Dead. Flat. Last.

I got a great, great email in my inbox today, from a runner who successfully finished her first half marathon recently.  That was the great part.  The part that had challenged her was one that’s common to many Plus Runners, and she was honest.  She wondered, fresh on the heels of finishing her first half marathon, if anyone else had the experience of finishing last in a race.  She said that but for another run/walker in her race, she’d have certainly been last in hers, and even considered dropping out.

That part of the email made me want to give her a big hug, because I know what it feels like to be there.  But her question was simple: Do you know anyone who has written about what it feels like to come in last?  So before I start here today, runners, I’m issuing an open plea: can you share your story with Tracy?  Have you ever finished last? Come close?  What was it like?  Post in the comments below, or over on Facebook, and let’s get real about what finishing last is like.

Here’s my experience.

I’ve finished last – officially last – in one very, very big race.  I’ve finished pretty late in a lot of races.  I’ve only ever dropped out of one race.  And I’ve only ever seriously considered quitting one other.    There’s a saying in the running community, which always sticks in my mind when I think about these races, and it’s like an equation:

DFL > DNF > DNS.

Dead Flat Last is better than Did Not Finish which is still better than Did Not Start.

Dead Flat Last

My DFL was in the 2008 Soldier Field 10 Miler.  (I offer you the link as proof.  Scroll to the bottom of the results, and you’ll see my name there.)  I had never run that race before, because I knew that the time cutoffs were aggressive for my pace (13:30 miles, when at that time, I was way over a 16:30).  I was pretty heavy then, and was training regularly but still not fast.  Chicago races run downtown along the waterfront are famous for many things – but for “back of the pack” runners like me, who had been running in them for almost 10 years at that point, they were famous mostly for one thing: incredible pressure to be faster than the “end of race” car.

By 2008, I had been a pace setter for the Chicago Distance Classic, the friendliest Chicago race there ever was, where runners were given plenty of time to hit cutoffs.  But I knew the challenge that race organizers faced each year to keep the police cars off the backs of the people at the end of the pack.  Chicago is a huge city and the police are on the butts of the people at the back of the pack to re-open the course as quickly as possible.  When I say I’ve been an advocate for the BOP runners, I mean it – just ask any of those folks in my pace group the last few years.

So, with that in mind, I tended to steer clear of the 10 Miler at Soldier Field, which was VERY clear about the end of race times.  That said, this one year, I agreed to run it with a friend, who wanted to do her first race there.  We were there on race morning (with my mom, a true treat, in the stands), and we headed off with the pack early and smiling.

By the first mile, we were already woefully behind the pack. This was a fast race, and we found ourselves relatively alone as we headed down an open stretch of Lake Shore Drive.  We would be mostly alone for the next four miles, run/walking down huge stretches of the famous street with no one – no cars, no people – in either direction.

That was a first for me.  I’d been slow before.  I’d been alone before.  But I’d never been slow and alone and last before.  In previous races, there were always walkers behind me, or others around to break up the pace.  I’d cut my teeth on large half marathons which were run/walk friendly, and this was something different.  This was a foot-by-foot reminder that we were holding people up.  I was panicked that we were going to get kicked off the course at every turn.  I was sure there would be no water, and the longer we went alone, the more I realized we probably wouldn’t finish on the 50 yard line.  And of course, that was my thinking – an experienced runner, who had nothing to lose with this race.

I was a horrible friend that day.  I pushed my friend to move faster, to try to cut some of the distance between us and the girl in front of us – simply because I didn’t want to get pushed off the course.  I thought if we could make it to the turn, we would be off the Drive and we could survive on the path.  But it was my friend’s first race, and I imagined she just wanted to finish.  That’s all I had wanted the day I first lined up – to finish.

The day of the 10 miler, a race marshall met us on a bike at Mile 6.  He stuck with us the entire way in – just making sure we could get there.  We had picked up an amazing, quiet girl who was out for her first big race ever.  She had been our “rabbit” for two miles when we caught her – slow and steady, our target to pick off.   She hadn’t told anyone she was racing that day, just in case she didn’t finish.  She didn’t look like a runner.  She didn’t have on running clothes, and she was holding an old Walkman to keep her company.  But she was nice as nice could be.  She had grown up with Asthma, and damn if she wasn’t going to finish that race.

I found myself holding back tears as we came up to the stadium, and “my” two first-timers were heading to the finish.  The director of the race met us outside the stadium, and took us down a special corridor to finish, on the field, as the last official racers.  We wove through guys holding beers in their hands and racers going “holy crap, there’s still people out there!”  Yep.  That was us.  We went through the tunnel.  We were on the field.  And the girls were sprinting, having a pretty cool finish.  DFL was just fine with me.

Those folks  - those race directors – didn’t have to do that for us – they didn’t have to let us finish – but they did.  And make no mistake, Race Directors make these very hard calls every day – whether to keep a race open for those last walkers, or runners, or to shut it down.  The good ones agonize over it, and stretch it as long as they can.  Two of the best are John Bingham and Beth Salinger, who have hearts of gold and the mindset of Penguins – in fact, John’s the original Penguin, and his races always made it okay to be last – in fact, even better than okay.  John started something called “The Balloon Cuties” – a group of women who walked at the back of any of his races, to gather up those who had fallen behind, and give them someone to follow into the finish.  Beth, who RDd for John and now runs a number of great races in her own right, continues that trend today, always making sure that there’s a welcome, kind, encouraging face on the back of her races, so that no one has to finish “last”.

Finishing last is hard on the heart.  But finishing alone, as Tracy mentioned, is harder.

Did Not Finish

In 2007 or 2008 (I’ve blocked out the year), I cut the course at the Shamrock Shuffle in Chicago.  I was two miles in, having started in my allocated wave, moving at a 13:30 pace, when the Chicago Police came up behind a huge group of runners and run/walkers and began yelling “WALKERS TO THE SIDEWALK PLEASE”.

I was pissed.  I was WAY ahead of pace.  I could see people one block over on a return route walking far slower than I was.  I knew that, at the end of the race, my pace would be far faster than some of them, but I was going evenly.  But that didn’t matter.  The cops were clearing the streets, and my heart rate was way up, and I could either sprint for the next few miles, or I could cut it and go home.  I was mad at being rushed; I was mad at the unfairness of the race, and I was mad in general.  I cut the block, chopping off at least a mile and a half, and headed into Grant Park for the finish.

I knew two important things that day, both of which made me A-OK with that tactic:  first, my mind was not in the race.  I was way too angry to have a good finish, and while I could have gotten it under control, this was an 8k race that didn’t mean anything to my training plan or my goals, and it just wasn’t worth it to sprint, or get hurt, or feel that much pressure.  Because EVERY step I took in that race made me think “I am NEVER going to be good enough to run these races.  I am NEVER going to be strong enough.”  And you know what?  That’s JUST. NOT. TRUE.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew that to give myself a mental beating for the next three miles wasn’t worth it.  So I quit.  And I was very okay with that decision.

Fast forward to the winter of 2009.  We were in Arizona for the RNR Half.  It was a hot day, and I was not entirely race ready.  About 8 miles in, I was hurting pretty bad.  There was no shade, and there was horrible replacement drinks, and I was pretty miserable.  Plus, owing to a case of plantar fasciitis that I hadn’t really addressed, my pelvis was starting to flare up in a way that, I was certain, felt like it must feel to have a baby.  By which I mean, not entirely pleasant.

I knew the course fairly well, and I was pretty sure that there was a chance to cut it to get towards the finish.  I considered it.  Heck, I think I even asked someone.  But there was simply no shortcut to get me home.  I probably should have stopped then, but I kept going.  It was quiet.  And I had a long time to think about my body, my health, my friends.  It felt like years.  I remember thinking “just get to the next water stop”.  And then “who can I talk to?” I struck up conversations with other walkers nearby, and that passed the time.  But it was tough.  Eventually, I came to the finish, and got my medal, and almost cried.

With my friend Lisa before the RNR Arizona. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. and we had already driven to the wrong place AND had a speeding ticket!

All of which is to say that being in the back can be challenging, and it can be lonely.  There’s something to be said for running in big races with generous finishing times – where there’s always a walker around to keep you company, or a charity group with coaches on the course.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that there was probably one thing which made it much easier for me to run long races for the first few years of my running time – and that was that I joined a running group – and those people were always around – and I happened to find a friend who was at my pace.

For several years, every race I ran, I ran with my new friend.  I can say without a doubt that I would not have gotten through my first race if it weren’t for her, and probably quite a few after.  We distracted one another; and when I had a shitty day, she kept me focused.   So if I have any advice for you, it’s to find a local group of new runners, and try to find someone to train with who’s at your pace.  If they’re not present, keep going back to the store or the group until they turn up. And believe me, they will.  There are always people trying to join the club – but we dont’ stick around much if we don’t feel welcome.  So stay, and be the welcome committee.  Or better yet, start your own group in your area.  Talk to a local run shop about a run/walk or a “slow runner” pace group for the weekly runs.

Don’t be afraid to go it alone – but don’t let it stop you from finding the friends you need, either.

Don’t let it make you a DNS.  Cause that math up above is right.  Anything is better than DNS.

See you on the path.

Mid-run with my nephew on London's Clapham Common during a recent snowstorm. The Kid and my brother certainly were fort-a-licious.

So, in no particular order, some not-so-inspirational Plus Runner updates for the week.

I might be racing on an Olympic track.I know, it’s scary.  But there’s this thing, and it’s through work, and I might just get to run a 100 meter dash on the Olympic track in London in early April.  COOL, eh???  I maintain it might be the slowest finish ever, but can you imagine???

I might be slightly hobbled in that endeavor by a torn MCL.  Yeah.  I’m trying to pretend that the screaming pain every time I step wrong on my left leg is just a figment of my imagination.  But it turns out that either a) not wearing heels for two years and then doing some downward stepathon in them might not have been the best plan or b) that sliparoo on the ice the day of our big snowfall here was worse than I thought.  In any case, I’ve been running-free for three weeks, and I am officially. a. lunatic.  Back to the pool, right?  At least till a doc gets up in there and tells me what’s the what.

Big races are lining up. Have you picked yours for the year?  More to come on this, but I did officially make the London ballot for the Olympic distance triathlon.  Here’s to recovering from whatever _this_ is and kicking butt come September.

But in the meantime, how terrible am I at 100 days of anything?  I biffed again this year on the 100 days, but MAD PROPS to Cindi Hammer and all the kids out there doing 100 days proud.  I am nothing if not humbled by your continued inspiration for the rest of us.

Tick tock. That’s the sound you hear of me eagerly awaiting the Spring 2012 Triathlete Magazine Buyer’s Guide, which should include a piece about the best triathlon apparel for plus size athletes (written by yours truly). Word’s still out on when it will hit the stands, but keep your eyes and ears peeled.

I learned how to fence last week. Gingerly, yes, but it reaffirmed my belief that you’re never too old to learn a new sport. Or to be a hyper-competitive crazyhorse who believes in fair play and rules, rules, rules.  It’s amazing they let me play team sports sometimes, I swear.  But honestly, fencing? Very cool.  And doesn’t require massive white bodysuits either, which was a refreshing realization.

We’re gearing up for spring travel around here.  Kruger National Park (South Africa) and Talinn, Estonia (not to mention a possible side-o to Dusseldorf) are all in the makings.  Got a recommendation?  A road or a hike I can’t miss?  This knee will NOT slow me down – send me your best stuff!!

And now, the good stuff.  Who needs free gear???  I have a few pieces of gear that were sent as testing pieces for this recent article, and though a few are dedicated to some of my besties, there will be at least one upcoming contest for readers….so watch this space for more news – the contest will be announced next week to celebrate the Plus Runner’s 3rd birthday!!!

Okay, gotta go get some shut-eye now.  Thanks for the readin, and see you on the path.

Oh, and one more coolest as all cool thing…my good friend Cindi was kind enough to nominate Plus Runner for a fitness magazine blog award.  How cool is she?  Very.  But if you’re feeling the luvvvvv, please have a vote.  And even if you’re not, well, thanks for stopping by…

What amazed me this Saturday wasn’t that the Channel exists; it’s that it took me 9 months to realize it’s a fifty minute train ride to get there.  How did I not know this?  How had I wasted so many weekends in my apartment, watching re-runs of True Blood or reading the latest novel, while this gorgeous countryside awaited me?

I wasn’t disappointed in the trip.  My friend from work and I (Carolina, she of the blue top in the pics below) met up with a Meetup group who offered a guided hike (great when someone else does the navigating!).  All we had to do was show up at Liverpool Street Station at 9 a.m. I, of course, was late.  But I wasn’t so late that I didn’t make the train – and I met some really cool people along the way.  Below, a few pics from the trip (because y’all occasionally ask)!  Yes, you’ll note that I’m hiking in jeans (a first for me). I  wouldn’t normally, but it was an okay way to go, even if the mud was up to my ankles by the time we got back on the train.

And also, a word about the views – this place was really spectacular (it’s called Leigh on Sea) and it’s going to be host to the mountain biking course for the Olympics for 2012.  And the best part about it, yes, was the small sea town at the end of our journey.  Ironically, we never got to the wide open beach-type view you expect; but for a little while at the end, we stood by the sea wall, and watched a great sunset, enjoying the freshest fish and some excellent company.  I’d write more, but there’s nothing pithy or wise to say about it – I went, it was fun, and I’ll do something again. All in all, an excellent adventure for  a fifty minute train ride just East of London.

Carolina leading up to Hadleigh Castle

Walking into the castle grounds- it was on a fault line and shortly after built in the 13th century, began falling off a cliff. Literally.

Don't I look like the picture of fun? Yeah. It was pretty cool. That's the sea behind me in the distance.

As I was back on the path again on Saturday, I got to thinking that I was running through my own personal course of “Running Foundations”.  It’s a Freshman Year course.  It’s usually one that you wander into, occasionally hungover, and with questionable attire, sometimes wondering if you really should have had that late night Burrito the night before.  But alas, because you have made a commitment to better yourself and your life, you find yourself in a classroom (or on a path) at 8:00 a.m. on a day which usually involves sleeping in.  And for what?

Well, the premise is prety simple.  If you’ve never had a course in World History, and some day, you want to work for the United Nations, it might help to understand where all of the great countries in this world arose from.

Similarly, if you want to be the next Meredith Grey, you might want to attend Basic Hairdressing, while also figuring out how to tell the difference between an ACL and an MCL at Basic Physiology.

And if you want to some day run a half marathon, or a whole marathon, or even just get to a point where you can run regularly ( the equivalent of ALWAYS knowing where that MCL is), you have to slog through the early mornings, or the late nights, and the simple pain – and occasionally, outright fun –  of learning something you’ve never learned before.

I was thinking all of this because I’d been through Running Foundations long, long ago.  In the tail end of my law school career, I was interning at a large firm, overweight and out of shape, and I was in no condition to start running.  But I somehow decided I should try.  I got started with the basics, and embarked on a solid year of running short distances before I ever considered running anything long.

I feel very much like I’m back in Freshman year right now, re-learning how to do all of this again.  I seem to have forgotten some of the habits that I got into after years of Advanced Running (like the fact that I’m always only warmed up after about 3 miles) but on the up side, I am also continuously surprised and happy to be running again.

It’s like that first moment when you’re learning a new language and you realize that you can say more than “Oui” and “Non” and can, in fact, order a cup of coffee with some milk in it to go!  You want to do a little dance at the accomplishment, while recognizing that it’s probably still very small.  Indeed, a very small thing.

On Saturday, it was the realization for me that I was going to have no problem getting in a 3 mile run/walk, when I was about 2/3 of the way through.  It was going to be fine.  I felt like a pro coming back to audit the introductory course, but I didn’t care.  I knew how this early day of the Running Foundations class was going to end, and it was going to end well.  I was going to feel super strong, and happy, and I wasn’t going to want to crash out (at least not until later that day!).

And that’s probably the best part about coming back to the basics.  I do know how this path looks.  I do know how to navigate through the ups and downs of a return to running.  But in the meantime, I get the great days of hauling through the Common; of feeling like I’m actually FAST (???), and of knowing that I am absolutely in the right place, doing the right thing, to be healthy and strong.

I’m not quite sure what my “advanced” course looks like these days.  Will I ever try to run another half marathon?  Who knows.  It seems awfully crazy to me right now, I’ll be honest.  For me, I may just be one of those continuing “General Studies” majors who goes on to sample everything – and that would be okay.  But for now, I’m going to put in my time on the Foundations.  I’m going to commit to running a few times a week, and to cross-train on the off days – and like any good Freshman, I’m going to plan for some party time.

And as Foundations go, that’s good enough for me.

See you on the path!

We walked to the show, and covered a variety of topics in our hour long trek from the office.  As I told my mother last night, I knew I’d officially become a Londoner when my friend asked if I would mind walking (in my suit, from the office) and I not only said “no, I don’t mind” but I meant it!  More than that, I was prepared with my running shoes (though I quickly changed back into my cute girl shoes once we got close).  The other way I knew I’d done okay was that I really did enjoy the walk – and even though we arrived slightly “misted” – it was a perfect way to spend the night.

As I walked back to the Underground after the show, I was whistling the Ode the whole way.  It was the second day in a row, you see, that I’d had a wonderful walk in the park – and I’d be lying if I didn’t say those endorphins weren’t making themselves known.

So it should come as no surprise that tonight, when I turned up for my first “training” consultation at the local gym, I was still in a decent (if slightly nervous) mood.  An hour and change later, with our initial intake done, and the initial workout done, I’m still smiling.

So what is it exactly?  What is it about the prospect of a committed program for the next twelve weeks that has me giddy as a kid?

Well, for me, it’s a few things.  First, not to state the obvious, but I’d forgotten how amazing a workout is for your mental state.  Just this week, the New York Times reminded us of this when they shared the results of a recent study that said that for those suffering from chronic depression, exercise is as effective as drug therapy.  If that isn’t an indicator of what exercise can do for you, what is?   Now, I wouldn’t claim that I’m in anywhere NEAR that kind of funk, but if it’s that good for those who are struggling, imagine what it does for those of us who are just okee doke?  I mean, by all rights we should be singing Odes everywhere we go (don’t worry, no singing, just whistling here.)

Second, I think it’s the prospect of having a plan to follow – as my assistant likes to say, “a proper plan”.  It’s knowing what I have to do when (with some flexibility) to get me to where I want to go.  It’s taking the guesswork out of the equation by knowing that I have someone to report to – and also knowing that this investment is going to eat up a decent chunk of my cash.  I’m putting my wallet where my ass is.  And I’m okay with that.  But, as my friends and business owners of Chicago Endurance Sports always knew, (that’s you Jenny and Mike) getting people to commit by signing up for a set time with a decent investment means people are less likely to blow off the training group.  Trust me – I know that when I’m paying for these sessions that I won’t be willing to let them die.  According to the Evening Standard tonight, I’ll be buying a trip to Ibiza every week to see my new friend Jason, and though he doesn’t sing and dance, I’m going to make the most of that time.

So I guess that’s it.  I’m excited to have a plan.  To invest in my health.  To make some good changes.  I know, I know – we’ve all seen or done this before.  But I’ve never – literally – NEVER – done the training thing with a personal trainer.  The closest I came was the great help and guidance (okay, and ass-kicking) my PT Joel gave me last year at Accelerated when I was rehabbing.  I had great rehab results with Joel, who pushed me farther than I knew I could go.  So maybe that’s it too – maybe I’m hoping with some encouragement and regular accountability, I’ll get back to a level of fitness I’m excited about.

I think that means, kids, that we start today.  So get ready for mind-numbing updates full of good cheer about the newest adventure.  I hope you’ll join me for this ride, and that you’ll be working along at home too.  And when 2012 knocks on our door, let’s all kick it down with our new bad selves, eh?

See you on the path

p.s.  In case you’re curious, the following goals have been set:

1) Lose 25 pounds. (I have a date in mind, but let’s not share that).

2) Be strong enough to be ready to run once the 25 pounds is off (ideally by February)

3) Olympic distance triathlon in early spring of 2012

There’s more, but that’s a start.

Been awhile?   Unfamiliar with the feeling of getting lost?   Used to feeling like every workout is like an old episode of “Friends”, where you might not know the dialogue by heart, but you’re pretty sure Monica’s going to be anal retentive, Chandler’s going to make you spit milk out your nose, and Ross will make you glad you stopped dating that guy from the museum?  Yeah, I know.  If you’re a creature of habit, or you’ve been training for anything – and training close to home – the answer is probably “yes, it’s been awhile” – because we always advocate that you know exactly where you are, at all times on a run, on a bike, on a swim.  In today’s safety-conscious world, and particularly as  woman runners, we say “know your route” and “be prepared” and all that stuff.

But that means life can get pretty boring.  It can stop feeling challenging.  It can make you forget why you started getting active in the first place.

So every once in awhile, I like recommend something radical:  Do something so different, so challenging, that it makes you throw your playbook – if not out the window – at least to the back seat.

I did this last week, and though it was one of the most challenging vacations I’ve had in awhile, it was by far the most rewarding, as I returned to an active holiday with absolutely no pain and no issues.

I sneakily convinced a friend to join me in Wales for three days.  There, with the help of Anna from Drover Holidays, we had picked out a three-day-tour of the Brecon Beacons National Park – a gorgeous landscape of the Black Mountains and green hills that offered the Beacons Way – an 80+ mile path that runs through three distinct segments of the park.  We started with the day 1 hike up The Skirrid just outside Abergavenny.

Where’s the adventure, you ask?

Climbing to the top of "The Skirrid" on Day 1 of the Beacons Way.

Hiking in Wales should have been pretty easy for me – I mean, I’ve been hiking now since I was 18, thanks to my dad and stepmom, who introduced us to the joys of Buffet to Prevent Bear Attacks while wandering through the western US national parks.  But I’ve never – not once – hiked using a back-country permit, or hiked where I didn’t have a clearly marked trail laid out in front of me with cairns or markers every 20 feet.  I’m a bit of a wuss that way (and hey, Colorado isn’t a place you go off trail if you’re only hauling a day pack.)  But as I found out while researching this trip, hiking (or “walking” in the UK) is different here than it is in the states.

Unlike the states, here there is a principle which allows any person to cross anyone’s land in order to get to the next plot.  The Right to Roam allows right of access across open lands, moors, national park areas (which may include private property within park borders) and several other areas.  What that means, in practice, is that you can walk anywhere in England and Wales, as long as you’re carrying a good map and you’re on the recommended route.

But as we found out last week, the route is not quite what you might think.  That route might just tell you that there’s a gate in the North East corner of that one farm on your map – but the footpath might or might not be visible to get you there.  The next farm’s gate should be through those woods, and over a creek – but you’ll need to read your map closely and find your way carefully.  In short, you not only have to be able to read the map – but you have to be able to translate what you’re seeing with your eyes (and feeling with your feet) into what’s on the paper in front of you.

So for me, this was the first bit of the adventure that was truly new.  Though I’d orienteered a few times before (and thank GOD for Jenny’s map-reading class and for the orienteering day with the girls), this was truly putting my skills to the test.  Second, it required a level of concentration I’m not used to bringing to a hike! We had set out on the first day for a 10.6 mile endurance fest – up two small mountains, with a large valley (and many sheep) in between – and a descent that would bring weaker thighs to their breaking point at the 10 mile mark.  But for the mid-point of the trek, where we wandered through the valley – it was a great and refreshing challenge (ahem, with occasional cussing and much sheep shit) to find our way through the farms.

It was also refreshingly, delightfully, sweatily difficult going.  It was vertical in ways I hadn’t done in two years.  It was, however, also beautiful.  In ways I hadn’t seen in two years.

So what’s the big deal about adventuring? 

On the second ridge of the day after Hatterall Hill

Well, the simple answer is this: it’s about doing something you thought you might never be able to do.  And succeeding.  I guess this week, so long away from running, and so recently back from surgery, I was worried about whether I’d be able to take it.  Would I be able to do the mileage?  Would I be able to handle the demands?  We built in a day of cycling after the first day – 30 miles of slight climbs and one very long descent – but even the cycling had its moments of toughness on the heels of a massive day of hiking.  And yet, I did it.  My traveling buddy and I both lamented our dead legs – but they kept us going.  And the third day, when we called an audible on our planned route but still did about 10-12 miles of gorgeous hiking along the Talybont Reservoir, country lanes, and one gorgeous canal – we were both pretty happy that we’d been able to get it all done.

And the hidden point in all of it is this:  we hadn’t done any of these trips before.  We let someone else do the planning – and she handed us the maps, the route, and the gear (for the ride at least).  Anna was our tour master and by giving up the planning to someone else,  we took a risk.  But it was a comfortable risk, a calculated risk, and in the end, we had the trip we needed to test our limits but still have a fun time.  We were happy to head home at the end of three days with more than 20 miles of hiking and 30 miles of cycling under our belts.

And part of the test, part of the challenge – was not knowing exactly what we’d find over that ridge.  Would it be another false summit?  Another thigh-crunching uphill on the bike?  A descent that would test our faith in modern braking technology?  It was, as my friend put it, like being on a rolleroaster you’ve never ridden – wondering what’s around the corner.  It was the best, most unexpected fun we could have had as two adults roaming around the countryside.

So the lesson I think I’m sharing today is this:  find a way to take off the training wheels if you can.  Go find a completely new trail.  Go do something you’ve never – ever – considered before.  Oh sure, have a safety net.  Take your phone and tell someone where you’re going.  Take your water and all that jazz.  But just once in the next thirty days, consider going somewhere that makes you nervous.  Make your palms sweat and your conscience ask “are you sure?”  Because if you do it smartly (and you KNOW how to do it smartly), you’ll find that you absolutely can find what I found:  you’ve still got it.  You have that sense that you had as a ten year old that there are adventures around every corner, and things that will stop your breath with their beauty.  I found mine in wild ponies and heather moors, in centuries-old ruins and green paths on mile high ridges.  But you can find yours closer to home, if you only look.

A little heather for our journey....wide open space, and a view of the mountain we came from in the distance.

Find your local park.  Find your closest National Park.  Get on your boots.  And get out there.  It’s an adventure you simply won’t regret.

Sal

If you’re like me, you might be asking how the hell that happened?  Was there Dexatrim in my wheaties?  Is Greek Yogurt really laced with some sort of fat-burning protein I’ve not heard of?  Am I sleepwalking through nights (that would explain why I’m never rested?).

Perhaps.  But the real revelation came when I was moving the “I brought these to London but I won’t wear them” clothes to the front room’s dresser (because they were borderline obscene sausage-fests when I tried them in April).  Turns out, on a whim, I threw on a pair of REI hiking pants that I had been mortified to try on (note, not KEEP on) in April – and they not only zipped, but they fit.  And looked decent.

What. The. Hell?

I’ll be honest kids – it’s been a bit bleak here.  I’m averaging some pretty long hours at the office, I’ve worked out once in the last six weeks, and my bikes just arrived ten days ago (they stare at me, balefully, from the living room, giving me a stink eye every time I download a book from Amazon with the excuse that the Left-hand drivers are going to run me over like the American tourist I am.)  I’ve been dogging it – only swimming once.

I also made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t run again until I had lost some weight.  Actually, quite a bit of weight.  Because as much as I know that my weight wasn’t the sole cause of the last year’s injury, I know it didn’t help.  So, no running.  Swam once.  No cycling.  What gives?

Well, here’s the thing about London – I have no car.  It’s a big city.  I walk everywhere.  Sometimes, I walk quickly.  Everything I do, suddenly, after about 8 years, is under my own steam.  And turns out, “under my own steam” burns some calories.

This is a good thing, right?  Well, yes.  For starters, I’ve noticed that because I run (er…I mean, hurry) down the left-hand side of all the tube escalators, I’m getting quads of STEEL people.  I land lightly, and my hips stay centered, and Joel my PT would be SOOOOO proud of how I’m transferring weight from one leg to the other!  (This is also a skill you can test by standing on one leg and trying to put on a sock without holding onto anything.  If you’re not successful, might I suggest descending some stairs – wide ones – regularly?)

Anyway, I think that this Tube tactic, combined with the fact that I’m just walking everywhere – is just really doing a little bit, each day, to help.  And who am I to complain?

Don’t get me wrong.  According to my standards, I still want to drop another 30 pounds before I run again (and yes, I’m serious as pie on Sunday).  But I’m feeling better about getting moving.

Anyway, that’s the update from here.  I’m sorry the posts have been sparse lately, but next week I’ll have internet service at my home again for the first time (with a computer that can keep up) since I moved here, and then we’ll be back in business.  For those who are new readers, thanks for stopping by – and those who have been with me all along, thanks for sticking by.

See you on the path -

Sal

Becuase this is a time of “transition”, I’m living in temporary housing while sorting out the permanent parts of my life here.  Which means, for now, I’m living out of three suitcases.   Lucky for me, I’m also recovering from an amazing surgery (February 9, 8 weeks out for those who are counting) and so the only shoes which made the trip are my running shoes.  Three pairs of them, in fact.  Which are only to be used for walking.

Starting out in London dressed in “trainers” wasn’t my ideal way of doing things, but alas, it’s not the shoes as much as the healing that matters these days.  Upon departing Chicago, my doc advised me that I was free to swim and bike, but no running (as.if.) and only 30 minutes of walking twice per week until I had been cleared by a physio (or a physical therapist, as we call it in the U.S.).

Well, as one might expect, I haven’t exactly had the time in the past ten days to do that.  What I HAVE been able to do is explore my neighborhood little bits at a time.  I’ve found a way to get in some cycling with very little effort.  A coworker has given me the short list of every pool within a 10 minute walk of my office.  And I’ve found that sticking to that 30 minute limit is tough.

What I’ve also found is that, in the words of Jane Austen, “London is SO diverting!”

Diverting and not too bad a place if you want to start to move more.  Though there are millions living here, they move with alacrity – and they also know how to make the most of their commutes.  Exiting the tube is a pleasant-ish experience, and really no different than Chicago (except it seems the whole city is preparing for the Olympic sport of Get Me The Hell Out of The Tube ForthWith – and seems to think they’re being timed.)  I am proud to say I’m already mowing people down like a suburban housewife at a Target sale and I’ve only been here 10 days!

Then there’s the Cycle Hire.  Barclays, a UK Bank (I think) sponsors this local effort to put dozens of bikes at spots all over the city (and I believe there are hundreds of those spots).  For a small annual fee (or a small daily fee) you can unlock a bike, ride it to your destination, and return it.  You don’t have to worry about a bike lock, or what happens when it starts to rain – you just choose exactly when you want to ride.   What’s more – it’s casual! There is NO expectation that you show up in Lycra and clips.  And helmets? Please. Not even considered.

Talk about liberating!  As a tourist, it’s also pretty darn cool. My friend and I investigated them last Saturday to tour Hyde Park, Buckingham and Westminster on a day when I would have otherwise violated the Doc’s orders about “30 minutes max”.  And Lauren noted at day’s end that even though it took us longer to rent them (first timers) and find our final docking station (I later found a map) our feet didn’t hurt and we’d seen a TON.

It’s been one of the most pleasant surprises of London – that even though I’m chomping at the bit to do something simple and equipment-free in this transitional time, the London folks have taken care of it. They’ve just landed bikes whereever I might want them.

More than that, when there’s not bikes, there’s a giant park  outside my back door which offers dawn to dusk entertainment every day.  There are throughfares for commuters, tea houses, and great wonderful playgrounds for children.

There are, however, also something unique in my experience of life thus far – locked gardens.  In many of the squares in this city, you will find adorable, single block parks which are surrounded by Victorian homes and condos.  The parks seem beautiful from the outside – but I can’t tell you for sure because the land is private.  That’s right, private.  Unless you own property abutting the estate (or, I’d guess, are a resident of the general area) you cannot sit in the green space and have a cup of tea.

To me, this is truly a strange concept.  In the US, we have large yards (you suburbanites do, anyway) which we, as adults, tend to love.  In our cities, we have green space too (Chicago was quite good at this.)  But private parks aren’t really our thing.  We’re a “by the people, for the people” kind of place.

And so that distinction – between what’s been done with Barclays, which really has brought cycling to anyone who wants to ride and has a few pounds to spare – and these parks, which are – at some points – open and amazing – and at others, closed and just as spectacular – seems a kind of disconnect that I wasn’t really prepared for.

But, in contrast again, we have the Swimming Pond situation.  That’s right.  There are ponds.  In which people swim.  Now, I know we have them in the US but it seems strange to me, too, that these ponds are, say, in the middle of Hampstead Heath.  And even more, that there’s apparently a men’s pond, a ladies pond, and a mixed pond.  From what I’m told, they’re quite clean (though a bit cold) and offer plenty of opportunity to swim in the open.  What I’m having trouble getting my head around, though, is the idea of swimming anywhere but Lake Michigan.

Sigh.  I know, we’re spoiled in Chicago.  Our lake is gorgeous (if freezing.)  It’s tested for bacteria daily (why do I doubt this is the case in London?)  and it’s also fairly safe, what with it’s four foot-high, 3/4 long lane abutting Lake Shore Drive.

Maybe this pond will be just as good. I’m not sure.  I do know there are more than a handful of pools within two tube rides of my office, and that the local triathlon club is calling my name.  And these things, these are about to become the new anchors of my social experience.

(Apologising for the ramble, but here we go.)  Because here’s the thing:  if I’ve realized anything in these first few weeks in London, it’s that picking up stakes and moving across the pond is going to be an amazing experience.  But for awhile, anyway, it’s going to require a lot of work.  It will be work to meet new friends.   It will be work to find a routine.  It is work to simply find a physio. 

But a lot like all those races I’ve run, I’m also realizing it’s about understanding the day.  As my friend Jenny likes to say, there are “A” days, “B” days, and “C” days in racing.  Not surprisingly, the same holds true for life.  On A days, I’m finding that I catch the tube, I get in a good workout, work doesn’t last till 10 pm, and there’s something healthy in the fridge when I get home.  On “B” days, a few of those might be awry.  And on “C” days, no matter how much I want it to work, I might be failing at all of the above.

But the thing which this fish needs to remember is that the C days will be far outweighed by the Bs.  And some days, there will be an A.  I look forward to figuring out London, and to finding the As in the days to come.

Of course not.  My expectations were way too high.  But even with those crazy expectations, I was disappointed.

The article was a 1.5 page spread pitting two scientists – one a researcher, one the manager of a Harvard weight loss clinic – against one another.  They were given 20 words on “can you be fit and fat” – and Harvard (and who can argue with Harvard?) landed solely in the camp of “no, you can’t be fit and fat because you’ll eventually get diabetes or arthritis and, BY THE WAY – not that I was asked, but if you just lost a few pounds, you’d be FASTER!”

To the question of whether a fat person can be faster than a slim person (because that’s what we all care about out there – speed) she answered, essentially “well, sure it’s not impossible – but you’d be FASTER if you just lost some weight.” Well duh.  Of course we would.

What she didn’t answer is “what’s the percentage of runners who are overweight who successfully complete training programs for 5ks and 10ks – and feel wonderful afterwards – versus those who are “fit” who do not? 

“What’s the percentage of runners finishing a half marathon who just “threw one off” becuase they’re “fit” – versus the percentage who make a lifestyle change and train to become more active – thus ingraining the behavior in their lives?”

“What’s the percentage of runners who start with the sport as a way to improve their fitness and even though they see only moderate weight loss, continue, both reducing their probability for Type II diabetes and other complications which arise from a sedentary life?”

As you might guess from my questions, I’m in the camp of “do more, and find a way to get the doing more to change your life.”  There are, of course, immense benefits which accrue if you can figure out how to minimize your caloric intake and stick with it.  But to the Researcher’s point in the piece, Americans have largely failed to figure out how to do that in the last 30 years.  We have figured out, though, how to be more active. 

Fix what you can.  Focus on the exercise.  That’s my platform in the Fit and Fat wars, and I’m sticking with it. 

On a side note, I’d also say that I’m tired of seeing people use the word “fat”.  If you look at the history of this blog, you’ll see that I’ve used that word twice in two years.  I think it’s demeaning, and I hate it.  Yes, I said it.  I might use it self-deprecatingly when I’m feeling really low, but in my mind, there are enough people who are out there judging.  We don’t need to judge ourselves any more than we already do.  So this week, do me the favor of maybe reading that article above – and then thinking about all the ways in which your FIT life overcomes your F*T life.  If I know most of you, it’s going to be a blowout.

See you on the path.

I’ve never done a special report on underwear before, but with Christiane Amanpour busy in Egypt, I raised my hand for this opportunity to investigate a recent incident that made me wonder: am I making the right choices to protect my lady parts (and myself from sheer mortification)?

The incident: during boot camp, a very nice lady displayed what we commonly refer to as ‘whale tale’—that prolific view of someone’s thong riding high above his or her (usually, her) pants. Now, I’m not going to bash thongs in general, just in particular: unless you’re paying homage to Jacques Cousteau, the only whale watching your platonic workout partner wants to do is on a boat off Cape Cod. Besides that, WHY??!! I just don’t get it. You say ‘it really wicks!’ but I have greater faith in the laws of geometry, gravity and the almighty breathable gusset. (Though if you must, please tattoo a spout on your lower back so we may all at least get a good chuckle.)

But I’m getting cheeky and a little ahead of myself: to preserve blogalicious integrity (cough), I performed some primary ‘research’ to get to the bottom of what y’all are wearing under your gear.

The Results: gained through wildly anecdotal evidence, these surprised me because I’m a less-is-more kind of girl, i.e. a girl that runs outdoors, doesn’t go to a gym, hop on a shared machine following Mr. Schweddy Balls, or spread ‘em for a trainer. Sorry to give away the punch line, but for all the ladies wearing underwear while working out, you’d expect Victoria’s Secret to be sponsoring races. (Nascar doesn’t count.)

Here’s what I learned:

• According to some online polls asking ‘to wear or not to wear?’ of the women that responded, most said they ‘always’ wear underwear when working out
• Of the reasons cited for wearing underwear, the most frequently mentioned were straddling germy gym machines, reducing sweat, and because they can’t ‘imagine’ doing otherwise—it’s practically un-American (maybe this is just locker room mentality?)
• Yet, after speaking with sales reps at popular retailers Athleta and Lululemon, they confirmed their products come with breathable gussets, designed to perform alone
• Although Oprah would not take my call, we know she loves her some undergarments; yet, she hasn’t told us how to think about the bottom-half of workout wear, true?
• My recent race experiences support these findings; it’s hard to avoid noticing red-striped bikini bottoms under see-through lycra (although if you’re going for this look, might as well be bold or charge for advertising).
• Almost everyone seems to know to avoid cotton….right? (If it’s not good enough for your feet….)
• Fave brands of undies, particularly for plus sizes: REI, Ex-Officio, Lands End, Body by Victoria
• Least fave styles: thongs, boy shorts, seamless/panty-line free without enough elastic to stay up for long distances

Okay. I kind of can get there with some of these reasons. Kind of.

But why are we spending so much on gear that is supposed to protect our assets and then shelling out more for these pricey layers? If a $98+ pair of running pants isn’t enough to keep you covered, it should at least have the decency to buy you dinner, take out the trash and massage your feet before and after each run, no? So, if you want to save some coin, join the revolution!

Cardinal rules of going commando:

• Ladies only, please.
• Do the see-through test. Get a trusted friend. Put on your pants. Go outside at noon. Touch your toes.  Need underwear = need new pants.
• If you don’t like your assets in spandex, skirt the issue with a skort or skirted capri. Way more comfortable and flattering.
• Not too tight and not too loose is just right. Groom accordingly. (Leave the camels at home with the whales.)

Now that I’ve bared my true feelings on this matter, what say you?

Off to give that friend a call, lucky girl.