running – Page 2 – sara mcguyer

These Three Things

When I thought of the top three things I’m looking forward to in 2015, my list shaped up like so:

1) A real vacation.
We were so focused on house hunting and buying, that we never took a proper vacation. We visited family out of town, took a weekend trip to Chicago, and I traveled for work a couple of times. So while I got to travel a bit, it wasn’t enough to sate my wanderlust. I took a brief stay-cation, and my only extended vacation was dedicated to moving. You know, the thing where you pack and clean and haul stuff around? It’s a lot of work, and not remotely vacation-like. We haven’t decided what trips we’ll take, but I’m being called westward. Any recommendations?

2) Redeeming myself in the marathon department.
I finished the Flying Pig in May, but it wasn’t pretty. This experience merits its own post at some point. I’m still surprised I made it, truth be told. Given my running plans between now and the end of the year (I am registered for the Santa Hustle Half Marathon), I estimate I’ll have run 700 miles or so this year. It sounds like a lot, but I thought I’d be more on pace to run 100 miles most months, or at least 1,000 miles total. In 2015, I’m upping the number of miles, but I mostly want to enjoy the marathon I run in 2015 as much I enjoyed the one I ran in 2013, and decidedly unlike the not-so-enjoyable outing of 2014.

One of my favorite running pics from 2014:

Accidentally timed that out perfectly. Mile 10 of 12.

A photo posted by Sara McGuyer (@sara_mc) on Jan 1, 2014 at 4:25pm PST

3) Destination racing.
For the last couple of years, since I started running, I’ve been talking with friends from college about meeting up for a race and reunion. While we’re all scattered across the country, many of us have came to running on our own. I know that sounds weird that marathoning is part of my ideal vacation plan, but I’ve become the sort of person who travels with running shoes. This year I managed to get in 15 lakefront miles in a weekend to Chicago. I ran in my hometown over Thanksgiving, a lovely turkey and pie-fueled 5-miler. Packing running gear has become my default.

After I wrote these three things out, I realized how much they coincide. It’s my brain telling me it’s time for a break. Vacation is critical for head space, and running long distance is the best meditation I know. To another year of pounding the pavement!

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Just Can’t Wait. The calendar still says 2014, but let’s push forward. What are you looking forward to in 2015? Is there an event, special occasion, or reunion that you’re counting down the days until? Planning a trip? A life change? A move? Or maybe it’s the simple pleasures – the release of a movie, something or someone hitting a stage near you.”

#heartmyhood: a Monon ode

I moved this summer, after a good, long house-hunting. Our exhaustive and detailed list of musts included proximity to the Monon Trail. The Monon is my city artery – it gets me to work, to home. It’s my frequent path for long runs.

The trail connected me to the city in a way I never expected. I remember thinking how Carmel seemed like a distant land, such a far drive away. Things look a little bit different after running the trail across city lines. The Monon made the city smaller, closer – like all of Indy is my neighborhood.

These runs along the trail during autumn are a sight to behold. Some of the trees are all spent, others have just gotten into their fall groove. Seeing these changes unfold never gets old.

#heartmyhood is a collaboration between SmallBox and Indianapolis Neighborhood Resource Center to spread neighborhood love in Indy

A Loaded Spring

I’m sitting on my couch writing, feeling like a loaded spring. This is what happens, I guess, when you become a runner.

I ran 5 miles on the first of the year. It was cold, but not the painful or numbing kind. It was breathtaking, exhilarating. The clouds rippled out from the sun, like so:

On the second, I woke to a heavy blanket of snow, and knew the six mile run I’d planned wasn’t happening. I didn’t even bother digging out my car and trying my luck on the treadmill at the gym. Tomorrow, I’ll run, one way or another, I thought.

Because I couldn’t run, I did the next best thing. I dug into “Born To Run” by Christopher McDougall, a book I’d been reading about ultrarunning (any distance longer than a traditional marathon), the way modern sneakers can ruin our feet, cause injuries and a hidden tribe from Mexico, the Tarahumara, who can run for hours, even days across rugged terrain in nothing but a thin sandal. I devoured what was left of the book, which culminated in a 50 mile backcountry race, pitting the best ultrarunners against the Tarahumara.

In the elite running world, there had been lore about the Tarahumara. They were reclusive, mysterious. No one knew their secrets. How curious that they could run like that without getting injured. And more curious, why did they run such great distances, all for fun (it was a game – two days of running! For a game!)?

I’ve learned this lesson in my own way: running becomes a whole other animal once you learn to find joy in it.

It wasn’t love at first step for me. I’d jogged a mile or two off and on over the years. A fair weather runner, I’d have called myself. Before I fell hard for it, I had to shed a lot of baggage, casting off of what I’d assumed was just what runners do. I had to find my own way.

It was much easier to relax into a rhythm once I let go of pace. I’d always thought you just get out there and run as fast as you can and get it over with. But I hated gasping for air, the forced feeling of it all. One day I decided I didn’t care to be the fastest, I only wanted to stick to my word. If I said I’d run 10 miles, I wanted to finish.

Then, I ditched the headphones. As a music lover it seemed natural to pop in earbuds and listen to something with a quick beat, something that might motivate me. As I increased miles, those earbuds started to feel like a distraction, causing a weird throb in my ears. I’d put them in to be a distraction in a good way, not like this. So I tested a music-free run and never looked back. I listen to breath, and the sounds of my steps, and the world around me. And sometimes, when I find that rhythm, I don’t really hear anything at all.

Back to “Born to Run.” I’m thinking about desert running, and the heat. And I’m looking out my window at snow-covered everything. My weather app says it is 0º outside. And I think I want to be my own kind of crazy and try a quick run in it. I’ll just commit to getting out there, even it’s just for a block, something I know I can finish. I need this. I am a loaded spring.

Addendum:

I did get out there and it was glorious. I ran all six miles I’d hoped to run yesterday. Once I made it to the Monon Trail, it was mostly cleared. There were patches that were a wee bit dicey, like where the trail crosses side roads and on the bridges over the canal. But mostly, it was clear and free, and glistening with green salt crystal. For the three miles out, there wasn’t a soul on the trail. It was just me, the birds and the crack of salt underfoot.

Just after turning back towards home I saw a runner moving toward me on the horizon. As he passed, I mustered a nod. What I had really wanted to do was to proclaim: “Cheers to being one of the crazy ones! Isn’t it good to be ALIVE?!”

Flying Pig

I knew I wanted to run another race this year, but I’d been hesitant to commit. Over the holiday, Louie’s sister was talking about the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati, and how at one point on the course, there’s a hill so steep it’s like you’re eating asphalt. Ouch.

Ever since marathoning became a possibility for us, Louie’s had his eye on this one. The hills, they sort of terrify me.

Despite that, it’s official – we registered today. I’ll have to start training right away. February might bring ice and snow, forcing me onto the treadmill. I’ve only ever trained on flat ground, but to prep for this one, I’ll need to do some hill hunting. Tomorrow, I’ll start small and kick off my training with a four-miler.

Below is the race map with the elevation changes noted. Mercy.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “What’s one step you can take to support a goal you have for 2014? What comes next?”

Awesomefacing

Awesomefacing. The first known occurrence was documented in this terribly grainy photo on January 16, 2009, on the occasion of getting a new television. We’d upgraded from a 19 inch double wide number, the kind of tv that weighed about five times what you expect. Louie was just a little excited.

We laughed until we cried over this face. It made occasional, but few appearances over the years. I’d request it every now and then.

A sample exchange:
Me: “Hey Louie, make that one face.”
Louie: “What face?”
Me: “You know what I mean!”

And then, in 2013, awesomefacing officially became a thing.

Louie and I trained for and ran the 500 Festival Mini Marathon in May, and the Monumental Marathon in November. His pace is faster then mine to the tune of two minutes per mile. Because of this, we very rarely run together, but we did choose the same training plan. Most days, we’d depart for our runs at the same time, and at some point, we’d cross paths on the Monon Trail, me still heading north, him circling back towards home.

I don’t recall the first time it happened, but at some point Louie began to greet me with his best awesomeface as he passed. The only thing to do at that point is to awesomeface right back.

Here’s how you do it: Kick your head back just a bit. Stretch your mouth open as wide and high as you can as you can – then push yourself to do it a little bit further. If you’re doing it right, it probably will hurt a little, and then you’ll start laughing. Especially if you’re looking at someone else who is also awesomefacing.

We gave it this name along the way. It’s incredibly silly. I’m sure more than one individual who has witnessed our exchange on the Monon has thought we were certifiably insane. But you know what? When you’re digging in and trying to push toward that next running milestone, a good awesomeface goes a long way to pump you up.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “What word(s) did you learn OR make-up this year? How did you learn it/make it up? Did you start using it?”

Twenty Miles

Of course it would have been raining the morning of my first 20-miler, and not just a little. Oh no, this was a steady drenching – the kind of rain that blows in sideways and seems to change directional slant now and then. I’d finished 18 miles two weeks before, but something about 20 seemed exponentially higher, intimidating, even without rain. I steeled myself, took the bright-side approach: if the weather was terrible on race day, this would serve as good practice.

I’m not a very experienced runner. A year and a half ago, I could barely run two miles. I decided I wanted to be the sort of person who ran two or three miles a few times a week. I had no grander ambition than that. To find myself 13 weeks into training for a marathon on a rainy October morning was a bit unexpected.

What does one wear for a somewhat chilly, rainy, crazy-long run? I opted for a tank top, thinking it’d be better to not have a drenched long-sleeved shirt weighing me down. I was much more worried about soaked shoes that would feel quadrupled in weight throughout the run. And the fact that my phone was tucked inside a pocket, where it might or might not stay dry (and operational). I really wanted to track this run to know how I did in each mile, so I decided to risk it.

Rainy Monon Trail — The Monon Trail on the rainy day that marked my first 20-miler.

I set out on the Monon Trail wanting to keep near a 10:30 pace for the first ten miles, an 11 minute pace for the next five, and whatever necessary in the final five, so long as I finished. I pushed the rain out of my mind and found a nice rhythm. I didn’t count the miles or pay attention to pace. I just went into a running zone – a clear mind, a body in motion/auto-pilot. It was such an occasion that exemplifies why I fell hard for running.

At one point, I got a 20-30 minute reprieve from heavy rain. I began to feel half-dried everywhere except for my feet. It didn’t last – the rain came back and re-soaked me from head to toe. My fingers pruned. With each step, water squished out of my shoes. As I hit 18.7 miles, I couldn’t think of anything except the rain and my tiring legs.

Did I mention I am (was?) an inexperienced runner? Just a few steps after finishing, a stark realization overshadowed the sense of accomplishment. Without the body heat from running, I was going to freeze. The temperature had taken a major dive throughout the afternoon, and the tank top choice suddenly seemed a terrible idea. I’d either have to take the typical mile cool-down walk half-frozen with teeth chattering, or I’d need to suck it up and jog another mile more.

Despite my wobbly legs, I opted for jogging. A few slow steps in, a biker wearing a black hood approached. I hadn’t much expected to see anyone (very few people were crazy enough to be out on the trail that morning), but I especially didn’t expect to see Louie.

My husband had also ran his very first 20-miler. We left the house at the same time, but with his pace being more in 8 to 8:30 range, he would finish at least an hour before me. I would have expected him to be home, completely wiped and still trying to warm up, or anything except venturing back out into the cold.

But there he was, with a basket full of provisions – a slice of sesame bread smothered with pesto, a bottle of water, a mug of hot ginseng peppermint tea, a towel and a long-sleeved shirt. “I just knew you’d be freezing,” he said.

As it turns out, the greatest surprise of the day was not that I’d been able to finish the 20 miles, but this kindest gesture.

p.s. My phone didn’t get waterlogged and I was able to track the whole run. I’m still proud of this run, perhaps more so than the eventual marathon finish several weeks later. But it may be that I remember this run most for that lovely act of kindness than the run itself.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “What completely surprised you this year? Was it good…or not so good? Tell us a story!”

That Flood of Thought

In theory, last Monday started out perfectly. I got lost in writing until it was time to race in to work. Trouble is, that meant I never made it through my morning weekly planning. Writing is also part of that typical routine, just not so much of it.

Before I knew it, the week was a run away train. I never framed up my priorities just right, and so I swung at things as they flew at me, boxing through the week blindfolded, feeling a little lost. Yuck.

I never could get back on track, and just resorted to slogging through til the weekend.

Thankfully, there was no crisis, nothing major dropped or forgotten, but I can’t help but wonder how I let this happen. After spending so much of December reflecting and realizing the importance of mornings (among other things), how did I get so far off the rails?

With the promise of fifty degree weather and no ice on the trail, I set out for my first run in the great outdoors for some time. And I thought, This is it!

It wasn’t just that I decided to write Monday morning. It’s that I lacked the mental clarity or the discipline to recover later that day, or to carve out the time to refocus throughout the rest of the week. And the reason I couldn’t refocus?

Bringing myself out of the muck that is ‘computer brain’ increasingly requires physical activity. That’s what was missing. There’s simply no substitute for it.

I’ve suffered a bit of a double whammy. My regular yoga teacher moved to a studio way up in the ‘burbs, too far for me to follow. Add to that the weeks of iciness of the side streets and Monon Trail (meaning no outdoor running for me, falling expert that I am), and my whole physical routine was off.

I’ve made some trips to the gym, but it isn’t the same. It’s hard to find any kind of clarity with all of the smells and sounds of the gym, when working out requires a machine and forces a different kind of screen time.

Today, on that rare winter day that teases spring, my intended two miles turned to four.

Pounding, heart in chest, feet on pavement, wind and breath. Then, that flood of thought that comes with a good run.