Here we go again...

Woohoo! I am a DFMC team member again. Yes, that's right, I now have the opportunity to spend countless hours running the Newton hills on cold, dark Thursday nights, to wake up at the crack of dawn on a frigid Saturday morning in January to run 15 miles, to spend my weekend afternoons crafting and editing fundraising emails, to run around in endless circles at the Tufts indoor track, and, at the end of it all, run 26.2 hilly miles into Boston. Yay!!

Receiving my acceptance via email this year was decidedly less exciting than last. Last year, I distinctly remember coming home from work, dropping my gigantic bag on the floor of my bedroom, tossing my jacket on my bed and walking over to my computer to check my email, expecting to have nothing more than a few emails from Banana Republic and JCrew touting whatever sale they happened to be having that week. I had given up on my application to DFMC the week before. Stopped running (not that I had been running a lot to begin with, but it had been a start), stopped expectantly checking my email, started thinking of other things that I could do for the winter. But then, there it was, "Lauren Krzynowek, welcome to the Dana-Farber 2008 Marathon Challenge 2008 invitational roster!" I remember laughing, and dancing around my apartment, calling my dad, and running upstairs to tell my neighbors (Ashley wasn't home, so I needed to tell someone). No one could believe that I had actually applied to run a marathon... in fact, they couldn't even believe that I had any desire to run a marathon in the first place. Regardless of their doubts, I was beyond excited.

Looking back, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. No idea. I've said it a million times, the DFMC experience is life changing. But on that day, when I received that email, I thought I was just going to do a little bit more running for the next few months... how wrong I was. I was in for a lot of hard work, a lot of tired mornings, a lot of frustration, and a lot of tears. Not to mention a lot of laughter, a lot of beers, a lot of smiles and a LOT of great friends.

This year, my acceptance email from the DFMC office didn't quite provoke any dance moves, but that's certainly not to say that I'm not excited. Quite the contrary, actually. I have been looking forward to the DFMC season starting up again since I was forced (by social conventions) to take off my shiny, new, blue and yellow medal and return to life as normal on April 22. I recognize that, from the outside, it seems a bit crazy to apply to do all of the hard work (running and otherwise) that DFMC requires, and it probably seems even crazier to apply to do it all a second time, knowing what is in store for me, but I loved every minute of my DFMC experience last year. And while I, of course, am dreading certain things that I didn't know any better than to be excited for last year (20 milers, cold mornings, track workouts), I'm excited to experience all of these things now as a DFMC veteran. So, bring on the training season, DFMC! Bring on the cold butts and the peanut m&m's and the running in circles and the runner's meetings and the hills! It's good to be back...

Speed is relative... and I'm relatively faster

A wise man named Jack Fultz once told me that speed is relative. I, being not so wise, laughed at this, thinking it merely a ploy to make slower runners like me feel not so crappy about their not so speedy running capabilities. Well, maybe it is a ploy, but, regardless, I took it upon myself this summer to become relatively faster, and, believe it or not, it sort of worked! And, something I learned about being relatively faster is that running becomes relatively more fun the faster you get. Yes, you read that right, I said running was fun. I ran a race this past Thursday night and it was actually fun. And I don't just mean the after party was fun (that's a given). I mean the bobbing and weaving, heavy breathing, sweaty, heart pounding, legs screaming, "left foot, right foot, repeat," act of running was FUN! Yes, dear readers, it has finally happened, I believe I have officially lost my mind.

This past Thursday was the last in a 5 part race series on the Charles River. One Thursday a month for the duration of the summer, runners gathered at the Marsh Post near the Elliot Bridge in Cambridge, and ran in a big, overcrowded, clump for 4.2 miles around the river until reaching their final destination... free beer. The races were something I really looked forward to each month. A great chance to get a run in, and then hang out with friends, listen to a cover band, and drink some Harpoon underneath a starry sky. All summer I have used these runs as a sort of gauge for my progress on "Project Run Faster" (I just decided that's what I'm going to call my quest for speed). Each race, I made it my goal to cut just a little bit off of my time from the previous race. Overall, I was pretty successful at doing this, though some races were more difficult than others.

This last race, I had the pleasure of running with Tyler (no, I didn't get THAT much faster... he was taking this one easy because he had another race the next day). As we ran through the inevitable clusterfuck at the beginning of the race, I was feeling pretty good. The air was cool and clear, my favorite weather to run in, and my legs were feeling very energetic. While I normally feel anxious for the first mile or so of a race- even these small, familiar races- this time I felt calm and relaxed. We joked around, Tyler made monkey noises and quacked at the ducks, and during parts of the run when I could feel my legs start to get a little bit tired, I turned my concentration towards whatever it was that Tyler and I were talking about and just kept running. As we made the last turn, just before the final mile of the race, Tyler asked me, "Ok Krazy, what do you have left for the last mile?" which I knew meant that I was supposed to turn up the speed, but at that moment, I wasn't quite sure that my legs had anything left in them. "I'll let you know in a minute," I responded back, hoping that maybe by the time a minute went by either I would be a little less tired or he would have forgotten that he asked in the first place. After a minute, maybe a little more, I decided that, this being the last race of the summer, I was going to finish with everything that I had left. I picked up the pace a little and heard Tyler just behind me, encouraging me to pass people. You know in the movie Seabiscuit, the one about the race horse, how all it takes for Seabiscuit to kick butt in a race is for him to see the eyes of the horse that he is running against, and then he just takes off. Well, that's sort of how I felt on Thursday. After I passed one person in that final mile, that was really all I needed to forget the heavy feeling in my legs, and I ran as fast as I could through to the finish. When I got to the finish line, I was more than surprised to see that the clock said 37:25. 37 minutes, 25 seconds, which I quickly realized in my head meant that I had done two (relatively) incredible things : 1) I had run under 9 minute miles, and 2) I had run 2 minutes faster in this race than I had in the last one. (HUGE thanks to Tyler for making me run (relatively) fast... I wouldn't have done it myself). And the most miraculous part of it all is that, despite feeling tired, I had fun the whole time, and finished with a smile. (another huge thanks to Ty for that one too)

So maybe it's not that running relatively faster makes it more fun... maybe it's that all the fun people are fast, so when you can finally keep up with them (or can convince them to run relatively slower with you), running is a whole lot more enjoyable. Whatever it is, my final summer race was all I could have ever asked for it to be. Next up- I look to continue the success of "Project Run Faster" at the BAA Half Marathon in October... I'm pretty sure Tyler's not going to be willing to run this one with me, so I'm going to have to figure out a way to entertain myself for 13 miles... or find someone else who will make monkey noises during the race...

Life Lessons at the Falmouth Road Race

This past weekend I, along with several friends, went down to the Cape and ran the Falmouth Road Race.   After a fantastic day at our friend Steve's house exploring, fishing and enjoying an absolutely beautiful day in Brewster, we all woke up early for a long and traffic-full drive to Falmouth.  For anyone who doesn't know, the Falmouth Road Race is huge, and runs along some of the most scenic seven miles of the Cape Cod coast line.  After all of the great things I had heard about the race, and on the heels of two races that I had run very well, I was really excited for this one.  When I woke up the morning of the race, though, I was acutely aware of the fact that the feeling I had had the morning before the race in Stowe, that "I'm Ready" feeling, was not quite there.  It wasn't that I was unprepared, or that I didn't want to run, I just didn't quite feel right.  

Anyways, I started the race, and I knew after 3 miles that this was not going to be my day.  I felt so awful that I had to walk for a little bit, and, as I walked, I started to contemplate my options.  I could, 1) just keep running at a respectable pace until I passed out- which, honestly, I don't think was far from happening at that point; 2) slow down my pace and focus on just getting through the next mile and a half (there was a Dana-Farber cheering section at mile 5.5 where some friends were); or 3) walk the rest of the race, which honestly I don't think I would have allowed myself to do anyways, but I considered it.  I decided to go with option number 2 and I told myself that if I just jogged the next mile and a half, I would be okay.  The first mile went by quickly, but the half a mile after that seemed more like 10.  As I got to the DF cheering section though, I heard my friend Lindsey yell out "Go Lauren," and I decided to keep trucking along for the next mile and a half to the finish.  That last mile and a half sucked, to say the least, saved only by the cheering crowd and the light breeze that broke up the brutal heat every once and a while.  There was a monster hill in the last half mile, and I willed my legs to do their best attempt at a run up the entire thing.  On the downhill to the finish, I didn't even have it in me to speed up, I just focused my sights on the finish line and forced my body to carry me to it.

When I crossed the finish line, all I wanted to do was cry.  I don't know if it was because I was so tired, or if I was disappointed in my run, or if they were tears of joy that I had even finished the race at all, perhaps it was a combination of all three, but when I found my friends waiting after I had finished, it was all I could do to hold back the tears.  After getting some food and cooling down a bit, we got to talking about having bad races and the best way to use your feelings from that in some constructive way.  I have to say that I've typically been one of those "Beat yourself up over it" types.  I take all of the frustration and disappointment from a badly played game, or a badly run race, and I berate myself with it until I'm more frustrated and disappointed, and then I use those feelings to force myself to get better at whatever it is that started the frustration and disappointment to begin with.  It's a viscous cycle, and one that isn't exactly constructive, as I usually end up burning myself out when forcing myself to get better.  While it may seem obvious that this is not the best way to handle things, it has taken me nearly 25 years to come to this realization.  I think that years of basketball and soccer coaches in my youth, yelling and having us do drills until our legs nearly fell off whenever we made a mistake, firmly embedded this response to disappointment into my head.  But now, I think I'm finally starting to get it.

In the car yesterday, my friend Angie mentioned that she had read something that said when you have a bad run, you should write down all of the things that went badly about it, and then draw a circle and write all of the things that were in your control on the inside of the circle, and all of the things that were out of your control on the outside.  The idea seemed silly to me yesterday when I was still stewing over my bad race, but now that I've had some time to think about it, it makes perfect sense.  While I didn't literally write or draw anything, it's easy for me to see that I don't think there was much I could have done to fix yesterday's race.  I was prepared to run seven miles, even seven hilly miles; I was prepared to run in the heat, I have been doing it all summer; I was ready in pretty much any way I could have been, it just wasn't my day.  So, instead of locking myself in the gym for the rest of the week, and running my legs to death around the river to beat them into submission, I'm just going to continue running and training like I have been, and enjoying it like I have been.  I'm not going to let one race that didn't quite go my way throw everything off track.  There will always be more races...

Revenge

Did I ever mention that I completely crashed on the hills in Newton during the marathon? No? Well, I did. It was not pretty- my ultimate fear come true- I had to walk up part of Heartbreak Hill. It has eaten me up ever since. I can't tell you how badly I have wished that I could go back to that day and just suck it up and run all the way up that stupid hill. The thing is, on that day, 18 or so miles into the marathon, I was pretty sure that I might die if I made myself run up that entire hill... or worse yet, I might not finish the marathon (which I guess if I had died I wouldn't have finished the marathon anyways- but at least then I wouldn't have had to live with the humiliation). Regardless, once I finished the race that day, I knew that I could have run that hill and still finished- too bad I came to that realization 8 miles too late (hindsight is always 20-20).

Well, this past Tuesday I had the opportunity to return to the site of my demise and do a TNT run on the very same hills that had eaten me alive back on April 21st. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a bit nervous about the whole thing, but after a great race in Stowe the weekend before (yes, that thinly veiled fairy-tale was about me... surprise surprise), I felt pretty good about getting a good run in, regardless of the hills I would have to tackle. The run started out, and I immediately felt like I was going too fast to even possibly have enough energy to run the hills down and back- but my desire to not be last got the better of me, so I kept trucking along with my fellow TNTers. Before I even realized it, we were at the firehouse and turning around to go back over the hills the same direction as the marathon route. I charged up the first hill and was amazed how great I felt when I reached the top- instead of slowly ambling down the other side in an attempt to catch my breath and give my legs a rest, I kept up my pace and began mentally preparing myself for the next hill. Hill number two came and went without too much trouble and then it was time for Heartbreak. As I was approaching the incline, my teammate Matt came running up behind me and we talked for a minute. I explained to him that I was using this run as my revenge for the marathon- getting the hills back for embarassing me the way they did. He responded "Kick this hill in the balls" and with a high five- he raced up the hill. I "raced" up after him (at a slightly... ok, fine, way way slower speed) thinking the whole way up "I've always thought of these hills as female." Regardless, I ran the entire way up that stupid hill and spit on the top of it (I'm not really much of a spitter, but it seemed appropriate at the time). As I finished the run, I felt an overwhelming sense of redemption. Sure, the hills may have gotten the better of me on marathon monday, but I certainly showed them who's boss on Tuesday, and hopefully I'll keep showing them until next April when I can really get my revenge.

A Running Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a girl who decided to run a marathon. Now, this was not just any old marathon she decided to run- this was the Boston Marathon- but she was lucky because she had a coach who was known throughout the land as a great coach with a lot of experience in training for Boston- he had won it in '76, afterall. The girl knew that if she was going to accomplish her goal, she had better listen closely to all that her coach had to say. Despite knowing this, she often had trouble following his advice- not because she didn't want to, but because somewhere in her body there was a disconnect between her head knowing what she should do and her body actually doing it. The girl trained for months and successfully ran the marathon- however not without some trouble in the Newton Hills due to the fact that she ran too fast the first 13 miles of the race (exactly what her coach told her not to do). After the marathon, the girl continued training, running various races during the summer. Despite the fact that her coach continued to give her valuable advice on how to get back into running after the marathon, and how to work on her speed, the girl still had trouble following it. She struggled through run after run, and race after race, getting ever more frustrated with running and her inability to enjoy it again.

Then, one day, the girl went on a trip to Stowe, Vermont with a bunch of fellow runners to run an 8 mile race. After a day of fun with her friends, the girl woke up early the morning of the race and felt something she hadn't felt in quite some time- she was ready to run. The girl lined up at the starting line of the race and she heard her coach's voice in the back of her head "start slow, finish strong," and, as the race began, the girl settled into a steady and comfortable pace. With each mile, the girl gently increased her speed. Runners who had made the same mistake she had made so many times and had passed her in the very beginning of the race found themselves having to slow down from starting too quickly, and the girl passed them gaining strength and confidence. As the girl approached the 7th mile marker she suddenly realized that here she was, at the final mile of a race, and she didn't even feel like crap- she actually felt pretty good. The girl finished the race strong with a smile on her face as she ran across the finish line at a full sprint. She had finally managed to follow her coach's wise words and she had even had fun doing it! That afternoon, the girl celebrated a successful race drinking beer and eating ice cream in the rain with her fellow runners. Everyone had had a great weekend in Stowe, and they all ran happily ever after...

Hate is a strong word... unless you really mean it

It's hard to believe that it's been over a month since my last post. I think it can be safely assumed that I wasn't very thrilled with running back when I last blogged, and, I have to say, I'm not sure that has entirely changed. Let's be honest... when have I ever really been thrilled with running? Looking back through my blog posts, there isn't really anything that ever says "I love running." There actually isn't ever anything that says that I like running. In fact, the only mention I ever make about my feelings toward running is in saying that "I used to hate it, maybe I don't anymore." I think, now that I've had some time to ponder the situation, I can safely say that I do, in fact, hate running. I think I always have. The act of running, just running, is not something I enjoy. It is hard for me, it is painful, it is tiring, it requires a lot of effort... these are all things I hate. Why the heck do I continue to do this to myself?!?

When I was training for the marathon the answer to that question was obvious. I was running for something. All of that effort had some greater purpose other than just putting one foot in front of the other for the heck of it. I was training for something big, and I was running for something even bigger. But then the marathon was over and all I was left with was running. Running for the sake of stupid running. Sure I can train for races, get faster, etc. but it's still just not the same. So, that still leaves me with the question... why am I still doing this?

Sure, I hate running. But, and I believe this is something my dear buddy Linds will 100% agree with being President of the Team Injured and all, I think I hate NOT running more. As much as I LOVE the opportunity to loaf around my apartment, spend time with some non-running buddies and do whatever I feel like doing when I'm not running, I find that when I don't run I get cranky and moody, I feel lazy, and most importantly, I don't get to spend as much time as I want to with my running friends. It's hard for me to admit this, but I actually feel worse when I don't run than when I'm outside in the 90 degree weather, running mile repeats around the track with TNT (more on them at a later date- this blogging hiatus has caused me to leave out a lot of things that have happened in the last month or so... ).

Anyways, the point of all of this rambling is that I haven't blogged in a long time because I had a feeling that I hated running and I didn't want to be so negative. But I'm ready to admit it: I HATE RUNNING. I absolutely hate it, and I am okay with that. Anyone who thinks that left foot, right foot, repeat is fun is a crazy person. That being said, not running is even less fun- so I'm sticking with the running from now on. Maybe it will grow on me (probably not), maybe it won't (more likely), but until I hate it more than not running, I'll keep putting one stupid foot in front of the other and see where I end up... and I'll even blog about it from now on too.

If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror, because I bet that's what REALLY throws you into a panic. -Jack Handey

I am tired. I'm not just tired, I'm tired of running. I can't seem to remember why I even liked running in the first place. I dread lacing up my running shoes because I know whatever amount of running I do manage to get out of my legs is just going to be a disappointment. I used to love running with friends, but now I feel stressed out when I run with other people because I'm sure I'm holding them back from going faster. Just over a month ago I ran 26.2 miles and now I can barely run 4. I hurt, and I'm tired and I'm sad. But most of all, I'm just scared that I'm not ever going to get back my desire to run. Or worse yet, I'll want to run, but I'm not going to be able to get my legs to cooperate.

I haven't really blogged for over a month because this is how I've felt. Until today I've been following the above wise words of Jack Handey, thinking that if I didn't acknowledge how bad all of this running stuff was going, then maybe I could avoid panicking about it. Silly, I know. You would think by the time I reached 24 I would have learned that ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away. But, now that it's out there, I can recognize that there is really nothing to panic about. I just need to relax and be patient, the running will come. It might take me longer to get back into running than my teammates- but hey, it took me longer than them to finish the marathon too... the important thing is that I'll get there. In the meantime, I'll follow the wise words of a much wiser Jack, our coach, Jack Fultz. Like Jack always tells us- "Keep on keepin' on"- the running will come.