My First Half Marathon (Subtitle: And Now the Rocky Theme Makes me Cry)

Why does the ‘Rocky’ song make me cry? I don’t even like those movies. Yet, when the gun went off, and that song began to play, I choked up. The thousands of runners in my wave of the Manitoba Marathon ‘Intrepid Dezine’ Half Marathon, surged toward the start. We waded in the crowd, and I choked up.

It was such a journey to get here, I thought.

Four months of training ended in double knee injuries that sapped my confidence, and stole my last two long runs. I knew I could do it, but I was anticipating a lot of pain. I would be right. But right in that first mile, a thousand feet drummed around me like rain. Japanese drummers shouted and sounded the advance. We powered up onto the bridge over Bishop Grandin.

Slow down, I told myself. It would take me four miles to coast down to my projected half-marathon pace. I glided, effortlessly, through shady, wooded areas. People stood along the road, many holding signs. ‘Touch for Power’ one said, pointing at a star on the poster board. A tall, leggy girl sprinted to the side to press her finger to the star. An older runner said ‘I got it through WiFi.” I giggled.

About five miles in we passed another sign, “Worst parade ever.”

“Sorry!” I yelled, and laughed.

The first ten km passed without incident, but I could feel hip and knee pain creeping up on me. I walked through the next aid station, and the next. ‘Drink fluids’ one of the aiders yelled, ‘Course conditions are dangerously hot.’ I was starting to feel it. We crossed over the Jubilee footbridge and through mile 7. From the the pain in my hip grew from a dull ache to a nagging pain. I gritted my teeth and ran from aid station to aid station, walking the thirty seconds that it took to slog through the cup and sponge strewn stretch of pavement.

By mile eleven, I couldn’t wait for aid stations. I was taking short walk breaks every few minutes, with pain radiating from knee to hip. I tried to focus on the finish, and my family waiting, and the moment of running across the finish. I shivered in spite of the heat.

The final mile I wanted to run it straight, but I was too tired and in too much pain. I walked a short stretch, and then broke into a hobbling shuffle for the last kilometre.

And then, as I rounded the corner into the stadium, I heard the announcer boom, “Geralyn Wichers, from Steinbach.” I saw the big purple finish line. I passed another runner, trying to work up some speed.

“Go Geralyn!” I heard someone bellow. I looked up and saw my sisters brilliant pink jacket. I raised my hands over my head.

Twenty steps from the line, I saw another runner in my peripheral vision, trying to pass.

Heck no! I thought. I put every ounce of energy into a sprint, and beat them to the line. I bent down for my medal, barely registering triumph. Hot, in pain, and nauseous. But I’d finished.

To be honest, I’m proud but I’m also sad. If I’d finished my training as planned, maybe it would have gone better. Maybe I could have savoured that finish line sprint instead of hobbling across the line. I did the best I could, of course.

So, I’m going to do it again. Before I’d even run the MB marathon, I’d signed up for my next one–a little MEC Half Marathon that won’t have the numbers, the fanfare or the atmosphere. Probably there will be no one watching. But I’ll get my do over, and I have my motivation to lace up again.

Big thank you’s to the many people who messaged me encouragement. Thanks to Jessica for voluntarily getting up at 4:30 in the morning to drive me. Thanks to Mom, Dad, Derek and Jon for coming to see me finish. Seeing you at the finish line was what kept me going all these months.

Better next time.

Long Lonely Miles and Bad Knees

“You have to take care of your Patellofemoral Syndrome, or you’ll wreck your knees.”

Just what you want to hear, right? My knees had been holding up well for the last months, ever since I’d traded my battered New Balance generic runners for a pair of Mizuno Wave Inspires. For a few weeks I’d thought I was running on clouds.

As my milage pushed upward, I added knee-strengthening leg extensions to my weight routine, using a medicine ball for extra resistance. But my knees couldn’t shape up fast enough. On Sunday, after a 12 mile run, I woke up during the night aching everywhere. By the next morning I felt better, with occasional spasms in my calves. Everything recovered faster than I expected–except for my knees. I walked gingerly. My next run was cut short, partially because of pain. My PFS was back, full force.

Funny how I can fluctuate between highs and lows so fast. The 12-miler, my longest run to date, was a triumph. I was pretty sure I was ready for my half-marathon, and my next two long runs would just cement that. A few days later I was searching for possible marathons later in the year. Still thinking seriously about that, actually. “Am I crazy?” I asked my friend, and she laughed at me.

But, according to my chiropractor, I have serious work to do. She’s prescribed me colossal amounts of leg extensions with weights. She wants me to multiply the weight I’m lifting (admittedly, just a 6lb medicine ball) by five. And I can do it. I can. I just feel discouraged and lonely today, and wonder if I’m grinding my knees into the ground or if this is just a hiccup in my long life of running?

Experienced runners, feel free to chime in here.

Even with my puny 12 mile runs, I’m in uncharted territory. None of my friends have done this before. My Grandpa (my running hero) has done this many times, having run multiple full and likely hundred of half marathons. But sometimes you want a peer to be alongside, you know? 

Anyway, I’ll take my medicine. I’ll do my knee-strengthening exercises and see what happens. 2 weeks to the taper, 4 weeks to the half-marathon.

My Half-Marathon Shoes

I had perhaps the most traumatic shoe-shopping experience of my life–and the most enlightening.

I prepare to lace up for the first time.

My first pair of runners were just the pair that fit the best and were the right price, bought at the local Shoe Warehouse. The extent of my research was ‘what’s the difference between a runner and a cross trainer?’ I had no idea if I’d even finish Couch to 5K, after all. The shoes were my Gideon’s fleece. If there was a pair for less than X dollars, I’d buy them and start running that day.

And there they were. Purple New Balance runners. I had no running gear, but I put on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and hit the pavement. That was June 2014.

Today I drove to the big city to hit up the Running Room for a real pair of runners. I wanted the whole fitting experience. I wanted to know if I walked funny, supinated, pronated, whatever all that was.

Unfortunately, despite the help of a nice young gentleman, I didn’t find any shoes there. I have weird, freak feet apparently. As a sidenote, you won’t see skinnier legs than in a running store. Not even on the catwalk in Paris.

Anyway, I moseyed on down to City Park Runners. Or I should say, I tested the full limits of my iPhone’s navigational skills. That was the traumatic part. When I finally ended up in the right store, the sales girl measured and observed and studied (I have one neutral foot, and one that pronates it seems) and then started pulling out shoes. Oh did I try on shoes, and none of them fit! Finally I found one pair to test on the treadmill. They were okay, though a bit clunky. Electric blue, too (that was fine, though). Then I found the winners, my beautiful Mizuno Inspires.

And dang, they didn’t come cheap. But I suppose education costs money. Before today I didn’t know about neutral shoes, or stability shoes, or different types of heel padding. What I wanted was a full shoe education, and it seems I got what I wanted.

And on the way home, my phone died. That was traumatic. Fortunately I was in sight of familiar territory. 🙂

I realized then, that I’d just bought my first half-marathon shoes. I’m pretty pumped about that. I’m a bit sentimental about retiring my first pair of runners, but I’m excited about where these new shoes will take me.

You Can’t Skip the Process

“You can’t skip the process. You can’t shortcut the process. You can’t speed up the process .You have to go through the process” –Pastor Kris Duerksen, this Sunday morning.

Ugh, how I love-hate the process. On one hand, the process is glorious. I have it emblazoned on the header of this blog: “Life is a grand adventure, or nothing.” It could also read, ‘If you’re not struggling you’re not living.” There is something exhilarating about the tension of being far less than what you see yourself being. You’re not comfortable, but at least you know you are alive. Your aching muscles keep reminding you.

My clothes are laid out for tomorrow’s tempo run.

But if you’re like me, you think you should have your life together already, know what I mean? In example, how long does it take to get my finances in order? Can I just expect to be broke for the next ten years? Why can’t I muscle my way into a better monetary place? Well I am, sort of, in a better place than even two months ago. Still, it’s hard to believe I could ever rise above.

The quote above reinforced in me this idea: It’s no use beating myself up about it. I’m such an expert at self-flagellation. I remind myself every second minute that I’ve yet to reach my goal of perfection. But I can’t fix (insert problem here) by guilt-tripping myself. I’ve got to keep powering along, trusting that each incremental change takes me closer to freedom. I also have to trust that God is working in me, and that even though I’m tired, he isn’t. He won’t give up on me.

So, with that in mind, here’s a motto I picked up along the way. “The only way to go back is to go forward.” I utilize this during longer runs, when I’m still at the pre ‘runner’s high’ stage and asking myself why I’m doing this to myself again, or near the end when my legs have had enough. “Well how will you get home if you don’t keep going, huh?” You don’t get home by sitting there. You don’t get better by bailing on the process.

The process is sometimes fun. My first couple weeks of half-marathon training were fantastic. I longed for the end of the workday when I could hit the gym, or the pavement. But now I’m stressed, and kind of terrified. I think it will become fun again.

There’s only one way to find out. “Once more unto the breach!”

Who Will I Become on the Way to This Half Marathon?

I’ll run my first half marathon in June. It’s the Manitoba Marathon, a run my Grandpa did many times (both full and half). I have patchy memories of going to see him cross the finish line, so in my head I can already picture what that looks like.

For me, the idea struck when a relative announced that she was going to run/walk the Manitoba half. In fact, she was already training. My ire was piqued. What? She was going to run a half marathon before I was? She wasn’t even a runner! Cue googling ‘Half marathon training plans for beginners’, ogling the course map, and visualizing running into that stadium, where I’d seen my Grandpa cross the finish line many years ago. I felt a cascade of excitement.

I could do that–I could!

Allow me to confess that over the winter I’ve slacked off. I’ve run twice a week most weeks, since late November, in increasingly shorter lengths and slower times. My confidence was down, due to some really bad runs. I was ready to push my limits again, to chase again. I wanted to find out who I’d need to become in order to run the half.

So I downloaded a plan, and got started. And here’s what I know so far.

I Must Redeem All the Time I Can

I’ve pared my plan down to four workouts per week, since at the moment I just can’t do five. Still, that’s a heck of a lot more time than two runs per week. I came into training knowing:

• 1. My writing must not slack off. I’m about to publish again.
• 2. I can’t neglect my family and church community.
• 3. I can’t neglect my spiritual life. God must be in even my running.

So how do I do that? Well, I’m not sure yet. Last week involved training myself not to hit snooze, since that gives me 18 minutes more for morning prayers and scripture. This will become a habit… eventually. I have to plan meals (and cook meals) well in advance. I have to make a to-do list and squeak those chores into five and ten minutes chunks of time. I have to write blog posts in the waiting room at the doctor’s office (like this one!).

Efficiency will become my middle name.

Likewise, I need to maximize my rest and relaxation time. Resting is growing, waiting is training.

I Must Endure the Pain

“I’ve signed up for four months of chronic pain,” I whined to my Mom.

And I don’t know the half of it yet, I’ll wager. The last three weeks have been one long pain fest as my winter-softened muscles adapt to extra miles and a new strength training routine. I curse my third-floor, no elevator apartment. My family and coworkers are tired of hearing me complain about my sore muscles. After all, I did it to myself.

But it’s a good kind of sore.

And Why?

Because I want to know what it feels like to be that strong–physically and mentally. Yeah, I’m stressed and my legs, back, shoulders, and arms hurt. But the optimism and drive of having a huge goal is addictive.

Who will I become?