First Ever Gear Review: Nathan Minimist Hydration Pack

I am a guzzler. Even before I started running, I would drink between 64 and 128 ounces of water every day. Since I started, my minimum has increased to about 96 ounces on a rest day. I don't force myself to drink that much, it's just what keeps me happy.

If I'm running less than 10 miles in cool conditions, I don't carry any water. Any more than that and I want some with me. In warmer weather, I've started taking water for anything over six miles. I've carried water in all three of the half marathons I've run. The courses were all well-supported but after running the Georgetown 10-miler, which had abysmal course support for this back-of-the-packer, I'm a little paranoid about being able to drink when I want to rather than when the course dictates it. On race day, I bring my own water and drink the race's sports drink.

After the G10 debacle, I asked friends for advice on hydration options. I knew I didn't want to carry anything in my hand, even with a strap. Wearing a SPIbelt for several runs helped me realize I didn't want a belt-style hydration system. For me, a pack/vest was the best option. Most of the people I asked about this option suggested Nathan as a quality brand.

Minimist: behind me all the way!

Since I'm a recreational runner with a limited budget, I chose the Minimist, which is one of Nathan's most basic race vests. The website's description of the pack: "Just what you need and nothing more with featherlight fabrication, a 1.5 L bladder, zippered back storage, and front pockets for phone and essentials." The pack itself weighs 11 oz. I can't remember how much I paid, but I'm pretty sure it was around $50. It's currently $59.95 on RunningWarehouse.com.

I was spurred to write this review when a friend saw my pack in my most recent race photo and asked how I liked it. As my list of pros grew longer, I realized I should review this awesome product that's made my running more enjoyable.

Here's a quick list of the things I like about the Minimist:

1. Featherlight isn't an exaggeration.
2. The pack fits snugly, comfortably, and doesn't move unless I move it.
3. Adjustments can be made quickly and easily even while on the move.
4. It has enough pockets to make up for the lack of pockets in women's running clothes.
5. It holds enough water for me for 13 training miles even in hot weather.
6. The open design would allow me to use a larger bladder without buying a new pack.
7. As far as running gear goes, it's affordable.

I've loved this pack since the first moment I put it on. It took me less than a minute to adjust it to my frame. Filling the bladder was easy and nothing leaked.

I tested it on a long run just a couple days after I received it - my first 10 mile training run. When I got started, I noticed a few things that needed to be cinched down, took care of it while I was on the run, and from that point, I didn't have to make a single adjustment to the fit. The pack stayed exactly where I put it, too. Even when I'm wearing a tank, nothing rubs, annoys or chafes. Once I've got it on properly, I barely notice my Nathan is on my back. Even after completing a half marathon, when all I want is to remove my shoes, hat, clothes, etc., I don't even think to unbuckle my Nathan because it fits so comfortably. While I'm on a run, the best thing a piece of gear can do is perform so admirably that I don't notice it.

The pack has four pockets. Two of the pockets have elasticized top openings and fit enough fuel for me for a half marathon (usually some Clif Shot Bloks and Jelly Belly Sports Beans). There's one zippered pocket that's large and stretchy enough for both my phone and 5th Gen iPod Touch (no smartphone for me). The fourth pocket has a Velcro closure. I've used this pocket for my car key. On a recent run, though, my key fell out. If the key hadn't hit my foot, I wouldn't have noticed it was gone and I would have had to retrace at least two miles of a long run, so I'll probably avoid keeping my key there in future.

There is a fifth pocket that I would potentially use in races in which there are major delays between getting to the start and starting or getting to the finish and getting your stuff. It's a large zipper pocket in the main section of the pack. Any item you put in it would be resting between the water bladder and your back. It could be useful for a light jacket, flip-flops, astronaut ice cream, or anything else that can be packed flat, is light, and you wouldn't mind carrying however far you're running.

So far, this pack's water-carrying capacity has been large enough for me to get through my longest training run of twelve+ miles. (I always keep some sports drink and food in my car for after long training runs.) It's also been a great resource in my halves, so I can decide when I want to drink instead of depending on the course or slowing down at water stops, though, as I mentioned, I do supplement my supply with the course-provided sports drink.

As I get to longer distances, I'm considering buying a 2L bladder. Because the pocket that holds the Minimist's bladder is open, I would be able to use a larger bladder without buying a new pack. It might stick up a little but that wouldn't bother me. In marathons, it might even be possible to have someone meet me mid-course to replace a depleted bladder with a full one.

There are only a couple things I'd change if I could:

1. There is a clip for the hose on the upper chest strap but, even when it's clipped in, a good bit of the hose is left dangling off into space and joggling around. I troubleshoot this problem by tucking the nozzle under the shoulder strap but that's a duct-tape fix at best. I'd prefer the clip for the hose be on the shoulder strap. (EDITED [6/21/13]: I've since learned that the tube can be cut to the desired length, if you remove the bite valve and cut with sharp scissors. Of course, this assumes that the bite valve is simple to remove. See #4 below. [6/22/13]: With some elbow grease and trust in the quality of the product, I was finally able to separate the hose from the bladder and clean both. I also cut the hose to a better length.)
2. I don't like red. Oh well. I rarely have to look at the pack while I'm on a run and most products of this type don't come in a wide variety of color choices. (This one is available in white but the vendor I purchased from didn't have that option. Even if they had, I wouldn't have chosen red.)
3. The Velcro closure pocket isn't terribly effective at keeping things in. It's the tiniest of the pockets, though, and my stuff for a run can easily fit in all the others.
4. Cleaning the bladder itself doesn't seem difficult but you're supposed to be able to separate the hose from the bladder and I have yet to be able to pull hard enough to make that happen because I don't want to damage the bladder or hose. My solution thus far has been to hang the bladder to dry after each time I use it, to empty the hose as much as possible, and to run clean water through before I drink from it.

Bottom Line: I would recommend this pack to anyone who doesn't care too much about bells and whistles but wants a simple, affordable, comfortable solution for carrying a lot of water a long way without using your hands or wearing a belt. I plan to continue using mine for a long time to come.

Tip for hot weather: Before my most recent half marathon, I filled the bladder with ice before I added water. Despite the heat and a two-hour wait from wake-up to race time, my water was cold for the first hour of my run. And, as an added bonus, the cool bladder was against my back, like an ad hoc ice vest. I wouldn't recommend freezing the bladder but I do fill it and keep it in the fridge the night before a long run.

How do you hydrate during a long run?

Official Race Recap: 1/2 Sauer 1/2 Kraut Half Marathon Edition

I did it. I ran another half marathon today. It was a great race with a German theme. Perhaps the name tipped you off.

My decision to run this race was quite spontaneous. Patti, a friend I met about a month ago at a running event, was already signed up and casually mentioned that there were spots left. All of my objections were settled when she said transportation and hotel costs were on her.

The beer wenches with Marathon Man

We headed up to Philly Friday afternoon, arrived around 4, collected our bibs at one of the lowest key packet pick-ups I've ever witnessed in the basement of the Cannstatter Volksfest Verein, then headed to our hotel. Patti was meeting six friends. They were running late. Before dinner, we headed back to packet pick-up to grab all of their race bags. With big races, we would have needed proof. At this one, Patti just listed their names (some of them incorrectly) and we got their shirts, bibs, food tickets, bags and safety pins - lots and lots of safety pins. Awesome!

A hearty dinner at Cracker Barrel, followed by a swim in the warm hotel pool was the perfect pre-bed time routine. I was all jammied up and in bed by 9 p.m. I set my alarm for 5:20, since it takes me almost no time to get ready, but Patti was up at 4:30 and so was I.

Patti donned her dirndl and tried to convince me to wear the extra one someone brought along. There wasn't enough peer pressure in the world that could have squeezed me into that costume.

It was a quick trip to the parking area, with a stop at Dunkin' Donuts for a bagel. We waited for the other beer wenches to meet us and hopped a ride on the shuttle to Pennypack Park. Along the way, tons of people asked for photos with the crew and they hammed it up like champs. Of course, most of these ladies run every race (and they run A LOT of races) in costume.

Pre-race selfie

Patti and I agreed that we wouldn't race this - we were treating it like a training run with the extra perk of a medal.

My watch wouldn't get a signal, so we were the last folks across the start line, which worked out since we were taking it nice and slow. Being at the back of the pack and using a run:walk interval, we kept leap-frogging with others around us. They would jog and pass us as we walked. Then they would stop to walk and we would pass them. Back-of-the-packers are friendly folks, so it was fun to joke as we passed one another.

When we began, it was probably about 65 degrees. By the time we finished, it was probably near 75 or 80. (There's a reason I start long training runs at 5 or 5:30 a.m.) Fortunately, 95% of the course was shaded and there was an occasional breeze. There were more hills than I was expecting (we killed a lot of them - just chugged right up while slowing our pace only a little), as well as about 1.5-2 miles of trail running, which slowed my roll.

Patti and I kept up a 2:1 walk:run interval for the first 11 miles. Then, though Patti was worried about being too slow for me, I was the one who pooped out. Patti switched over to 1:1 and finished about 2 minutes before I did. I switched over to a running-whenever-I-could-for-as-long-as-I-could:walking-the-rest and jogged across the finish line 33 minutes after my half marathon PR time was behind me.

The photographer at the finish said I had a nice smile, so my face must not have been showing how much pain I was in. That's a good thing, especially since it dissipates so quickly afterward.

As I neared the finish line, the marathon leader buzzed past. This guy took a minute less to finish 26.2 miles than it took me to run half that. Amazing! Watching him finish ahead of me was a sight I didn't mind in the least.

Post-race selfie

Patti and I spent a few minutes recovering from the run and then began the trek up the hill to catch the shuttle bus back to Cannstatter, where there were beer and brats waiting. My training run for today was supposed to be 14 miles, I'm going to count the walk up that hill as part of it. :)

The brats were DELICIOUS! Plenty of sauerkraut on top. I don't normally eat a lot so soon after a race but I used both of my tickets and wolfed those things down.

This was a really great race (or training run, as the case may be). It's small but extremely well-organized (down to results being emailed to each person within a few hours of finishing). The course has plenty of tough parts but enough easy parts to balance. There was a surprising amount of crowd support where they were able to access the trails. Every person got a round of applause as they approached the finish line. (It's amazing how that little gesture can mean so much when you're exhausted and in pain.) The race shirt was a nice tech shirt with no sponsor names, just the race logo, that I'll definitely wear once it's cooler and short sleeves are more necessary. AND this race is really inexpensive. I paid about $80, and that was two weeks before the race. If you sign up early, it's only $50 or $60 and the full is only $5 more. Also, if you register for the full and decide you need to stop at the half, you're still a finisher and they count your hm time (they do this to help people make wise decisions about running in the heat).

If you're within easy driving distance of Philadelphia, I recommend it. You probably won't PR, unless there is unseasonably cool weather, but you'll have fun. And, if you like to travel for races, it's really worth visiting Philly for this one.

Best course sign: "I've trained 18 weeks to hold this sign!"

Catching IronMen

Before you ask, no, I'm not referring to the movie.

On Sunday, June 9, I spent about five hours volunteering at the IronMan 70.3 EagleMan Triathlon. In March, I was introduced to the idea of volunteering at races as a way of giving back to the running community. Because I'd always been so moved by the TV recaps of IronMan competitions, I decided to see if there was one in my area. Turns out, the EagleMan has been run in Cambridge, MD, for many years. I signed up and spent the next three months anticipating the event.

The job I volunteered for was "runcatcher." I Googled it and discovered that it would be my job to make sure finishers didn't fall over at the end of the race. Sounded good to me. I made my fair share of jokes about catching hot, sweaty men (and women, too, of course).

Cambridge is about an hour and a half from my home. I arrived around 10 a.m. and was in plenty of time to help unwrap medals in anticipation of the elite finishers coming across the line.

There were a bunch of us in a thirty foot long area, shaded by a canopy, wearing our yellow and green Eagleman Crew Shirts, getting ready with icy cold wet towels, medals, and scissors to cut off timing devices.

The finish line was more subdued than I expected it to be. Now that I think about it, though, I'm not particularly boisterous at the end of a long run and the folks crossing the finish for this race has just propelled themselves through a 1.2 mile swim, a 56 mile bike ride, and a 13.1 mile run, plus transitions. So, I guess it's not surprising that they weren't hootin' 'n' hollerin' as they came through.

There were plenty of people up front waiting to walk the athletes through the finish area, so I assigned myself a task that wasn't glamorous but needed to be done. I made it my responsibility to make sure there were icy towels for every finisher. Over the course of 3 hours, I hauled a dozen or more bags of ice, even more buckets of water, and stacks of towels, ensuring that the three big tubs of towels remained full.

Jon Blais' parents (white and green tees) w/83 yo finisher

I saw so many beautiful things at the finish line. Some of the highlights for me were:

• Seeing at least three octogenarians finish strongly, with their heads held high and barely a wobble in their gait. I told one older lady (in her seventies, I think), "I say this without any irony: I want to be you when I grow up."
• Watching several people laying down to roll across the finish line. When I asked the volunteer coordinator why they were calling it a "Blazeman roll," he told me about John Blais who competed in an IronMan after learning that he had ALS. When he got to the end of the course, John could no longer walk, so he log-rolled across the finish line. The coordinator then pointed to a couple presenting medals and said, "Those are his parents."
• Hearing competitors jovially ask about each others' races and congratulating one another.
• Seeing a man carried across the finish line by six other folks when he could no longer move his own body. This sight was a little scary, too.

Andy Potts medal-ing

Probably my favorite thing happened around the seven hour mark when Andy Potts, who won in 3:47:46, came back to the finish area and started putting medals around the necks of folks who took twice as long (or more) to finish. There wasn't a hint of condescension in his tone as he congratulated them on their accomplishment. When I left an hour and a half later, he was still there, welcoming racers across the finish line.

There was more than one moment at that race that made me tear up. It was an emotional experience, watching people finish a journey they may have begun months or years before I ever laid eyes on them. I went home sunburned and tired but also content and hopeful.

In a slight paraphrase of the great Kathrine Switzer: "If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch an [IronMan]."

Why Did She Wear That?

As I was sitting in my car at an intersection this afternoon, I saw a couple cross the street. Both of them were large. Both were wearing clothes that some might call embarrassingly tight.

One of the first thoughts that went through my head was, "Why would she wear clothes that make her look like that?"

Then, almost immediately, I thought, "Why do I care? Why should anyone care?"

Then, "Maybe she feels great in those clothes. Maybe she looked in the mirror this morning and thought, 'Damn! Lookin' good!'"

Then, "Who convinced me that having fat makes a person less valuable or that a person should feel ashamed to show their fat in public?"

And, "Why are my thoughts always so much harsher toward large women than large men?"

Finally, it was like scales fell off my eyes, and, for a few seconds at least, I realized that I have no right or reason to care about someone else's weight or size unless I know the person and his or her situation and can be genuinely concerned for the health of that person.

Though I'd like to pretend that I have the emotional capacity to care for the health of every person I see, I can't honestly say that I do.

So, just as I hope others aren't judging me when some of my fat is showing in a way our culture deems unattractive or when they don't know I ran 10 miles before deciding to eat four pieces of pizza or a giant bag of Taco Bell, I'm going to do my best to stop judging everyone around me for not meeting the artificial standard of attractiveness I've bought into more than I realize or want to admit.

Maybe by being less judgmental of others, I will find a way to stop judging myself.

Official Race Recap: Warrior Dash Edition

Last Saturday, May 18, I took part in one of the most fun running events I've enjoyed so far: The Warrior Dash. The Saturday before that, I did a Color Run. I disliked that event so much that I don't even plan to write a recap. Let's just say that inhaling colored corn starch for 45 minutes and looking like I have gangrene by the end were SO not my thing. Mud, on the other hand, I can totally get behind that!

Our start times wasn't until 1:30, so I woke up at a reasonable time and bummed around the house until my running compatriot and her husband, Karin and Jeff, came to pick me up. What a nice change from waking up at 5:30 (or earlier!) to get to most of my recent races.

Earlier in the week, the weather forecast was calling for sun and temps in the 80s but it turned out to be sort of a dismal day with rain and clouds. That suited me just fine since I sunburn like nobody's business and I hate running in hot weather. Anyway, rain couldn't help but contribute to all that glorious mud!

We arrived at Budd's Creek around 11 and were checked in well before noon. The check-in/finish area was filled with people who'd already run and were coated in mud, people waiting to run, and a healthy number of people in strange, hilarious, and even scandalous costumes. My favorites were: 1) a group of women dressed as various super heroes, complete with capes, 2) a pair of guys dressed as Princess Leia and Lara Croft, and 3) a group of older women wearing flannel nightgowns and hairnets over their curlers. Least favorite: the insane number of men in nothing but Speedos.

Before - we were so clean

Karin, Jeff, and I had fun observing while we waited for Michelle and Cassie, the remainder of our posse, to arrive. They showed up around 12:30, we donned our black headbands with "I am a warrior!" printed on them and dyed pink, knee-high tube socks, took some before photos, and got into the start corral to wait our turn.

After about twenty minutes, the starting flames flared and we were all on our way.

I knew we were going to be running through the woods but I had no frickin' clue that we were going to be climbing and descending incredibly steep hills for the first two miles. As far as I'm concerned, this was my very first trail race. The running was difficult, to say the least, then there were giant mud pits, walls to climb over and under, and a little barbed wire thrown into the mix.

Karin set the precedent of waiting for "the team" so we all pretty much stuck together throughout the run.

The majority of the obstacles were in the last mile of the race, which followed a motocross track. Though the motocross surface was a lot smoother than the woodsy trail, the hills did not let up.

I skipped the wall you had to climb with just a rope and some tiny footrests and skinned my knee while descending another obstacle. I managed to climb over and slide down most things quickly and with some grace.

My favorite obstacle, by far, was the huge slip 'n' slide. I would have repeated it if doing so hadn't meant climbing a giant hill and waiting in line for 15 minutes. My least favorite came right after the slip 'n' slide and consisted of five back-to-back A-frames that seemed like a compound fracture waiting to happen. Karin didn't even attempt it. The rest of us skipped out after making it over the first A-frame.

I don't remember much between that and the end, where we ran over fire and then crawled through a mud pit. The mud seemed like straight up clay. It threatened to claim your shoes whether you tried to walk through or crawled on your belly. Like snow, the heavier a person was, the deeper she sank and the more difficult it was to move forward. Also, there were sharp rocks in the mud, which made me ever-so-grateful to get through it. By the time we were done, an hour and a half after we began*, Karin and I were so covered in mud, we looked like we had boots on. It was sort of amazing.

After - 'nuff said

After collecting our medals/bottle openers, we met back up with our entourage, got some muddy pictures with our fuzzy viking helmets, and headed to the hose-off area. I'm convinced that this part, though lovely for the runners, is also a perk for the spectators. Plenty of people were standing around watching dashers hose themselves and others off. There was mud everywhere. It reminded me of returning home from trips to the beach and discovering sand in crevices I didn't know I had. My toenails are still a little stained the same baby poo shade as the mud.

Though part of our race fee covered a complimentary beverage, we decided to head home rather than heading to the party. As we walked up the path to the parking area, some folks asked if we'd enjoyed our beer. They seemed scandalized that we would pass them up but all was right again in the world when we offered them our beer tokens for the low, low price of retrieving them from our mud-caked shoelaces.

Before we even thought about getting in the car we had to change into dry, clean clothes. We created a makeshift changing station with the car door for one wall and a towel for the other. Even with that, I'm pretty sure I flashed the couple "showering" with buckets of water they'd brought along for the purpose.

Some of the scrapes and bruises were evident right away. Others took a couple days to show. My legs have looked like someone beat me with a stick all week. The first day after the run, I felt pretty good. The day after that, though, I felt like someone had worked me over. My sides and arms, muscles that I don't use heavily, were particularly sore.

Despite the pain, I really enjoyed the Warrior Dash and would definitely consider doing a mud run again as long as I had partners in crime. It wouldn't have been nearly as much fun without my running buddies. I loved the trails (I've already signed up for two more trail races this summer). The obstacles added some interest and being able to skip them made them less scary. Everyone there (except one woman who didn't seem to know beforehand that she was going to get dirty) was having a good time. The race shirt is awesome. And, like any seven-year-old, I love showing off my scabby knees and bruised legs.

*Before we began, they announced the fastest times so far. The fastest woman had completed the run in just over 27 minutes. One of the rules is that you can't win an award unless you've completed all of the obstacles. I call party foul on Warrior Dash in only this one respect: with the delays at various obstacles and the fact that there was no way to monitor whether people actually completed all of them, I find it almost impossible to believe that the male and female top finishers actually followed the rules to get the times they did. I could be wrong - there are really fast, agile people out there.

Perception

It doesn't matter that I'm currently wearing a size large shirt that's baggy on me (I was sporting tight XXL's last May).

It doesn't matter that the skirt I wore today used to barely zip around my waist and now hangs lazily on my hips.

It doesn't matter that pictures regularly prove that I'm slenderer (no, really, that's a word) and firmer than I used to be.

It doesn't matter that 90 percent of the time, when I see my reflection, I think, "Hey, looking gooood!"

There are still times that I feel like all of my efforts have been wasted and I look terrible.

In my head, I turn the tiny jiggle of my upper thighs into a ponderous, swelling wave of fat that is going to engulf the world. And the skin and fat the hangs from my upper arms reminds me of giant, awkward wings. And my over-sized calves make me think of Godzilla tromping through Tokyo. And the stretchmarks crossing my belly look like a road map of failure.

Fortunately, though these moments are discouraging, they are few.

To combat them, I have to remind myself of what I've accomplished with this body that I denigrate so freely. Also, I remember that having fat on my body does not make me a less valuable human being, just as losing fat cannot make me any more worthy of love and kindness than I always have been.

I have to choose daily not to buy into the idea that being skinnier will make ME happy. Been there, done that, it wasn't true. Perhaps it works for some but weight loss has never been a sustainable motivating factor for me. Finding something I love and going after it with passion, however, has made me happier AND healthier.

Also, watch this (FYI, Laci is very open about sexuality and uses a little bit of colorful language).

A Realization Is Dawning

I've been working on this health/fitness/weight loss thing for a little over a year now.

Watching what I ate helped me lose weight in the past, so I started there. I'd never tracked my calories before but I started last May.

Then, in July, I started exercising - a lot. That meant that my recommended daily intake (RDI) went up by several hundred calories. It was a good thing, too, because running makes me hungry.

At first, I was able to maintain my nutrition and exercise goals simultaneously but, as I ramped up my running, I became less and less concerned about what I was eating. In fact, like many people, I frequently used running as a justification for food splurges.

Though I've done a good job staying near my RDI, for the past several months I've been eating a lot of garbage. I'm probably single-handedly contributing a metric ton of fast food trash to whatever land our garbage fills.

I eat good stuff, too - fresh fruit, steamed veggies, whole grain bread, and other nutritious foods all make regular appearances - but it doesn't make up the majority of my diet.

My weight loss hasn't stopped but it's slowed and I can tell that I'm headed toward a plateau; the running will keep the weight I've lost off but, if my eating continues as it has, I'm unlikely to lose anymore. I have a decision to make: Will I be content where I am or do I recommit to my goals - making my overall health a priority?

It's an easy answer. Yes, of course, I want to commit to making my health a priority.

The problem is - I don't want to track calories anymore. It's becoming a discouraging obsession. And I'm becoming increasingly convinced that I eat more food when I track because I think, "Hey, I still have 300 calories left." Then I eat whether I'm hungry or not. I also justify poorer food choices because I'm staying under the limit.

I've heard people say that weight loss is a simple calories in/calories out equation. That may be true. Health, which is what I'm going for, isn't so simple. Maybe I can lose weight eating X calories of junky food every day if I'm burning Y calories through activity but, if that X consists of Whoppers and fries and lots of processed junk, I might (do) end up feeling crappy, anyway.

My first step: No more food from restaurants with disposable utensils. Friday will be my cheat day but, even then, I'm going to try to avoid big chain fast food in favor of food trucks and local eateries.

On a side note:
Anyone want to become my personal healthy-cooking chef? You can live in my pantry (which is actually a better offer than you might think) and help me become a PaleoveganglutenfreenoMSG superstar. Apply within.

Scales Are the Devil

Did you know that it's common to gain weight after a really long run or hard race? I didn't... until about two weeks ago.

I don't weigh myself very often because the numbers on the scale never reflect the improvements I feel in the fit of my clothes, in my ability to work out longer and harder, or in my general outlook on life. My strategy since I started this journey last year has been to weigh myself only when I visit the Rowleys, every few months or so.

My most recent visit to their home included running the Flower City Half Marathon. When I mentioned that I was planning to weigh myself after we ran, Rebecca said, "I always gain 3 or 4 pounds from long runs." WHAT?! She went on to say that the gain would go away within a couple days but that *after* the race might not be the best time to check on it.

I believed her but, for some reason, I decided to weigh myself about 48 hours after we ran, anyway. Generally, I can estimate my weight within a couple of pounds but I always hope that the scale will prove me wrong. If I set the expectation that I've only lost 10 pounds, wouldn't it be great to see a 15 pound loss on the scale?!

That never happens. This time was no exception.

Adjusting for post-race weight gain, the scale said I'd lost about 8 pounds since New Year's. That's 8 pounds in 4 months. I'm going in the right direction at a healthy rate but I was a tad... underwhelmed.

In that time, I've lost a full t-shirt size, a pants size, run 36 miles in the course of seven days, run two half marathons in eight days, seen obvious changes in my body, and received compliments from others who have as well.

So, less than 48 hours after my first half marathon, after getting off that stupid scale, I put on my running shoes, walked to the track, and ran 3 miles - each one faster than the one before - and ended feeling like I still had another couple in me.

For some, this behavior could be a symptom of disordered thinking about fitness and weight but, for me, it was an act of resistance, a triumphant shout of "A number does not, cannot, and will not define me!" Two days after running 13.1 miles, my body felt good. Instead of eating my emotions or wallowing in self-pity at what could be perceived as tortoise-like progress, I took myself outside and did something that I love, something that makes me feel great, something AWESOME!

That is progress.

Official Race Recap: Frederick Half Marathon Edition

On April 19, I made a crazy decision. A friend from a virtual running group offered up an entry to any race at the Frederick Running Festival. She'd won a free entry code but was running a marathon the same weekend. Since Frederick, MD, is only a 45-minute drive from my home, I took her up on the offer and went whole hog by signing up for the half marathon. Given my training, this wouldn't have been a crazy decision at all, except that all that training was for the Flower City Half Marathon, which took place a week ago. I decided there was no harm in signing up and, if I needed to, I could always switch to the 5k.

After the Flower City Half, I was surprised by how quickly I recovered. By Tuesday morning, I was tearing up the track at Houghton, with a run that got faster with each passing mile. My legs felt tired but not leaden and definitely not sore. Nearly three miles the next day also felt good. I rested completely on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. So, when I showed up at the start line this morning, I was feeling completely fresh and ready to go.

This was my fifth race since I started running. (You can read about the others here: 5K #1, 5K #2, 10-Miler, 13.1 #1.) It wasn't until I was leaving the house around 5 a.m. that I realized I'd never been to a race without a friend. Twice I've run with a friend pacing and twice I've run knowing that I'd meet up with someone at the beginning and end. This time, it was just me and the off chance that I would run into one of the two other people I knew who were running it. Oddly, this felt like another confirmation of my commitment to running. I didn't need a friend to keep me accountable to show up; I was going to be there because I wanted to run.

Lining up to start

The weather was perfect. After running into temperatures in the seventies like a brick wall last week, starting out with temps in the 40s, an overcast sky, and a light breeze was like heaven. By the time I was finished, it was still only in the low 50s.

I lined up behind the 2:40:00 pace group but, once we rounded the first corner and there was room to pass, I was keeping up with the 2:30:00 group and passing them. I used a 4/1 run/walk interval today, so I would pass folks while running only to be passed by them while walking. But, as I kept going, I realized that the 2:30'ers were getting further and further behind. It was easy to tell because they would shout triumphantly at every mile marker and the leaders frequently burst into song (my personal favorite was "We Will Rock You" at a volume I couldn't maintain while standing still, much less running).

Unlike last week, I didn't poop out after mile 6, I kept going with a pace between 10:58 and 11:18 for 11 out of 13.2 miles. There were hills in this race but none nearly as tall as those encountered in Rochester, so it was a lot easier to be consistent and fast (for me).

All the people!

My favorite encounters with people:

1. Watching the race field spread out along the initial stretch of road - so colorful and impressive.
2. There was a group of folks cheering that I saw about seven different times. One woman had a sign that said, "If you keep running, I'll keep cheering." The Frederick course is perfect for cheering squads because it winds around a lot. A spectator could stand at one corner and cheer for runners passing mile 2, walk a couple blocks and cheer them again at mile 4, and on throughout the race. Clever planning.
3. There was a man wearing a shirt that said, "I'm slow. I know. Get over it." I enjoyed passing him several times and told him I enjoyed his shirt before I finally put him permanently in my rearview.
4. Just before the 12-mile marker, a girl complimented my earrings. Hooray for blue, plastic, $2 earrings that get me compliments everywhere I go, including half marathons.
5. I waited at the end of the race to meet one of my online running group friends. I'd never even seen a picture but, through the magic of bib numbers, I got to see that she'd finished, despite a back injury, and introduce myself.

In the last two miles, I was still feeling really strong. I'd slowed a bit but was sticking to my plan. I was even passing some people - people who *looked* fitter and stronger than I did. When I hit the 12-mile marker, I fully intended to run the rest of the way, just as I did last week, with Rebecca. I started out strong, passed some more people, turned a corner, and saw "Dreamcrusher Hill." Seriously, who plans a half marathon with the steepest hill in the last half mile? Anyway, since I was still on track to hit my goal, I gave myself permission to walk up the hill. (I won't do that again next year.)

The face I make when I've just PR'ed a half marathon!

I got to the top, started running again, then hit a gravel track. With my legs already tired, I felt like I was running in sand. Again, I took a little walk break, during which the 2:30 pacers passed me. But, with .2 miles to go, I picked it up again and "sprinted" across the finish line.

In Rochester, I forgot to stop my watch. This time, I stopped it as I was slowing to a walk. My Garmin read exactly 2:30:00. I later found that my official time was 2:29:53. It probably could have been a few minutes faster but 9 minutes and 25 seconds faster than the half marathon I ran LAST WEEK feels good to me.

I finished around 9:30 a.m. Races make days so strange. You finish a whole day's activity in the first few hours of the morning, then what do you do? I stretched, waited to see my online friend finish, skipped the beer tent, donned my compression socks, then drove home. On the way home, I got a giant bag of Taco Bell, which I ate after taking a shower and putting on warm clothes - I always freeze after a long run.

And, after all of that, I took a nap. It's been a very good day. Definitely want to do this one again next year. Thanks to Corrigan Sports for holding a terrific race and to all the runners and spectators and volunteers for making it a special morning!

Official Race Recap: Flower City Half Marathon Edition

Yesterday, I ran a half marathon. For those of you who don't know, that's 13.1 miles. (I think this course was actually 13.2.) Though keenly aware of how much I'd like to improve my time, I am proud of my accomplishment. Nine months ago, I would have laughed out loud if someone had suggested I even attempt it.

Before - 7:25 a.m.

The race experience started yesterday (April 28, 2013) at 5 a.m. Yes, 5 a.m. Rebecca* and I had to drive over an hour and, because of a mix-up at packet pick-up earlier in the week, Rebecca still needed to get her race bib. So, by the time I got a quick shower, dressed, and double-checked my gear, it was about 5:30 and we beat feet. Mind you, this departure was nearly 15 minutes later than we'd left the day before to get to Rebecca's duathlon.

Fortunately, race nerves make one alert, even at ridiculous hours of the morning, so we had a good hour of chatting along the way. As we got closer to Rochester, it began to feel like we were cutting it a bit close. We weren't sure of all the directions. We made the correct turns but I was getting more stressed.

We, finally, arrived, found a parking lot about 200 feet from the race start/finish, I got my gear in order, and we rushed over to packet pick up with about 15 minutes to start time. Though Rebecca had called ahead to make sure her bib was available, no one knew where she could get it. The race volunteers and staff only kept us waiting a few tense moments before deciding to assign her a new bib. I was so grateful for their quick decision-making!

Once that was squared away, we found the ladies room. According to the women behind us, the one we found had the shortest line. I was just grateful it wasn't a port-a-john. After barely 3 minutes, we were done with that necessity and headed toward the start.

Rebecca led the way to the back of the pack. I was expecting tears at the end of this race but, as we waited, I almost started bawling before we even began. Preferring not to cry in front of others, I was glad I held it together. The race bib situation meant very little lingering, so I didn't have to fight back tears for long.

The race had a field of only about 2400, so we were over the line in less than a minute, despite starting in the back of the pack. For the first six miles, I was holding steady with the 2:30 pace group. They would catch me on my walk breaks but Rebecca and I would pass every time we started running again. The first six miles were mostly flat...

When we began, the temperature was around 55 degrees and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Sounds great, right? I'd say the same thing if I wasn't going to be running for close to three hours and the temperature wasn't going to hit 72 by the time we were finished. You see, 40s and 50s are my running happy place. Much higher and I'm dead tired, demoralized, and so parched that I begin to worry I'll get hyponatremia from trying to slake my thirst.

Sometime during mile 4, I think, I asked Rebecca, "Why am I doing this?" She said a bunch of true and encouraging things but, mostly, with two thirds of the race still ahead, like a child who's learning to ride without training wheels, I needed someone to reassure me that everything was going to be alright, that the pain and fear would end and I'd be happy with the result.

As we approached the biggest hill in the race, Rebecca asked how I was feeling. She'd already been "coaching" me but this was the let's-evaluate-our-plan conversation. I'd been pushing too hard but didn't want to whine, so just said I was really tired and didn't know if I could keep my current pace. She suggested we walk the entire hill. (I think) I said something fairly nonchalant like, "Oh, that sounds like a good idea." Silently, I was rejoicing in the depths of my soul. Walk the hill. YES! In our race plan conversation, I'd said I didn't want to deviate from my run/walk intervals but, ultimately, I wanted to enjoy the experience so that the thought of doing it again wouldn't make me want to vomit.

We walked up the hill. The 2:30 pace group was long gone. In my head, I was bargaining - maybe we can just walk up over this little rise, too. My mind stubbornly refused to let my legs push harder. Finally, I said, "At the end of my next scheduled walk break, let's start running again." I surprised myself by saying that because what I really wanted to say was, "Let's walk the rest of the way; It's such a nice day for a walk!"

Over the second half of the course, I walked a lot more than I would have liked and probably a little more than I needed. Since it was my first half marathon, I'm giving myself a little bit of a pass for just getting through it without stopping or falling over.

The course goes through a lot of beautiful neighborhoods and a good number of people stood along the course cheering on runners as they passed. The children were especially fun - shaking plastic jugs full of coins, shouting, "Shake your moneymaker!" - a baby dinosaur sleeping on his dad's shoulder - a little boy offering high fives near the end. Folks in ape costumes welcomed us into the cemetery. Women in period costume lined the streets of the Susan B. Anthony historical neighborhood. Several people handed out beer around mile 11 and a small brass band, playing continuously for at least 2.5 hours, greeted us with jubilant tunes at one of the last curves in the course.

During mile 11, I struck a bargain with Rebecca: "If we can walk to the mile 12 marker, I'll do everything I can to not stop running until the end." Relief flooded my body when she agreed. Though I knew she couldn't/wouldn't force me to do anything, I also knew that everything Rebecca said or did was an effort to help me not disappoint myself.

So, when the sign came into sight, Rebecca said, "Remember that post you wrote about high school you running the mile?... [moving past the mile marker] Kick that girl's ass." We started running - what most people would call jogging but felt to me like sprinting after already covering 12 miles. People were really spread out, but we started passing a few, including one guy who looked fit as a fiddle. As we passed people, Rebecca said, "If you keep going, that guy in the white shirt/the skinny girl in the pink shirt/etc. aren't going to beat you." Her words didn't make me feel superior but they helped me keep going even when my legs felt like lead, my feet started to go numb, and I couldn't think about anything further than one step ahead of me.

When we were in sight of the finish line, I said, "Rebecca, I just want to stop so badly." Of course, I didn't. I kept going. I ran from the 12-mile marker until the end of the race. One person, at the 13 mile marker, presumably trying to encourage, shouted, "NOW SPRINT!" I ignored him but Rebecca replied, "This IS sprinting." Her words make me laugh now.

I "ran" past the finish line, wobbled over to a volunteer to retrieve my medal, and immediately started searching for water. Blessedly, it was only a few feet from the finish. After a very quick chat with Rebecca's cousin and his girlfriend, who'd completed the race 1:10:00 and 55:00 earlier, and taking a race-ending selfie, we went to get some food. I don't think I've ever eaten such delectable pizza.

After - 10:15ish a.m.

Having run 12.2 hilly miles a week before, I had no doubt that I would be able to complete the race. However, without Rebecca, I don't know if I would have met my goal of finishing in less than 2:40:00. I might have let myself slide after that hill. Throughout the race, she walked the fine line between encouragement and kicking my rear. I didn't have to check my watch because she was there to keep me on track to meeting my goal. When I needed to say how much I wanted to quit, she was there to remind me that wasn't an option and of how far I'd already come, both in the race and in running. When I didn't want to eat, she reminded me that's exactly what my tired muscles wanted. Most of all, having her there meant that I got to cross that 13.1 mile finish line for the first time with one of my favorite people.

I beat my goal time. By 46 seconds. It doesn't sound like a lot but, believe me, it's better than missing it by even 1 second. At the beginning, I really thought I would completely bust my goal, with something around 2:30:00 but I'm satisfied with the effort I put forth. And, who knows, maybe my second will be faster (even though I'm running it in less than six days).

In this race, I learned that I can endure more pain than I think, that my mind is holding me back more than my body, that the right running partner is invaluable, and that, when you're done, no matter how hard or painful it was, it seems like it all went by in a wink.

“The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.” ― John Bingham


*Rebecca, I may have re-written some history here, particularly in making myself appear much tougher than I actually was. Please feel free to share your recollections or correct mine. :)

Boston

In the nine months I've been a runner, my experience of the running community has been one of overwhelming love, support, encouragement, and celebration.

Runners love what they do. They love seeing other people (even slow people who may need to lose 100 pounds) getting out there to do it, too.

People in this community have cheered me on as I triumphantly crossed a 5k finish line they could have reached twice in the time it took me to run it once.

I've read stories about runners, whose race was cancelled, using their time instead to take needed supplies to those affected by Hurricane Sandy.

And of a father who won a marathon while pushing his daughter in a stroller because he wanted to make great memories with her before he dies of brain cancer.

I've watched nonagenarians competing in the 100-meter dash with crowds cheering their every step.

And Rita Jeptoo run to her second Boston Marathon win.

These people know something important. They know that running changes people's lives. They know the power of finding something you love and passionately pursuing it through both triumph and pain.

Most of the people running in today's Boston Marathon had to work their tails off to even make it to the starting line. It's no small task to get the qualifying times for a chance to register. They toiled through months of grueling workouts (more or less happily) just for the possibility of making it to Boston. Today's race was to be the victory lap after all the sacrifice.

Now, for many, the finish line celebration has been cut short or didn't take place at all.

But, do you know what I've seen through all of this?

I've seen reports of runners continuing past the 26.2 grueling miles they'd already completed on their way to the hospital to donate blood.

I've read about a perfect stranger giving a runner a shoulder to cry on and money to get back to her hotel safely.

And, all over Facebook and Twitter, runners are rallying around the city of Boston and the marathoners as if they were family.

Because they are. I only married in recently but I can tell you this is one tightly knit clan. You can't knock runners down without expecting them to pick one another back up and continue on their path, even if through curtains of tears, knowing they are that much stronger for the experience.

A quote posted on Facebook sums up my feelings well: "I am a runner. I may not have qualified this year. I may have qualified and not run. I may have been injured and unable to go. I may never even be able to qualify. But I am a runner and my heart is in Boston today."

We're runners. We'll run to process this event. We'll honor the people killed and injured today by staying on our feet. And we'll keep moving down the road because that's what we do
  
"If you're trying to defeat the human spirit, marathoners are the wrong group to target." - Mighty Brighties

Protection

I've written before about the impact weight loss has had on my life, here. It's been and will continue to be an amazing and terrifying journey.

Fat is protective. Fat stores can be the difference between life and death in some situations (not terribly often in the US...). Women are encouraged to gain weight during pregnancy for the sake of their baby's development. A little extra padding can be a very good thing when winter rolls around.

Being fat is also a great excuse for lots of things.

No energy? Exercise is too difficult with the extra weight.

No dream job? Fat people are discriminated against and their competence doubted because people (even other fat people) are judgmental.

No boyfriend/husband? Men are too shallow to look past the extra pounds.

The list of things I silently blamed my fat for could go on and on. But, despite the things the weight "kept me from having," deep down, I think I loved it. The fat was a buffer between me and the world, a protective layer of convenient excuses.

It was almost exactly a year ago that I started a diet. Three months later, I did my first workout. I don't actually know how much weight I've lost over that time (Pffftt on scales!) but I know it's been significant (tight XXL shirts to loose M level of significant) and I've noticed another strange phenomenon.

Suddenly, I'm feeling things. A good run, an apt quote, a beautiful photo, great song lyrics, good or bad news from a friend impact me so much more deeply than they once did, bringing a smile to my face or tears to my eyes (sometimes both). Maybe it would be more accurate to say I feel much more comfortable expressing how these things make me feel. Just today, as I was driving home from my longest run yet and thinking about how I'll be running a half marathon WITH my lovely Rebecca in two weeks AND realizing that, barring crazy circumstances, I would complete it in a respectable time, I teared up... more than once! I have no doubt that my face will be wet with tears as I cross that finish line and I won't care who sees me.

At times, it is terrifying to realize that my crutch, the one I've carried with me for most of my life, is going away. (What will it mean if I don't get my dream job and a husband when I'm thinner?)  You know what, though? If you're not injured, it's a heck of a lot easier to walk without a crutch since you don't really need it in the first place.

I Couldn't Run This Fast in High School

Does anyone else remember the mile run we had to do every year for the President's physical fitness test? I forget how often we had to do it -twice a year, maybe - but I haven't forgotten how much I dreaded that day. It was torment.

There were always the athletic kids who would finish their four laps of the track in six or eight minutes and they barely looked like they were trying. Then there were the kids who pretended not to or really didn't care and, therefore, walked around the track at a leisurely pace.

Then there were a few kids like me. We wanted to do our best but didn't understand that our bodies were in no condition to sprint. So we would go out hard, at least hard for us, and be completely exhausted before the first lap was behind us. Discouraged by being lapped repeatedly and unable to see a good reason to keep trying, we would stop and walk with our heads down and our chests heaving, trying to ignore the fact that while we were still hauling our bodies around the track, our classmates were sitting around watching.

I think that my best mile time ever was 12 minutes. Despite the fact that eighty percent of my classmates finished well under that time, I was ecstatic. In fact, I even considered going out for track, thinking maybe this running thing could be fun. (Anyway, no one ever got cut from the track team even if she was never chosen to compete.) A few days distance from that run, and the soreness brought on by that single mile on the track, caused me to reconsider my dream of becoming an athlete. I stuck with being the smart kid - I was already good at that, hardly any effort required.

It took nearly fifteen more years before I tried again.

Over the past few months, I've huffed and puffed through many a mile that took more than 12 minutes for me to cover. But now... Now, I can run a single mile in less than ten minutes. I can run 9 at a time, covering each mile in about 11 minutes and 30 seconds. I've run as many as 10.5 miles at one go. And, in about three weeks, I'll be covering 13.1 and getting a medal for doing it.

High school me couldn't believe this was possible. Grown-up runner me knows that I still have plenty of time to get even faster!

Learning NOT to Run

Today's training run was supposed to be nine miles.

I woke up a little later than planned, ate a quick breakfast and got running suit-ed up. Compression socks, Halo headband, GPS watch, spandex and plenty of neon made me look like the real deal (or something). With my water bottle, iPod, and some mid-run fuel in hand, I headed over to a nearby state park to begin my workout.

My plan was to take it easy - I wanted to set an 11:30 minute/mile pace. This week, I've been running faster than that but, due to some pain and tightness in my left leg, I knew the only chance of getting through would be to take it slow and easy.

My first mile was right on pace but I could feel my leg tightening during my walk interval. As I started my second run interval, I noticed that my left glute was starting to feel off. Near the end of the nine-minute cycle, I alternated between walking and running several times. All the while, arguing with myself about whether I was fighting through some mental block or if there was a physical problem that needed to be addressed.

Maybe running would help with the pain and tightness. At least, that's what one part of me was saying. The other part was reminding me that the problem's a couple of weeks old, getting progressively worse, and a few days off now could help me heal and reach my goal of finishing my first half marathon in five weeks and my longer term goal of running/being active for the rest of my life.

At the end of my second mile, I reached a bench. Frustrated and ready to cry, I sat down. When I stood up, I started walking back the way I'd come.

Every time I passed someone running or biking, I wished I had a sign that said, "I'm injured, not a crazy, geared-out walker! Please don't judge me."

It was so stinkin' hard to decide to cut that run short. I've run nine miles before. There are still five weeks before the half marathon. I'm in fine shape to get it done and will probably be in better shape if I don't push too hard on a verging-on-injured leg. But... still... I wanted those five miles that I missed. I wanted to get it done in a good time. I wanted to make it to 80 miles this month.

Eight months ago, the hard thing would have been pushing through those nine miles (or, let's be honest, pushing through one mile). Today, the hardest part was listening to my body and NOT running. Who'd have ever thought that would be so difficult?

Strength, Speed, and Stamina

Several friends and I have a small Facebook group, called Friends Who Run. It's a place where we can celebrate our triumphs, moan about our aching glutes, avoid annoying other facebook friends with our intense interest in running and racing, and connect about other parts of our lives at the same time.

This morning, I posted this to the group:

 

This thought hit me when I was in my car, going someplace I can't remember. I thought, "I would run even if I didn't need to lose weight. I run because I love to run." It's impossible to exaggerate how incredible and completely unbelievable this realization feels.

Back in my DC days, I had the determination to climb on the elliptical every day after work for eight months straight but there never came a time when I thought, "I LOVE this! I don't care how many calories I'm burning!" Not a chance. I spent more time on that machine only because I knew there was a direct correlation to weight loss/maintenance. And I got through the time only by distracting myself with music, TV shows, and celebrity gossip magazines (which I don't even like).

In high school, I went through an aerobics video phase. I sweated to the oldies and worked out with Kathy Lee Gifford and did a Latin dance/aerobics hybrid like the clutzy white girl I am. There was never a moment that I just loved these activities; they were always a gateway to weight loss, a hot body and, hopefully, a boyfriend - the crowning achievement of any high school experience (amiright?!).

But, this running thing, I love it, because it gets me out the door, connects me with friends (new and old), gives me goals to reach for, makes me feel like a rock star, energizes my mind so I can think more clearly, and exhausts my body so I sleep like a baby. AND these bits of amazing only represent a portion of the awesome that has come into my life since I started running.

When I'm out on the road, I think about pushing myself to run my fastest mile ever or keeping a consistent pace over many miles or getting up a hill without any walk breaks. When I got my Garmin Forerunner 10 and one of the display options was "calories burned," it didn't even occur to me that I'd want to know that information while running. I want to know how far and how fast. Immolating calories is a terrific bonus of the run but not my primary or secondary or even tertiary reason for squeezing into my spandex and lacing up my Brooks. (Yes, that sentence was partly an excuse to use the word "tertiary." Deal with it.)

Don't get me wrong - I still think about losing weight, since I have 30-40 pounds yet to go, but it's not a thought that plagues me. I'm doing something that makes me feel alive. And, BONUS, that thing will help me achieve lots of other goals, including, but not limited to, losing the extra weight I carry, literally and figuratively.