Rhythm and Blues

This weekend was the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon. I decided to do this race just a few weeks ago when my favorite local race was canceled. I've been training pretty diligently and figured I had plenty of time to up my mileage before the race. Turns out, I was right!

We went through our usual prerace routine of fettuccine alfredo dinner and were fortunate enough to pass the kids off to my folks for a sleepover. Doug and I headed home, laid out our gear (which is SO TINY after triathlon!), and tucked ourselves in early. This was the first race I wasn't nervous about. I knew I could manage the distance and when all else fails, walk a while. It took me a long time to get to this point (over two years and five half marathons), but now that I've arrived, it makes race day so much more pleasant.

After parking downtown (I'm, again, reminded of why I don't do downtown races), we made our way to the unofficial official starting line of ALL races - the portapotties. We managed to find 5 of our running friends before the start and found our way to the real starting line. I didn't even hear the start, but the mob started moving and so did I. We quickly lost our buddies, but we're all different paces so whatevs. Doug and two friends were doing the 1/4 marathon and the rest of us were tackling the 1/2, so our routes were even slightly different.

I never did see mile marker 1 or 2, so when I came up on 3 at 31:00, I was shocked. That would have been a PR 5K for me, so I was a little nervous. My fastest race to date was 2:34:02. My goal today was 2:30. I quickly did the math in my head and realized that if I maintained this pace, I'd finish in 2:22. THAT'S lofty - a 12-minute PR. I talked myself into trying to maintain and went about my way.

For a February race, it was HOT. Like water on my head at every aid station HOT. I had my hydration belt split half water and half Gatorade with a few Humas on my belt. I allowed myself a ShotBlock or a Huma every 45 minutes. Every aid station was 2 Gatorades and a water on my head. In February! What the heck??

Any-ol'-who, my "dark miles" are usually around 8-10. Once I pass 10, that's "just" a 5k and my brain leaves me alone. Around mile 8, I saw a friend on the opposite side of the course who told me that his fiance was just ahead of me. WHAT? Randi is fast. She's a 2-time Ironman, multiple-time marathoner, and countless-time half marathoner. And she's fast. And I was right behind her?? "Catch her!" he said. So I did. I set out to catch her and finally caught up at 12.5. Guess what? My dark miles were over and I didn't even notice.

Randi was the perfect rabbit. When I finally caught her, she was walking. When I said hey to her, she decided to run with me. Just before mile marker 13, she started picking it up and I lagged behind. "I'm not slowing down," she said. "Go on with your bad self," I retorted. "Nope. You're gonna have to catch me." Well hell's bells. Here we go again. So off I went to catch my rabbit. Even though she finished 10 seconds ahead of me, my chip time was actually a full minute faster than hers. And guess what? It was 2:21:57. I maintained and I finished in my projected time.

I am so very proud of this race. I had fun, I hydrated well, my nutrition was spot-on, and I destroyed my PR. This race was great for my mental game and I feel very ready to tackle Galveston in a short 9 weeks. These "little" milestones along the way are amazing for my training, confidence, and mental game. Not that I wasn't looking forward to Galveston before, but this race has renewed my vigor for the finish line. NINE WEEKS! Nine weeks and I'll be writing the race report I've been dreaming of for months.

Dreadmill Beast

This weekend we're headed to Giddings to see PopPop and Granny (aka, Doug's dad and stepmom). I try *really* hard not to drive other people crazy with my training schedule. For those who "get it," I make no exceptions. For those who don't, I really try hard. I knew that we'd have a big weekend of model rockets, catfish feeding, and country things, so I decided to head to the gym for my last "long" run before the half. I convinced myself to run a 10k on the treadmill. I see these northern folks do it all the time. No sweat, right?

I dropped Lia off at Kids Club, found myself a treadmill, and staked my claim. I laced up my shoes, refilled my water bottle, got my towel all situated and couldn't.find.my.earbuds. At this point, I had no choice but to run. Child at kid care, missed window of opportunity to run elsewhere... I was screwed. Here we go with that mental toughness thing again...

So there I was, Great Day Houston on one TV and Fox and Friends on the TV off to my left. What I really wanted to watch was Fox and Friends and their discussions about the prayer breakfast, but it was at this wonky angle and it was making me off-kilter. Great Day Houston was talking about the Grammys. You know how many craps I give about the Grammys. Less than zero. Less than zero craps about Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith or whoever these dudes were. We listen to Christian music, The Beatles, and The Wheels on the Bus. Popular music is lost on me.

This, my friends. THIS is mental toughness. Paula Abdul on the gym radio (it's the way that you love me.. ooooooooooh, it's the way that you love me), random dudes I care nothing about on the TV, and 6.2 miles on a treadmill. I'm generally trying to drown myself out and telling the voice of doubt to shut up, but today? I would have given ANYTHING to get lost in my own head.

Fortunately, a friend showed up about 20 minutes before I finished. She mercifully left her earbuds in her bag and chatted it up with me while I finished my run. That's what friends are for. Even though the first 40+ minutes were TORTURE, I'm so glad I got this run in before heading out of town for the weekend. Now if I can survive 3 hours in the car in 5:00 Friday afternoon traffic with 2 little people, I'll have earned my mental toughness badge for the day. Carry on, friends!

10-miler Me

So this morning, I tackled my last long run before my next race. I parked on "my" side of the Kemah Bridge, ran over the bridge, ran another 8 miles, and ran over the bridge again. See said bridge.

The plan was to meet up with my buddy Heather at around mile 3, run 6 with her, and tackle my bridge again. Sadly, Heather snoozed her alarm (thanks, buddy...) and I drudged through all 10 miles alone. It was foggy, oppressively damp, and just plain barf outside (yes, barf is now an adjective). This was a real head game for me, knowing that once I ran 9 miles I had to visit my friend the bridge again. When I never bumped into Heather, my mind wandered significantly. I generally don't run with music (anymore), but MAN. I wished I had some music today! I was counting rabbits and praying for friends and family and counting steps and playing all kinds of head games. It. Didn't. Work.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally hit mile 9. I took a quick walk break to gather my strength to climb and BOOM. Here came the rain. So much for my walk break... I rolled my eyes, figuratively stuck my tongue out at God, and bucked up. Once I start up a hill or a bridge, I make it a policy to NEVER stop. I refuse to "waste" a walk on a climb, because you don't truly get to rest and I refuse to walk on the way down because gravity.

Anyway, I finally made it back to the car, exactly 2 hours later. I'm pretty annoyed with myself over this pace, but hey. No friends, no music, no pretty day - it's a wonder I made it through at all. I'll taper off over the next couple of weeks and get ready to run my next 13.1 on February 15. That's one more 10-miler in the books and another bazillion steps toward my goal!

WABAC Wednesday

After a visit to the chiropractor and some trigger point therapy, I'm on the mend. I won't be racing my kids home from the park anymore! Lesson learned.

A friend invited us to ride mountain bikes today. Although we missed our date, I drug out the trailer, aired up a bunch of tires, and took my baby to the park. Meet Sally.

I got Sally on craigslist for $40 when I was teaching Daniel to ride his bike. I somehow thought it would be easier to let him tag along behind me than it would be to chase him on foot. We made it exactly 6 houses before I decided that was the worst idea ever.

When I signed up for my first tri, Sally was in the garage, ready and waiting. No. I'm not kidding. Sally and I suffered through 8 looooong miles together at the TriGirl Mother's Day super sprint last year. I heard "on your left!" sixteen bajillion times (it's a number; trust me). I even heard a dozen elementary school girls chime in with an "on your left!" Sally and I were SO slow that my dad went to check with course officials to make sure there was no way I could've been injured or gotten lost without someone noticing. Nope. She's just THAT slow. Come to think of it, taking Sally to a tri may have been the worst idea ever. . .

When I was approaching the dismount line, I did a perfect flying dismount, threw Sally back up into transition, and ran away as quickly as I could. We haven't spoken since. Well, until today. Although Lia had the time of her life ("weeeeeee!" "Faster, mommy!" "Best! DAY! EVAH!!!" "We're going SO FAST!!!"), I remembered why I walked away from Sally all those months ago. She's probably suited to a teenager at best; a 5th grader at worst. My knees were in my chin and my back was hunched worse than Quasimodo.

Now that I have a tri season under my belt, it occurred to me just how ridiculous I must have looked at my first race. For anyone who was at the TriGirl race - THANK YOU for not laughing at me. Or if you did laugh, THANK YOU for doing so discreetly. I'll be there this year with #BrucetheBike and I may even get to say "on your left!" a time or two.

And to my dear, sweet Sally (riiiiiide, Sally, ride!): Thank you for carrying me through those 8 miles. Without you, I may have never been bitten by this beastly bug.

Dumb, dumb, dumb

This weekend, I knocked out a cool 8 miles for myself and for #megsmiles. It was a great morning for a long run and I enjoyed every step. I killed a HUGE Back Bay Waffle at the Seabrook Waffle Company. A delicious, yummy pile of waffle, warm apple butter, and crumbled bacon. NOMS. I felt amazing, even having thrown in a pass over my friend, the Kemah Bridge. 

Sunday was technically rest day, but Daniel asked if we could jog to the park. What mom in her right mind turns that down?

We jogged to the park, played a while, and then headed home. On the way home, Daniel challenged me to a race. I reclaimed the leash, handed Lia off to daddy, and away we went. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I hadn't stretched. I hadn't warmed up. I hadn't thought two seconds about what I was doing. I gave him a head start, started legging it out, and caught up just before we hit the house. Daniel got really upset when I made my move to pass him, so I backed off and let him pull ahead at the very end (softy, I know). I didn't think anything of it, but as the day wore on, my QLs got tighter and tighter and tighter. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I guess I'm not as young as I once was.

I paid a visit to Dr. Ray at Redding Chiropractic this morning. He worked me out, but how ridiculous did I feel having to explain that it wasn't the 8 miles, my friend the Bridge, or any other triathlon-related thing I did to land me in this state? Nah. I was racing my 6-year-old. Lame. And I didn't even win.

With a few stretching sessions, a quick adjustment, some ART, and a day off, I think I'm going to stay on track with my training. But still. Dumb, dumb, dumb. . .

Movin' on up

I've committed to run the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon on February 15. My training buddy and some of her Ironman pals are running as well and I thought I'd join in on the fun. Doug agreed to run the quarter with me, so $200 later, we're all set.

Last week, I ran my first 6-miler since October (when I ran two 10ks, a 10-miler, and my birthday oly). I usually get in three 5-milers each week, so 6 is not a stretch. This weekend, I'm looking for 8 at the Kemah Bridge. Somebody pray for me (and my sanity!). She's a beast, that bridge. Living on the Texas gulf coast, this IS our hill. We get one, and we had to make it.

This is the before and after of the day I lost my

ever-loving mind and ran this dude for the first time.

Look for many mileage updates over the next several weeks as I'll be upping my distance rapidly to prepare for the race. My training plan calls for 8 or more miles 9 of the next 12 weeks, so watch out. Mileage is coming!

New Year New Who?

When I make a New Year's resolution, I'm serious. I gave up sodas when I was 17. I have not had a soda since (with a very, very rare Sprite for a stomach ache. . . and, ahem, a very, very, very rare Southern Comfort and Coke - don't judge). I don't always make a resolution, but when I do, I stick to it like glue. The last few years, I've replaced the resolution with tangible goals. In 2013, my goal was to learn something new. I learned how to sew and how to make cake balls. Boom. Last year, my goals were to run the Galveston bridge and complete 2 more half marathons, which I checked off by April. With eight months remaining in the year, I had to set more goals or risk going insane. I chose triathlon (or rather, it chose me).

2015 is the year of the half iron. I also aim to live more intentionally (that's a post for another day) and to nurture my family's faith through more church involvement (again, a post for another day). With my goals set, my giant calendar plastered on the bathroom door, and the training plan downloaded from triradar.com, the only thing that can stop me is myself.

There. I said it out loud. Time to make hay.