A Serious Runner?

Sometimes motivation comes from the unlikeliest of places. I never thought that I'd find my greatest running motivation in months at work. I've been coasting along with my running since the Cape Cod Marathon in October. I pushed myself just enough for 6 weeks to train for the Hyannis Half a few weeks ago. Afterward I went back to running when I felt like it for how long I wanted to.

Then a few days ago a man who delivers our aprons and coats at work came in and took me from my comfort zone with some well placed ignorance. He was there to collect donations for his daughter's running of the Boston Marathon. My friend of 20 years, Maui, mentioned to this man that I was also a runner. The man, most likely over 70, asked me how much I ran per day. He mentioned his daughter ran 15 miles per day. It made me wonder why if she was such a great runner she needed sponsorship to get into Boston. That's a thought for another day. Anyway, I mentioned that I have tried to stick to 20-30 miles per week unless I'm training for a race. Then he said the following:

'Oh so then you're not that serious of a runner.'

Not serious?

I had a fire in my eyes as if he had just insulted my family, or my manhood. I seethed as I thought of all of my races I had run in just 2 years, all of the miles of training. I had more fire as I thought of all of the injuries I had accrued over the same period of time. Only a serious runner would have kept going. Someone who was not serious would have felt the pain of the first pulled muscle and gone back to the elliptical machine at the gym. How do I know that? Because I did that very thing when I first tried running over 5 years ago. Long story short, I ran 3-4 miles with no prior experience, and no stretching, and pulled almost every muscle in both legs. The next day I was back to my elliptical at my gym not to give running another thought for almost 3 years.

So, yeah, I've been a non-serious runner before, and I consider myself pretty serious now.

Anyway, the man seemed to notice the anger he had caused and quickly took his donation sheet and vacated my area. In reality he was probably just not thinking when he doubted my dedication to running. In my mind though it was a slap in my face for all I had done and done to myself through running. Injuries yes, but also a huge swell of self-confidence, a loss of 40 lbs, these things came from running.
My reaction was to forget skipping working out because I was and go run 8 miles.  That wasn't enough though. I followed it up by running over 14 miles the next day on the hilly east end of the Cape Cod Rail Trail. That run being the longest since the marathon, oh and my body felt it too, I wanted to stop and lie down at times. Anytime I felt like stopping because I was tired I just thought of that man saying I wasn't serious and it kept me going. Thank you sir for your words of doubt, you snapped me out of my comfort zone. Maybe I'll see your daughter at the Boston marathon next year but without needing charitable sponsorship to get there.

Have any of you found motivation in an odd situation like this one? If a non-runner doubts your dedication, or whether you're a serious runner, does it bother you the way it did me? What in your minds makes you a 'serious' runner? Is it a number of races? Miles? Running with injuries, or being injured but not quitting?

The True Meaning of Motivation and Inspiration

The Harwich Half Marathon this past October became my third ‘defining’ moment of my running life.  The first was my first real mile in March 2011, the second was my first actual race, the CapeAbilities 5K in May 2011.  The half marathon was the natural next step for me.  I had strictly followed a ‘beginner’ training plan from CoolRunning.com.  This made it a pretty simple process, all I had to do was run the proper distances on the proper days and I’d be prepared for success.

Now in life there are always sidetracks.  Mine was the local running club which both my Uncle Steve and best friend Emily belonged to.  They had been imploring me to give it a try for a while and I finally relented a few weeks prior to the half marathon.  Before attempting the running club, which consisted of a lot of speed work on a high school track, I needed a new pair of shoes.

Rather than sticking with the Brooks Adrenaline that I was accustomed to I decided to switch it up to Mizuno’s Wave Rider.  Those of you who have read my other postings know how my change in shoes went.  For those who have not the gist of the story is that I switched to Mizuno’s for 6 months and endured 6 months of running in pain.  The pain began that night at the running club.

I admit I was jazzed to try something new and I think that my excitement cost me that night.  We did sets of Yasso 800 sprints.  I had never heard of them before but it was twice around the track which was easy enough for me.  Despite trying the distance running sprinting is what is in my blood as my grandfather was a World Class sprinter but WWII kept him from the Olympics.

I ran the Yasso’s as hard as I could, trying to push myself at something new.  I didn’t notice the aches in my right hip until the next day when it was obvious I overdid it.  With the race so close I dialed back my running to save my hip from further injury.  Even if I had been hurt I was still going to run the race as I had more motivation than just it being my first half.

The Harwich Half fell in the first week of October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  I had decided I would wear the pink ribbon on my black shirt and run the race in honor of my Aunt Christine who had passed away from breast cancer in 2004.  It was that higher purpose that kept my mind focused on the race.

Race day was a warm autumn day, I got a great parking spot directly across the street from Harwich High School where the race began and ended.  I was able to begin my stretching there as my hip was still tight but I was undeterred.  I pinned the pink Breast Cancer Awareness ribbon to my shirt and walked slowly and deliberately across a field into the school to get my bib number and pack of goodies.

As you runners know at the starting line they have minute markers posted so that you can run with the group according to your speed.  With my hip hurting I was going to jump back to the 9 min. crowd, but I spotted my Uncle Steve and he was at the 8’s.  I wanted to at least experience some of my first Half with him so I stepped in and said I’d try to keep up as long as I could.

The gun sounded and we were off.  Things began alright, I was side by side with my uncle, of course I believe he was holding back.  About 2 miles in I felt it, a sharp pain and burn in my right groin.  I knew from the burning that it was either a tear or a severe sprain.  Early in the race still I was not trying to diagnose myself, I was just trying to keep going.

Not long after I told my uncle of my pain and said there was no way I could keep up his pace.  I told him that I would not quit though.  I patted my pink ribbon to remind myself why I was not going to quit.  He told me to shout down the pain and tell it that it was not in control.  I said I would try and he slowly pulled away and out of sight.  I was left with nearly 11 miles left to run and a hip/groin that was badly injured.

As the miles dragged on I began to find ways to use ‘mind over matter’ to manage my pain.  It started with my breathing, concentrating on it, as a sort of meditation while my feet kept moving.  My steps were very deliberate as I noticed that if my legs moved perfectly straight ahead the pain was less than if my right leg shifted a little to the left.  Does that make sense? 

Each mile marker became a beacon of hope.  Once I passed 10 I knew there was no way I could stop.  Every step hurt but that little pink ribbon was like an angel on my shoulder.  I had not told anyone but my mother that I was planning on running for Auntie Chris.  I did not want it to be a ‘look at me’ type of thing.  I still don't want it to be like that, but it would be so much more disrespectful to leave this important fact out of my story.  

That ribbon was like a pacifier during those last few miles.  I had placed it over my heart and routinely patted it when the pain in my hip and groin became unbearable.  Sure, many people would have simply stopped, walked back or quit all together, and live to run another day.  That is not me.  If I had quit the race I would have felt like I was quitting on Auntie Chris.  She fought so hard for so long against her cancer that this was my way of honoring her memory, the fact that I was doing it with injuries seemed sort of appropriate. 

12 miles in I stopped and walked while trying to somehow massage the pain away for one more mile.  Several other runners shouted encouragement as they passed.  The remainder of the race was a slow, hobbling trot, but I kept going.  I got close to the finish line and Emily was there, having finished well before me, as did my Uncle Steve.  She pointed to her hip to ask how I was feeling.  I just shook my head no and kept going. 

I crossed the finish line at 1:55, I did not get much further before I found a spot along a fence and collapsed in pain.  For a few minutes I sat perfectly still afraid to move afraid to feel the pain.  It was a while before I was able to stand, I found my uncle and he congratulated me on my finish.  Everyone who ran got a medal, so I had a memento to look at and remember. 

The pain in my hip and groin was a bigger problem.  I had to stop running for weeks to try to let it heal.  As I said before, true relief only began to come when I switched shoes back to Brooks.  As I look back now though I would not change a thing.  I ran my first Half Marathon, dedicated it to a loved one, and conquered some adversity as well.  It may not have been a perfect story book ending, being injured and hobbling to the finish line, but for me it was pretty close.