What a 3 weeks!

Well, hello there fearless readers! I know it's been quite a while since I last posted. Since April 23rd, to be exact. It has certainly been quite a 3 weeks. One filled with both personal and professional highs and lows. And of course, the thing that suffered has been my blog. I am so sorry to have disappointed my faithful followers and I hope this post is the one that gets me back on track.

Anyhow, I won't bore anyone with all the life details of the past 3 weeks. But in short it kinda goes like this:
 Awesome meeting about Sam with IST team at his school; running 3.1 miles without stopping; cancelled a show; ran my 1st 5K race in years with Becky; landed a new job; awesome NYSSMA score for Mag and her cello; had tough but positive conversation with boss and colleagues about leaving; rode bike for first time in a couple years for 15 miles; had a piss-poor crappy run about 2 weeks ago; opened pool; hit 1st weight-loss goal; dropped a pant size; saw Iron Man 3 with the family; had back-to-back crappy runs last week; still lost .8lbs; watched Beck and her sister run the Pink Ribbon Run Mother's Day 5k; back on my running game this morning. Phew!

So, I think I'll keep this post to a discussion of things marathon-training-related.

First off, about that 3.1 without stopping. It was the afternoon after my last post that I went out for a run and decided to push it a little. I have been doing runs made up of alternating intervals of 4min/6min runs separated by 3min walks. Following that model, I average between 43: and 44:30 for 3.1 miles, or a 5K. My 16 week marathon plan that begins June 16th requires that I am able to steadily run 3 miles 4 times a week. So, with that in mind, I eliminated the walk portions and tried to maintain a steady albeit slow running pace. Much to my surprise, I completed the 3.1 miles in 37:33. Yeah. Haven't gotten down to that again yet, but averaging between 39: and 41:.

It was 5 days later that I ran my first 5k in many years. Honestly I've only ever done one about 6 years ago. This time was much better. Becky and I got up at 6am on a Sunday morning. The Wegman's 5k was unusually early because it was paired with the Flower City Half Marathon. We arrived in downtown Rochester and parked in the Court Street Garage. The air was crisp, but pleasant. Becky weighed whether or not to wear her fleece pullover whereas I, carrying my own warmth and built-in fur coat, knew I needed nothing other than my trusty red spandexy moisture-whisking running shirt. (Love the feel of the shirt, but I have to admit that I still feel like I look like a giant sausage link when I put it on.) We watched enviously as the half-marathoners took their start. I actually had that momentary "dear god, what the f*$k are you doing?!" thought that I always have to fight so hard to suppress. And I wasn't even running this half marathon! (And yes, let's remind ourselves that I am not running a half marathon at all! Just jumping right to a full 26.2! Hence the WTF thought!)

Half an hour later it was the 5k'ers turn. The energy in the air was palpable. And infectious. No dread. No worry. Just smiles all around. Becky and I exchanged nervous hand squeezes as we each cued up our respective playlists. Hers on the ipod, mine on my phone (along with my interval timer.) I hadn't yet decided if I was going to run the whole thing or stick to my intervals like I had been doing. The amped up announcer, who had been giving an energetic play-by-play of the half marathoners a few minutes earlier, implored us to get ready. I can't remember what apparatus (starting pistol, air-horn, bell-tone) signaled us to start, but all of a sudden there we were in a lake of people (I'm reserving the "sea" metaphor for Chicago) moving forward. Becky and I are both used to starting our runs with a 5-8 minute warm-up walk, but in a race with thousands of others you basically just start running. It's a run of small bouncy steps at first as you really don't have any room to spread out. But then the field opens up and within a few yards of the starting line, you can establish your pace.

I cranked up Fun.'s Some Nights album and started my interval timer. The first run interval beeped as it concluded and in the moment of the race, I made the decision to run the entire thing without stopping. As I tried to program my brain to fight the urge to run faster than I was used to (I've been warned by many   people and training guides about what a dangerous combination excitement, adrenaline, and mob-mentality can be at the start of a race,) I realized that I had absolutely no clue where the heck I was going! I hadn't studied a map of the course. Hadn't memorized any markers. I was at the mercy of the crowd and course signs. I had no sense of distance other than my music and knowing where I typically am on my usual course when a certain song comes on. And you know what? It was kind of liberating. I am the kind of person who instinctively has the inclination to want to know where the "end" is. Thankfully, due in large part to my study and work in theatre and film, I've trained myself to focus on process. That journey I keep talking about in this blog. Except when I am actually running. My brain is constantly asking, "Where's the finish line? Are we there yet?" (Yes, I was that kid...) I'm working on it, but it's still ever present at times. So, during this race I had no choice but to not worry about where the mile markers are or where the finish is because I really had no idea!

It was fun to be there with my wife who has been my biggest supporter, and I am so proud of her efforts and accomplishments out there as well. But I'd say the highlight of the race for me came towards the end. I was inside the final mile coming around the corner of State St. turning onto Main St. to head east. The course had been fairly level to this point and as I rounded the corner I spied the daunting looking hill as Main St. moved past the Radisson Hotel and  over the Genesee River. "Aw shit!" I thought to myself, knowing full well I was on tired legs. Nice of them to put the toughest stretch towards the end of the course. Fucking bastards! Anyway, all along I had been within a few paces of the same people; an older fellow who would crank for about a hundred yards, then walk; a very nice looking woman in her late 30's who I happened to conveniently settle in behind for a good chunk of the race (a very motivating view...); a double for actor Shemar Moore who was clearly taking it slower than he needed to for the sake of his 2 young daughters running with him. (See, there's someone for everyone in a race. I kept hoping Beck would come around so she'd have something nice to look at as well...); and then there was this guy. He was in his 20's probably 6'1 and pushing 300+lbs. He was doing great. He'd run some, then walk some. We'd be near each other, then he'd be ahead. Or I would be, then he'd catch up. As our pack rounded the corner onto Main and started to ascend the hill, I could see him several yards ahead of me, struggling. And then he stopped to walk. It wasn't an "ok, I'm gonna still be aggressive and make this a work-out" kind of walk. It was an "I've had enough of this shit" kind of walk. It was a walk of defeat, of giving in. I knew that walk well. I've engaged in that walk many times over the years, even in recent weeks. I wanted to do that walk as well when I saw this hill, but I knew that it wasn't an option. This race was the first marker. The first test. The first hurdle moving towards Chicago. I wasn't going to not take that hill. I pulled up along side the guy, tugged on his shirt-sleeve and said "C'mon bro...you and me...big guys taking this hill together..." His eyes widened and a huge smile came across his face. We started our run up the hill. People along the side of the street were cheering us. They had been there all morning cheering all the runners but in that moment they were cheering for us. We attacked that hill like we were two warriors storming the Citadel, certain victory awaiting us at the top. We knew there was still a half mile to go once we got there, but it didn't matter. We reached the top of the hill and rounded the corner onto South Ave. "Yeah!" we shouted and shared a hi-five. I patted him on the shoulder and moved ahead as he slowed down to walk. A few paces ahead I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure I didn't just kill the guy, leaving him lying in a heap in the middle of the street. Instead, he was walking with purpose, passion. Aggression. He was swinging his arms with energy, smiling huge. And as I returned my gaze forward, he started to run again, determined to tackle the homestretch and charge the finish line. In the end, it was a good race and a nice way to get my feet wet in the whole race environment. I did it in 41:13. Not my best, but not my worst. But I know (to quote Fun,) "It gets better!" As I looked around the finishing area for Becky, I saw my hill buddy being hugged by his friends and family nearby. There were smiles and back pats all around. He looked around and we caught each other's eye. There was no big wave or talk. Just a simple smile and a head nod in each other's direction. Honestly, that was all that was needed. The acknowledgement that for a moment, we helped each other do what neither of us thought we could. Both of us knowing that in spite of the illogicality of us being there, we were and we did what we set out to do that day. Brothers in arms, defying expectation. Defying history. Defying Habit. Taking steps forward toward new selves, and leaving who we were behind.

UPDATE: in the 2 weeks since that 5k, I've been frustratingly inconsistent. I still manage to get in my prescribed number of workouts, but never on any kind of schedule, and always as an annoying afterthought. This inconsistency and lack of prioritization culminated in 2 of my shittiest runs this past Friday and Saturday. I felt like it was 5 or 6 weeks ago. Legs felt like crap, breathing sucked. No rhythm, ended up walking most of it. Then, I watched all of these women yesterday running for Breast Cancer. Inspiring! Becky and her sister did great, and Becky even made the front cover of our local paper, having run the final 100 yards with our kids! Last night she was looking at the results and pointed out that a 75 year-old woman did the 5k in 31 minutes. Yikes. I'm a wuss. So, with that in mind, I got up today at 5am and ran my 5k work-out. Non-stop. Did it in 38:02. Good time, legs felt good, and when they seemed like they might not, I acknowledged the game my brain was trying to play and pushed through. And that, my friends is how you get back in the game...

So with that, some stats and goals for this week. First of all, I am down to 268 lbs. That's 20.8 pounds in 9 weeks. I was 268.8 last week and thought for sure that I was going to gain a pound, but luckily it went in the other direction. Bullet dodged!

Goals for this week: Get up every morning M, T, W, and Th to exercise.
Mon- 3.1 mile-Done (38:02)
Tues.- Rec center for some weight training
Wed.- 4.7 mile loop
Thurs.- Bike 15 miles
Sun.- Medved Lilac Festival 10k!!
-Get up every morning and do 20 push ups
-Make sure runs/work-outs are a priority not an afterthought.
-Blog Sunday night!

All aboard the marathon training train! Next stop...10k on Sunday!

So, why run a marathon?
Because we can do more than we ever think possible.

Back in the game.
All roads lead to Chicago!