to it.  I haven’t trained . . . I mean really trained . . . in about 18 months and Chicago Marathon is looming a mere 4 months down the road.  Sure I’ve been running.  Occasionally.  But right now, I need to train.  Consistently.  Maintaining consistency is the hardest part of running these days. 

For the past couple of months, my runs have been placeholders.  I show up at club and go for a run, but don’t always do the workout.  I’m trying to keep up the routine of running, even if I’m not doing all the work.  On Thursday mornings, the alarm goes off at 4 a.m. so I can get a run in before Chris leaves for work.  I both love and hate these early morning runs.  4 a.m. frigging sucks.  But after peeling myself out of bed, it’s not so bad.  5 minutes into the run, I’m in a good place.  Getting back home at 7 a.m. with 8 miles under my belt is pure elation.  It makes for a very good day. 

What I learned in my placeholder runs is that everything needs to be planned if running is going to fit into my life.  I've found 3 very specific times in my week that work for running:  Monday night with the club, Thursdays crazy early, and Saturday morning with the club again for longer miles.  I have reasons that conflict with every other time you might suggest.  Go ahead.  Test me.  When I say everything has to be planned, I am not kidding.  On Mondays, I bring my running clothes to work, I bring an extra snack to fuel up before club, I bring an extra set of bottles with my breast pump because yes, I am still a nursing mother.  If I drop the ball on Monday morning, there goes my Monday night run and I’m out of luck until Thursday.  Same holds true if I stay up late on Wednesday nights.  4 a.m. comes awfully quick. 

It’s been about two weeks since I’ve been out on a run.  I’ve been tied up with packing and moving.  (On a side note, if you can avoid moving when you have small children, I recommend it. We can’t keep up with Daughter’s pace of unpacking and Son puts everything he can reach into his mouth!  Bad combination.)  Up until that point, I was doing a fairly good job juggling work, kids, and running.  The monkey wrench of moving tripped me up, though.  Something had to fall and it wasn’t going to be my awesome job or my loving family.  Now that we’re a little settled in our new digs, I’m ready to start fresh again.  Chicago Marathon is coming up and I’m eager to take on this challenge.  However, training will look very different this time around than it did for my previous 3 marathons.  Training is more than running.  Every decision I can make to improve my performance at Chicago will be weighed carefully.  Little things qualify for training, like how much water I drink.  Choosing to skip dessert – that’s training.  Getting to bed a decent hour, getting the dishes washed and keeping the house clean to make life easier on the rest of my family when I’m out running, being present when I’m with my kids to alleviate the inevitable guilt I feel while I’m away.  This is all training.  It’s a new kind of training.  I haven’t perfected it yet.  It’s pretty damn hard, really.  But it’s still the beginning.  I want all these things in my life and I’m ready to try.  What else is there to do? 

I didn’t run a single step today.  But I did fill up my water bottle 6 times.  I got a 3 minute ab workout in before work.  I skipped dessert.  I did the dishes.  I got a good amount of walking in.  I gave Daughter a bath and had great conversations with her.  I crawled around with Son on the floor and giggled with him.  Add it all up and it was a very good day of training.  

Battles Won & Lost

When I taught summer camps at Como Zoo in 2003, I befriended one of the interns.  Rachel and I became fast friends and were a good match in our young single days.  We did all kinds of girly things together:  movies, shopping, dinners out.  I’d say our most successful outing was a Bruce Springsteen concert.  He was performing a one man show at the Northrup Auditorium.  To this day, it’s still the best show I’ve ever seen . . . by leaps and bounds.   

Rachel dated Ross for the whole time we have been friends.  They married in 2004 and danced their first dance to The Luckiest by Ben Folds.   It was a beautiful celebration.  As they started their new life together, they met the challenges of making ends meet.  Rachel was in graduate school and worked as much as she could.  Ross worked second shift and got home in the wee hours of the morning.  The time they had to spend together was extremely limited.  Even so, they made it work and they were very happy in their relationship.  The little time they could spend together was treasured.

Rachel and Ross

In January 2011, at the age of 35, Ross was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia.   It was right at the time that this happy couple was planning to start a family.  As cancer does, it ebbed and flowed.  It got bad and then it got a lot better.   Cancer is such a trickster.  It gives the false hope of overcoming the disease and then it strikes back even worse.  It’s a horror story that you can never escape once you’re afflicted.   Even in remission, it changes the way you live and it always makes you wonder if, how, and when it’s going to attack next. 

Ross was in remission for a while.   He suffered bone loss from his treatments that would be a permanent hardship in his life, but the disease itself was gone.  Or so we thought.  Last fall, things got bad again and the recommended course of action was a bone marrow transplant.  Thankfully a match was found and Ross received the transplant in January.  As of today, he’s been in the hospital for over two months in preparation for the transplant and then recovering from it.  During that time, Rachel had medical issues of her own that required surgical attention.  The stress in their life was compounding.  You can imagine getting by on one income and accumulating infinite medical bills.  To add to that, Rachel recently started a new job and has not yet worked there long enough to be eligible for FMLA time off.   Not only was her husband critically ill, but she had to keep working to maintain the medical benefits. 

Hanging out at the hospital

Then last week happened.  Last week, Ross was admitted to the ICU because his kidneys were failing and he wasn’t breathing well.  He was put on a ventilator and started dialysis, all while trying to replenish his white blood cell count.  It got really bad and Rachel thought she might lose Ross.  We all thought she might.  Here is a post she shared with close friends: 

Day 3 ICU: Ross will have dialysis again today. His weight was 240lbs (normally 185lbs) He was able to get his weight down to 230 with dialysis. The extra weight off will make breathing a little better and hopefully help lungs overall too. He is using 65% oxygen which is better than the 100% he was using on Monday. He had a feeding tube put in yesterday so he can get better nutrition. He is on an anti-viral for a virus that is still in his bone marrow. There are 5 different teams of doctors working on him, and overall the gist is that the Primary is the BMT- his cells need to work on growing (which is hard- his white blood cells are not getting higher, they are getting lower) and beating this disease, and helping his body function and the Secondary is his lungs and kidneys. He has a extremely rough, tough, ugly road ahead of him. These past few and next few days will ultimately determine his survival, which is scary as hell. He cannot talk due to the intubation, and only opens his eyes for a few seconds a couple times a day. (he is on pain meds to help sedate him) This is something no one can prepare you for. I am fearful of losing my beloved at any second, yet am creating ITunes lists to play for him in the room, praying, watching Hulu tv, sleeping in a chair in his room every night and staying by his side. Please pray and support us! Sincerely, Rachel

Ross fighting as hard as ever

As of today, Ross is improving.  He had several days of uncertainty followed by a boom in his white blood cell growth.  His tube was removed and Ross continues to recover and even communicate with his wife and family. 

My way of supporting them is sharing their story with you.  You can read about Ross and Rachel’s journey at their caring bridge site:  http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/rossproctor/journal/2/createdAt/asc

If you’re inclined to help them out, here is a donation page:

http://www.giveforward.com/teamrossletskickcancer

I can say now that I’m confident in Ross’s survival.  He has a long, long journey of recovery ahead of him, but Rachel and Ross are fighters.  They will do everything possible to get back to a normal life. 

    

I wish I could say the same for my uncle.  As I type, my uncle is losing his battle with cancer back in Kenosha.   Last Friday, the nurses gave him a day or two to live.  He received his last rights from the priest and has had friends and neighbors stopping in to say goodbye.  He’s holding on longer than we all expected, but he won’t make it long enough to see another spring.  Like so many before him, he is going through the last dance of cancer. 

I thought of my uncle on my run last weekend.  I came upon the Mississippi River and I wondered if he was alive still.  There is bound to be some lag between when it happens and when I find out about it since I’m not there.  Crossing the river felt momentous and I thought maybe he had crossed over as well.  But that wasn’t the case.   I keep expecting that I will just know when it happens . . . that the air will shift or an image of him will flare through my conscience. 

The night before my Aunt Silvanna died, a woman that was identical to her in shape, voice, and mannerisms visited my work.  The resemblance was unbelievable.  I talked to her for a long time – mostly because she reminded me of the healthy version of Silvanna.  The Silvanna of my youth.    

While I keep waiting to feel Uncle’s passing, I don’t want him to go.  I already miss him.  I hope he finds peace in his last few hours.  With everything I have, I wish him peace.   

Bob's Grandview

There’s this bar in Kenosha on 39^th Avenue.  It’s a real dive bar that is classic Kenosha and it’s one of my favorite places in town.  The physical bar takes up 90% of the establishment.  They serve Old Style in a can for dirt cheap.  It makes me very happy. 

I love this bar because it’s where my cousins get together whenever we’re all in town.  It doesn’t happen too often, but for family weddings and that sort of thing, we pack the place.  It’s good fun to spend time with my cousins.  It reminds me of my youth and I laugh more with them then I do in any other group of people. 

We were introduced to the bar by my uncle.  Back when I was little, Grandma & Grandpa’s was the gathering place for my 12 aunts and uncles, my 15 cousins, and my immediate family.  Uncle used to leave Grandma & Grandpa’s house a little early on Friday nights so he could go out to the bar.  I couldn’t imagine what kind of place he would be going to when I was a grade-schooler.  Bars were a mystery back then.  And drinking was something my extended family rarely did. 

Since he has a son who is exactly my age, Uncle experienced first-hand most of my major youth events:  CCD classes, first communion, birthday parties, working at church festivals, 9^th grade dance, high school football, graduation, and tons more.  When I came of age, he welcomed me into the splendor of Bob’s Grandview.  I didn’t have the know-it-all to appreciate its dive-y-ness as a 21 year old college student.  But now I take comfort in its coziness and familiarity.  It feels a bit like home. 

I want to thank my uncle for introducing me to the finer things:  Good company.  Cheap beer.  The voicing of opinions.  He won’t be joining me on my next trip to Bob’s.  But his legacy will live on in my heart.   Always.  

Single Track

Trail running really puts me out of my comfort zone.  I don’t have a lot of experience with it and I have a high fear of falling.  When I run, I have a tendency to keep my feet really low, close to the pavement.  Trail running requires more lifting of the foot.  It’s something I have to think about constantly when I’m on the trails because it doesn’t come naturally. And I get distracted VERY easily.  So, I trip a lot.  Despite that, I was motivated to check out trails this weekend. 

My motivation comes from my new job at a nature center in Elm Creek Park Reserve.  I want to feel more closely connected to the park so I wanted to get out and explore some of the trails further away from the nature center.  With the help of another runner, I managed to convince my Minneapolis running club to check out Elm Creek, some 35 driving minutes northwest of our usual meeting spot.  The other runner put together a plan to run the entire course on a single track trail.  There were many loop options, so we had the option of running 3 miles or up to 11 miles without repeating any of the route.  For those of you who don’t know, single track pretty much means single file.  The course was actually a mountain bike course.  Lots of ups and downs and turns and variety.  No two steps were alike.  It’s as mentally challenging as it is physically. 

I found myself in a similar mindset to Monday night’s run . . . the one where I was concerned about running alone in the dark so I ran about as fast as I could to keep up with the group.  With single track, we all run in a line.  If I didn’t go fast enough, there would be a pile up.  Once again, I had to run faster than physically comfortable to be mentally comfortable in the group.  I tried to keep myself in the front half of our group of 15.  I didn’t want to feel like I was falling behind.  I was pushing hard and I could definitely feel it.   This might sound strange, but I’m not used to my legs being tired when I run.  On the trails, they’re stepping sideways, hopping over rocks and roots, ducking under branches, and Oh the hills!  Trail running is truly a different sport from road running. 

While I was running I kept having the frantic mindset of, “I can’t keep up!  I can’t keep up!  I’m going to fall!”  But at some point, I decided to conquer the mental game.  I changed my thinking to, “I can do this.  I AM doing this.  So what if I fall.”  On I trucked.  Turning right.  Turning left.  Ducking down.  Stepping over.    Swinging around tree trunks.  Over and over.  I eventually made it to the 8 mile turn around and felt a huge sense of relief.  What a workout!  I expected many of us would be heading back at this point, but it was only me and my friend Matt.  Things got a lot quieter as a pack of two.  We had a peaceful run back to the trailhead through the prairie and forest.  When I caught sight of the parking lot, I thought, “Already?”  Trail miles have the tendency to sneak by faster than you would realize.  At that moment, I wished I had pushed myself a little further outside of my comfort zone to finish the 11 mile loop.  It wasn’t until I stepped off of the trail that I realized I still had a lot more in me.  Those kinds of moments are both welcome and frustrating.  Welcome because I’m getting stronger.  That’s a glorious feeling in itself.  Frustrating because I missed out on a harder workout, especially because opportunities for me to run are unpredictable.  Now I know for next time.  I’ve got more in me than I think. 

I was grateful for the run.  Grateful to run with Coach Mitch again after his injury.  (I hadn’t seen him much lately.)  Grateful to be part of the pack again.  Grateful that the other runner had experience on these trails and had planned everything out.  Grateful to have Matt run with me back to the trailhead.  But mostly, grateful for pushing myself out of my comfort zone and gaining the confidence that comes whenever I do that.  

And I didn’t even fall.  

The Hardest Decisions

My parents came into town last week.  Their plan is to stay with us through Sunday and we are so grateful for the help.  It means we can do things like sleep through the 2 a.m. feeding while my mom takes care of it.  It means we don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn with Daughter because my dad is an early riser. 

When I realized the advantage of having extra adults around, I immediately thought of running.  In the last several weeks, my running has been sparse.  I’ve been trying to nail down my family’s work-daycare-commuting-bedtime routine before trying to fit running back into my life.  (I can’t help but think about how ridiculous it seems that we would have a routine.  We are soooooo far away from that.)  Unless there are extra adults in my household, running is rarely an option.   

I took a few minutes on Sunday to plan a week of workouts since we had the help this week:  Leave work a little early on Monday so I can run with the club; go to body pump Tuesday morning while Daughter is at preschool (didn’t have to bring the baby with me); enjoy Halloween on Wednesday with my family; run in the afternoon on Thursday; and then catch up with the club again on Saturday morning.  It seemed easy enough and completely realistic.

And then came Monday, a whirlwind day at work.  The kind of day that offers a 5 minute lunch and 5 minutes to pump.  I didn’t leave work as early as I was hoping and raced home as best as I could in rush hour traffic.  (The drive home is almost an hour.)  I really wanted to run and I was anxious to meet the club.  My motivation was high. 

Until I walked in the door and picked up my baby boy.  How could I turn around and leave him again when I’d been gone all day?  And for something as selfish as running.  I was immediately overwhelmed with emotions.  Sad about not spending the day with him.  Conflicted about being a working mom.  But most of all, frustrated that I can’t fit all the things I want into my life.  So damn frustrated. 

I went upstairs to pump, but while I was up there, I decided that it would be ridiculous to run.  My family needs me.  My baby will only be little for a short while.  Chris got home and I talked it through with him.  I told him I can’t win, but I should err on the side of my family.  I will be upset no matter what I choose.  I imagined the tears streaking down my face while I was out running because I wasn’t home with my family.  At the same time I imagined being crabby and miserable because I missed a run yet again. 

In the end, I decided to run, since I had planned on it.  As much as I didn’t want to, I was going to follow through with my plan.  In that moment, I hated myself for it.  It’s the age old dilemma of parents.  Where do you draw the line between doing what’s best for yourself vs. doing what’s best for your kids?  If you have an answer, I’d love to hear it. 

So off to running club I went.  I got there a few minutes late and ended up following some of my old pace group, a group I haven’t run with in ages because I’m a lot slower than them these days.  What’s not-so-fun about running club this time of year is that it’s dark.  I very soon realized that if I couldn’t keep up with them, I’d be running alone in the dark.  So I hauled ass.  I ran with Bruce for a while and listened to him talking with another runner.  I, however, was unable to speak.  I was sucking wind the whole time.  My entire warm-up was a crazy fast pick-up.  But I did it.  I stuck with the group.   When we got to the Tyrol hill loops, I took off ahead of the group while they were getting situated.  I figured they would be passing me very shortly, so my plan was to prolong that.  What ended up happening was unexpected.  I ended up running alone in the dark AHEAD of my group.  I can’t explain why they didn’t catch me.  I suspect they were all running extra slow for my benefit, but they denied this.  I ended up running all three loops alone and I loved it.  I was running.  I wasn’t getting passed.  I felt great.  Euphoric, even.  I can easily say it was my best run of the year because the improvement was tangible.   I’m running faster than I did a couple weeks ago.  It was awesome. 

I was still flying high on endorphins when I got home.  When I walked through the door, though, I fell all the way down from that high.  It was 7:30 and Baby was already in bed for the night.  In the entire day, I spent less than an hour with him.  My heart broke immediately.  How could I be so selfish?  How is this ever going to work?

I still don’t know how to make it work.  I’ll get my workouts in when I can here or there, but there will be no routine to speak of for a long while.  Not while sleep is so unpredictable for all of us.  I never even got to tell Chris about my awesome run or how I kept up with my old pace group.  When he reads it here, it’ll be the first time he hears about it.  Life is still pretty hectic for us.  We’re doing okay, but a lot of the time, I feel like we’re just barely getting by. 

And the one take-away thought I’m keeping with me from Monday’s experience:  Working moms can’t have it all.  We just can’t.  Something has to give at all times, whether it’s the quality of our work or the quality of time spent with our family.  And that doesn’t even include time for ourselves.  Time for running.  Time for having a date with our husbands.  Or even time to tell partners about our days.  

It's Okay

I have a new mantra:

“It’s okay.” 

I tell this to myself this at least a hundred times a day and it calms me down.  At least for a second.

When I forget to restock the diaper bag and the only thing Baby has after his blowout is a clean diaper and some of Daughter’s socks to wear as pants . . .

It’s okay.

When I try to get to bed immediately after Daughter’s bedtime so I can get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep before Baby wakes up, but then remember that Baby is out of clean bibs and laundry can’t wait, and the sink is still full of dishes and Daughter needs a nice family photo to bring to school tomorrow and Crap!  I haven’t pumped yet and there are no clean bottles . . .

It’s okay.

When it’s the first day back at work at a facility I’ve never worked at before and I miss Baby like crazy and it’s the same day my mom is having surgery . . .

It’s okay.

When I can’t get out for the walk around the lake that I was really hoping to get in since it was such a nice day out . . .

It’s okay.

When I keep running out of time to eat because all of the sudden I’ve become a soccer mom . . .

It’s okay. 

When the weight doesn’t come off as fast as I was hoping, but at least it’s coming off . . .

It’s okay. 

When the guilt weighs me down as I race out the door to get to running club, leaving Chris alone with the kids at their neediest time of day . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize just how much time and work it will take to run well again . . .

It’s okay. 

When I can’t find the time to get rid of the dead plants that have been sitting on the counter for 2 months, or to pick up the mound of clothes that have accumulated on my desk chair, or to send in the registration form for the MNA conference, or to order birth announcements, or reply to that email . . .

It’s okay. 

When I do find a block of free time and just stare at the TV instead of crossing anything off my to-do list . . .

It’s okay. 

When I wake up exhausted at 4 in the morning and realize I won’t get a chance to rest until after Daughter’s bedtime . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize I’m just barely getting by, but also happier than I’ve ever been in my life . . .

It’s okay.

Goals

I need a goal. 

While I was walking around the lake today, I considered how my goals have changed over the past 6 months.  Actually, I considered what a friend told me back when I was still running.  It was something along the lines of:  You’re priorities will change after you have a second kid.  Running is not going to be important anymore.

My goal going into pregnancy was to run throughout, maybe even up to my due date.  I wanted to run the 5k at Urban Wildland that would be 2 weeks before my due date.  Then came the complication and I had to amend.  No more running.  My new goal was to walk as much as possible.  So I did.  Walking lasted about 6 weeks before I was put on bed rest.  On bedrest, there was no exercise allowed at all.  My goal evolved into: see how little you can move in a day.  And, Let’s see how long we can keep this baby in.  When it became apparent that the baby would be a preemie, my goal was for him to be as big as possible.  I willed him to be a big baby because I didn’t want him to have complications.  He ended up big at birth, coming in at 5 -9 at 34 weeks.  But he also had complications.  When he was in the incubator the day he was born, my goal was for him to get stronger and rely less on the forced oxygen.  My goal was for him to NOT have to be transferred to the other hospital.  The opposite happened.  Once at Children’s, I hoped he wouldn’t need a ventilator.  He did.  I spent the following days with the goal of him getting it taken out.  I think you get the idea. 

My goals used to be about me.  Then they shifted to be about my son.  Now that he’s healthy and getting older (5 weeks!), I can start to think about my goals again.  Where should I start?

There’s always Boston.  In the old days, it was only 27 seconds away.  Although, that was a different me.  And it seems too far away right now to be useful.  Sure I’ll keep it in the back of my mind for someday.  But for today, it’s abstract and intangible. 

As for half marathons and marathons, I really have no idea.  I’m sure I’ll run them again, but I’m not sure which ones.  Who knows what my goals will be when I do?  Coach says I shouldn’t compare my current self to my pre-pregnancy self.  I’ll try to keep an open mind. 

The only race I’m confident about is the Kenosha Turkey Day run.  There’s a 2 mile and a 10k option.  I figure I should at least be able to run 2 miles by Thanksgiving.  I’m really hoping, though, that I can make a light run of the 10k.  Finishing the 10k would be nice.  It seems like a reasonable goal, no?

My biggest goal right now is to get this postpartum body back into running shape.  There are still a few puzzles to figure out, like “Can I run when my bra size is this outrageous?” and “How do I fit a long run in between feedings?”  I have been able to keep up my lake walks every day, a feat I’m proud of.  I’m even getting a sore knee and I find it endearing.  The scale has been creeping down.  I’m getting there . . . very slowly.

Next week, I’m expecting to be cleared for running by my OB.   It doesn’t necessarily mean that I should go out and run right away.  But it will give me more confidence that I am actually healing.  Running a mile will be my first goal.  Running a lake will be my second.  Running 2 lakes will make me feel like I’m a runner again.  That’s really all I want to be:  a runner.