Perfect 6 Miles

This week's schedule called for an easy 6 miles yesterday, followed by a 5 mile tempo run Thursday, and a 10 mile long run Sunday. So in the afternoon I climbed out of my work skirt and heels and into my running clothes (shorts!), and headed down to the park for my favorite 6 mile run - around Stow Lake and back. The weather was perfect, the air full of the late afternoon city sounds of birds and traffic and wind. A group of teenage geese, awkward and gawky in their coats of half down, half feathers, bunched together at the edge of the lake, nibbling at pant legs; a mother and son stood at the edge of the path waiting for a gopher to poke his head out; a pigeon puffed himself up for a disinterested female - a perfect summer evening.

I found myself checking the Nike+ regularly, making sure to keep the pace slow. Over the last 6 months of regular running, I've started adapting in ways I hardly noticed. A 10:30 pace for easy runs now feels far easier than the 12:00 pace my original training plan called for, my short run has become 3.5 miles rather than 2, and many of the hills the used to hurt, now feel flat (the steep ones still hurt!). Which is to say, sometimes it just feels fantastic to be running - everything is easy, even the hard parts. You're there 100%, and you want to be there, and you've started looking forward to the next run even before this one's over, and you can't believe you ever dreaded walking out the door in your running shoes. This was one of those times.

I'm also looking forward to starting to bike, but I'm a bit daunted by the variety and price range - any suggestions would be very much appreciated!

Why I Run

I read somewhere that 80% of those who take up running quit in the first month. Though I don't have the source (has anyone seen this statistic?) the number doesn't really surprise me. Running is difficult, demanding, and sometimes painful. It requires dedication, patience, and most of all, time. We take up running for all sorts of reasons, but I'm certain that those of us who keep doing it have found it to nourish our souls even more than our bodies. I don't claim to be an experienced runner, or even a fully committed one. I'll claim that after I've finished the San Francisco Marathon. But I know that in running I've found a place where, daily and weekly, I reach the limits of what I'm capable of, and then ask myself for more. And I can't think of a better habit or commitment to oneself than that.

Getting Wet

By the time I got home from work last night, the rain was lighter but persistent. I bundled up in my heaviest Capri sweats and a hooded jacket. Andy, who is more fit than I'll ever be, and who is used to competing in all sorts of weather, went out in only running shorts and a thermal shirt under a fleece vest. I insisted he wear a hat. Our goal was to run a slow first mile, followed by 3 miles at tempo (which my training schedule identified as an 11:21 pace), and then to run one more cool down mile. I was surprised to see that my pace would only increase by 18 seconds total during my 13 week schedule, and while 11:21 is an accurate tempo pace for me right now, I already think I might be a bit more aggressive about increasing it.

Despite the rain, the evening was warm and windless, and because of it there were few others out in the park. We reached the first mile ahead of time, picked up our pace, and continued into the park proper. The second mile mark was in front of the de Young museum. We were wet by now, but fully warmed up and again we were about a minute ahead of time. The third mile headed down to 19th Avenue, turned around and headed up the steepest grade of the run - about 4 or 5 minutes of steady uphill climbing. At the top, we had completed the third mile, this time right on time, and Andy said "I hate hills." My legs started feeling it a bit during the 4th mile (I'm still not quite back in shape), but the kink in my left hip finally worked itself out. The 4th was our slowest mile, behind pace by more than a minute, but it may have been the now moderately heavy rain against our faces, and the puddles we were jumping over. We completed the 5th mile through the panhandle at an enforced cool down pace, thought we felt like we were just warming up. In total, the run lasted about 58.5 minutes - an overall pace of 11:42 which, with the slower first and last miles, is probably right on target.

The park was beautiful and wet and empty. Together the dark and the rain launched us into a meditative state. I remember now why I like running. It is one of the few times in a day when my mind is still.

Jumping In

I first fell in love with marathons last July, when the San Francisco Marathon took its course down Haight Street. I woke in the early morning to the sounds of cheering outside my window and dimly remembered that the race was taking place. Feeling an odd sense of alertness and energy, I dressed and walked down to the street to watch as the first waves of runners made their way toward Fillmore Street. Friendly Hell's Angels directed traffic and pointed the way, and small crowds had gathered on almost every corner to cheer. I had never run more than a mile or two, and do not generally think of myself as athletic, but something about the moment captured my imagination. I decided that when the San Francisco Marathon came past Haight Street the following year, I would be running in it.

I have always loved running, and in the 4th and 5th grades, I excelled at the 50 yard dash, the long jump, and the relay. I even have a few blue and red ribbons. But mostly I rode horses and wrote poems and read books, and that is still true. On that July day, my only athletic shoes were a three year old pair of cross trainers. Still, I thought that if I could run for just thirty minutes. And then if I could keep running with some kind of sporadic consistency despite the demands of graduate school, and work, and loved ones, and vacations. And if, when January came and I was still running, I still loved it, then I would begin to train.

Of course, it didn't quite happen like that, though I did run for nearly thirty minutes the first day. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't too difficult either and slowly I began adding miles. At the end of a run, I couldn't wait to start the next one. I bought a pair of real running shoes. Though I began to feel a persistent soreness in my left leg, I thought little of it. Finally the pain the the beginning and end of runs was too much to ignore. I had expected a shin splint to present itself on the front of my leg, not along the inside calf near the muscle, as it did, but the signs were all too clear. I took a week off, which became two, then three. I took infrequent short runs but was frustrated by how quickly I had lost fitness. Finally, a few weeks ago, I asked after a pair of Capri sweat pants I had bought for running and Andy quipped, "I gave them to a runner." I couldn't even be mad, because he was right. I had not run for several weeks.

So I began running again. Not much, but enough. Then, last Sunday night, Andy and I took a frigid 4.5 mile run through Golden Gate Park. It was my first pain free run in several months and I came back ecstatic, despite the cold. I decided I needed a more immediate goal, and a bit more guidance, so I set my sites on a 12K race scheduled for March 18th. Then I went to Runners World and generated a 13 week training schedule, complete with speed work, tempo runs, and weekend long runs. It started with an easy run last night. Two miles at something like a 14:01 minute mile. It was the easiest run I've ever taken. Now for the hard part.