Hitting the “This Sucks” Barrier of Half Marathon Training

Just in case I’ve scammed anyone into thinking I’m superhuman, I’d like to confess that I’ve had a series of lousy runs. Two bad runs this week (and one bad session of cross training and weight training). My seven-miler the weekend before I left for Mexico was good, but before that my runs were marked by general lack of pep. Today my legs were like lead for the entirety of my four-miler. Four miles isn’t supposed to be intimidating, but I was really hoping to set a challenging pace. No dice. I was just happy to finish.

Post-run, not looking good!

Though, for what it’s worth, I ran Abe’s Hill (our local sledding hill) three times.

This may be perfectly normal, but I have no way of knowing because I’m a first-time half-marathoner. I’m guessing I’ve just plain pushed too hard. Why else would I, usually healthy as the proverbial horse, come down with cramps or headaches or colds every second week? Right now I’m kind of scared that I’m going to get to the half marathon and choke about half way through. How many bad weeks of training can I afford to have?

I’m going to have to research this one.

Meanwhile, full of fear and discouragement, it’s a challenge to pack the gym bag or look ahead to the next day’s run. You know, I have as my blog tagline “Life is a great adventure, or nothing.” In most of the great adventure stories I’ve read or watched on the movie screen, there is a low point, or a progressive downturn before the climax and the triumph.

For instance, today I was listening to leadership author and speaker Chris Brady tell the story of Sir Sidney Smith. Smith was a sea captain and a British spy during the Napoleonic wars. Imprisoned in the Temple Prison in Paris, in danger of being executed as a spy, Smith carved into the wooden ceiling of the cell these words (quoted here as best as i can remember):

“Fortune’s wheel makes strange revolutions, it must be confessed. But for the turn ‘revolution’ to be applicable, the turn of the wheel must be complete. You [speaking to Napoleon here] are as high as you can be. Very well, I envy not your good fortune for mine is greater still. I am now as low in the career of ambition as a man can very well descend. But let this capricious dame Fortune turn her wheel ever so little, and I must necessarily mount for the same reason as you must descend.”

Not much later, Smith escaped from prison. He was given a couple of ships and commissioned to sail to Constantinople. While en route, he stopped over in Acre, Turkey, and found the citizens about to be besieged by Napoleon himself. Smith had about 5000 men, once he’d recruited local Turks and fortified the tiny town of Acre. But with a load of daring an initiative (and apparently the ability to be almost everywhere simultaneously) Smith and his men repelled Napoleons army of 10,000 eleven times and eventually forced them to retreat. Smith got his revenge on Napoleon in grand style, and effectively ended Napoleons plans to capture the east for his own new empire.

It seems a little ridiculous to equate this with my own little journey toward running my first half-marathon. But it illustrates that for one, when you are at your lowest you can’t see what your high point will look like, and second, that an ordinary person (Smith was not technically an officer when he took command of his ships, and then the battle of Acre) can with courage and daring, do great things.

It’s been my prayer that if I’m going to pour all this time and energy into training, that my first half marathon wouldn’t be just about me. It would be a way to empower others and bring glory to God. And some way or another, that is going to happen. Right now, with my feet up and aching muscles, I can’t see it. I can’t see the finish line.

But I think… I think it will be worth it.

Pain and Gain: A Canoe Story

What can a canoe portage teach us about New Year’s resolutions?

it was a muggy August day. Above us, grey rain clouds had blocked out the sun and left us to the sticky heat and the mosquitos.  We’d spent the weekend with a troop of teens, camped on a tiny island in the middle of Mud Turtle lake. Now my cousin Starr and I, the two female chaperones, pulled our canoe up on the far shore for the return trip.  But first, we had to make the one kilometre portage to the next lake.  Across that lake was where our vehicles–where civilization–was.

We were eight canoes, and the strong young men had enough to carry without the extra burden of our canoe.  I looked at Starr. “I’ll carry it.”

We’d portaged it halfway on the trip into Mud Turtle before one of the guys had taken pity on us. This time I wanted to go the distance. Our guides had coached us how to arrange our backpack as a platform the canoe could rest on. I’d prepared my pack for that purpose. So I shouldered my hiking pack and Starr helped me lift the canoe. They were cheap, fibre glass canoes–heavy to carry and hard to steer.  I staggered a little as my backpack bit into my shoulders.  Behind me, Starr hefted her pack, plus my extra baggage.  We started walking.

I forged ahead like a beetle, the canoe on top of me like a shell.  The point of the canoe shoved through the undergrowth as my feet navigated the narrow, climbing trail. I had already been sweating, now it poured down my back.  One of the guys passed me with his canoe over his head like it weighed nothing.

“Are you okay?” Starr asked behind me. The pots and pans she carried rattled together.

“Yeah,” I gasped.

A third of the way down the trail I stumbled.  Off balance, I dropped the canoe into the short bushes beside the trial. I groaned and rubbed at my shoulders.  My brother came alongside. “Do you want me to take it?”

“No!”

He helped me pick it up, and I began to walk again.

My shoulders were in agony.  The backpack was carrying the full weigh of the canoe, and transferring it through the straps into my tender flesh. I balanced the canoe with upraised arms, but they were turning to mush.

Two-thirds across, I heard my little brother’s voice.  “I can take it the rest of the way.”

But I was almost there, and I knew it.  “No!” I grunted, “If you take in now I’ll have all the pain and none of the reward.”

So I carried that canoe until I finally saw the silver water of Brereton Lake.  The path turned into a steep descent toward the water. Finally, I dropped the canoe. I’d done it.

All Pain, No Gain

My back was stiff and sore for days, and my shoulders were purple with bruises.  But that’s not what I remember. It’s that phrase: “I’ll have all the pain and none of the reward.”  Whatever pain-stricken, divine inspiration it came from, it stuck with me.

“It hurts. I’m tired,” I say in the fifth mile of my 10K.  “No, you’re too close!” If I quit, I get all the pain and none of the reward. Same thing goes with other challenges. Like at my job, I’ve went through a few season mistakes and lost confidence as I strained to learn and pushed myself too far. “Quit” came to mind. But I’d already had so much stress, and learned so much. If I quit, I’d get no reward. Eventually I overcame my challenges, and gained new influence and skill because of it.

Learn What Kind of Pain it is

Pain is a warning sign. It can’t be denied that if you are in pain, be it mental or physical, you are ‘red lining’. You’re nearing full capacity, and it may be time to back off.

Part of learning to run has been learning to discern what is just stiffness that will pass, and what is the early onset of an injury. For instance, I find that in the first couple miles my legs will be vaguely sore and I’m tempted to say, “This sucks. This hurts.” But by now I know that it will pass as the runner’s high takes over.

I’ve made some mistakes, such as running with a lung virus or pushing myself too hard on a pre-work run, and being sick during my shift. I ran with patellofemoral syndrome much longer than necessary, because I didn’t know something was actually wrong and that it could be fixed easily enough. A coach might have prevented much of this.

So I’m not telling you to be reckless.  But if you resolved to get in shape this year, and you’ve been hitting the gym, you are probably in the ‘all pain, no gain’ stage. Well suck it up, buttercup. If you don’t, you’ll have gone through all that pain for nothing. Give it a few weeks, and it will get better. Two weeks isn’t that long in the scope of things. And then you’ll also have increased flexibility, strength, weight-loss and mental sharpness. Do you really want to succeed? There is no magic bullet. You have to put in the time and endure the pain.

Is the pain worth the gain? Then don’t drop the canoe.

‘If’ is Risk’s Purgatory

“Risk comes in all shapes and colors: bankruptcy, heartbreak, failure.  The alternative is a world without risk, without color, without knowing if you could have made that business work, if she would have truly loved you, if you would have finished that race or project or garden or painting or triathlon or… whatever.  If, in other words, is risk’s purgatory.  I know I don’t want to spend any time there.”  Georges St. Pierre

Don’t we all have these ‘ifs’ buried deep in our memories?

I have a business I tried to start.  I know I didn’t give it my best.  I was too afraid.  Every now and again I pull it from my memory vault, polish it up, and wonder could I have made it work?  Did I blow my only shot?

What IF?

In The Magician’s Nephew, the first of the Chronicles of Narnia, Polly and Digory come across a bell with this inscription:

“Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;

strike the bell and bide the danger,

Or wonder, till it drives you mad,

What would have followed if you had.”

“What if” is the purgatory of risk, as St. Pierre said.  If we, because of a lack of courage, take the easy road, we get to live with nothing but ‘ifs’ for the rest of our lives.  We live in a vaguely comfortable world without danger, but we become “cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat” (Theodore Roosevelt).

It breaks my heart to see so many ‘cold and timid souls’ among my peers.  They’re too scared to commit to a relationship.  They’re scared to quit their job and go to school.  They’re scared to move out of their parent’s place.

Because what IF it doesn’t work out?

What if it does?

No joke: the world is a big scary place.  I’ve got to acknowledge that not all risks are worth taking.  The Georges St. Pierre quote comes after an explanation of his calculated risk.  In Narnia, Polly and Digory awake a wicked witch when they strike inscripted bell.  In other words, I’m not advocating ‘YOLO’ (though a little of that spontaneous spirit is a good thing for homebodies like me).

I’m reminding myself that fear is inevitable, but I need to look past the fear, or the complacency, or the discomfort, and make a calculated choice.  Then, when ‘if’ comes calling, I can at least say “it wasn’t worth it” not, “I should have tried.”

It may be as small as engaging your new coworker in conversation, even if his accent is difficult to understand.  That’s my adventure this week.

 

5 Fun Things Challenge: Day 3 Proof of Life

Hello Friends,

Three days I embarked on the ‘5 Fun Things’ challenge, a contest with myself to do a minimum of one thing every day–just for the heck of it.  This is an attempt to lighten up, enjoy life, and rest more.

So, what have I done so far?

As much as I liked OutstandingBachelor’s idea to page myself at work without disguising my voice, I work in a factory and I was afraid the supervisor would give me the gears if I called “Geralyn to Geralyn” over the two-way radio.  I can’t afford to get on her bad side right now. 🙂

Instead…

Day 1: Friday

1. I drew ‘Crash Test Dougie’ in the dust on the encapsulator machine.  Crash Test Dougie is a stick man with buckteeth and a big hat, whom I used to scrawl over my physics homework in high school.  Instead of being filled in with dust, Dougie became more and more distinct as the day went on.

2. Canceled the supper menu, which was tomato soup (who eats tomato soup on Friday night?  Boring!) and made pizza instead.

3. Invented a Pumpkin Spice Latte Frappe/Protein Shake.  It’s more intense than Starbucks and without the high-fructose corn syrup!

4. Watched three episodes of The Mentalist with my sister.

Day 2: Saturday

1. Rerouted my run through a park so I could look at the flowers.  I discovered ornamental cabbages.

2. Went to a fireworks show.  They shot the fireworks off to Disney tunes!

Day 3: Sunday

1. Shot guns with my brother.

2. Went on an ‘adventure run’.  I ran through my parents’ acreage–terrain composed of knee high grass, wildflowers, and the occasional ‘cow pie.’

Not my usual stomping grounds.

Am I accomplishing the point?

I’m learning to keep my eyes open for fun, and then seize the opportunity when it comes.  I hope to make this a habit.

It reminds me of Jim Carey’s ‘Yes Man,’ where he says ‘yes’ to everything people ask him to do.

I’d  say to myself, “Run through the park and look at the flowers.”

“No, I’m tired.”

(Weedling, now) “It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, okay.”

Or, Jon says, “Do you want to come shoot with me?”

(Internally) “But I have stuff to do!”

“Oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

(Externally) “Oh, okay.”

I used to live by the philosophy that to refuse adventure was to impeach my courage and honour.  Maybe this challenge will restore some of my former spirit.  Two days to go.  Will you join me?

Don’t be Chicken, Said the Mouse

Image from the cover illustration by Stephen Lavis

“‘Use?’ replied Reepicheep. ‘Use, Captain? If by use you mean filing our bellies or our purses, I confess it will be no use at all. So far as I know we did not set sail to look for things useful but to seek honour and adventure. And here is as great an adventure as ever I heard of, and here, if we turn back, no little impeachment of all our honours'” (The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis).

If you don’t know your Narnia, Reepicheep is a mouse–a walking, talking, sword-fighting mouse. He is one of the most noble, courageous, and brash characters of the series all while being the smallest. And here he calls his shipmates to be brave.

Where are they? They are sitting at the edge of the Darkness. “For a few feet in front of their bows they could see the swell of the bright greenish-blue water. Beyond that, they could see the water looking pale and grey as it would look late in the evening. But beyond that, utter blackness.”

Everyone says ‘stay back,’ but Reepicheep says, “I hope it will never be told in Narnia that a company of noble and royal persons in the flower of their age turned tail because they were afraid of the dark.”

Ouch, Reep.

This was ‘my quote’ in the yearbook when I graduated from college. I’ve repurposed it for my use as a call to courage and honour when I am tempted to turn tail. Oh, maybe it would be easier to turn back. Oh, maybe there’s no ‘use’ in it. But if I turn back, that mars my honour.

Not that I’ve done crazy stuff like sailing into a darkness on the water. But, I’ve done things like singing competitively in festivals… which may be just as scary. I couldn’t say no to my teacher just because i was scared, so I had to say yes, and sing. And I loved it–shaking knees and all.

I wonder what else I would have done if I hadn’t been ‘afraid of the dark?’

What about you? What have you done, though you were scared, that paid off in the end?