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Next Time We Meet

In 12 hours, I’ll be on my way to the airport to catch my flight to San Fransisco. Can you believe it’s time?! I can’t.

We had our last training on Tuesday, a simple 2.5 miles around the park. We talked about things like if I should wear my fuel belt (still undecided), if I should drink the Gatorade (apparently it will really mess me up since I haven’t trained with it), how to avoid having to pee while running, how much sleep I can get by on, and many other small things that could add up to making or breaking the race, really.

Teammates who ran the Chicago Marathon last weekend were back to tell their tale. It was a terrible race — the weather was unforgiving. But the way they each managed to work through it was an inspiration. And their stories about how our coaches helped them out made me feel grateful that I will have them on my race.

My last physical therapy session was today. I had a really strange feeling when I walked in. I won’t be going back after the race and hopefully I won’t need to go if I train for another event. Hopefully, I’m all fixed up.

The time I spent in physical therapy — at least once, sometimes twice a week — was always a mixed bag. It was where I got to talk through all the anxieties I had about my knee to someone who would not only listen, but could offer concrete advice and tell me what I needed to do. So, the physical therapy office is both a place where I can recall all my anxieties and where I was calmed, most of the time at least.

Everyone there wished me luck. I didn’t leave excited, not even as my physical therapist hugged me and rah-rah-rahed me out the door. I’m not really excited any more. I’m in this weird calm place. I’m pretty much in denial of what’s about to happen because when I think about what’s about to happen, I think:

I could have trained harder. I should have done more recovery runs. I should have ran more on my own instead of relying so much on team runs. I should have kept icing my knee regularly these last couple weeks.

This isn’t to say I don’t feel ready. I have no doubt that I will cross the finish line. I’m ready. I just wish I felt ready-er.

I also have no doubt that I will cry. Whatever. It’s going to happen. I’m mostly curious as to when it will happen. I’m hoping it will be more like crazy-happy-excited, I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this crying. And if it comes at the end, I hope it’s after they take my finishing picture.

I also just realized that this is likely my last post before the marathon, which is also making me feel strange and sappy. Like the marathon is this line and once I cross it there’s no turning back. Everything I wrote and write now is the before.

I didn’t have to keep a blog but I’m really glad I did. It forced me to really think a lot of this through, and because of that I think it’s been an even better experience. Thanks for tagging along and for all the comments and messages and notes.

Next time we meet, I’ll be in with the 1%-ish of people who complete an endurance event in their life time. Or, more simply, I’ll have bragging rights for the rest of my life.

The Taper

I’ve been meaning to post an update. Really, I have. I started a coupletimes but never finished. After the 20 mile run and meeting my fundraising goal, I took some long breaths and started getting some real sleep. But I’ll regret not keeping up so, here goes.

First and foremost, I would like to thank my knees. I could not have made it here without them. Though at times challenging, our relationship really did make me grow as a person. More specifically, a runner. I can’t tell you what or how or why, but they are now in this. Knees on deck.

Last Saturday, I ran 11 miles — Over the Brooklyn Bridge and back to the park. It was a good run. There’s that 9th Street hill, of course, but it was a run that makes you feel like a runner because you enjoyed it. Because it was exactly what you needed on a Saturday morning, even if it’s at 7:30 am.

On Tuesday, teammates that ran the Hampton’s and Twin Cities Marathons were back to tell their tale, flash their beautiful finisher medals. All I could think was, I want to run a marathon! My turn! Let’s go! Right now! I’m ready! I know I don’t have to do much waiting but I got such a buzz listening to their stories.

Wednesday brought only more intense feelings about the marathon when I attended our event send-off. Coaches gave a lot of tips and we got our plane tickets and itinerary. We heard horror stories of lost luggage and two left sneakers. Overall, it left me with some anxiety. Mostly about sleep. Since our flight is so early on Friday, I don’t think I will get much sleep on Thursday night. And then once in San Francisco, I have no idea how much shut-eye I’ll get. I asked the coaches if taking something like NyQuil would be a terrible idea. It was as if I asked if I could take something crazy and ridiculous. Now, I’m pretty sure they think I’m a mess. But really, who doesn’t take a little bit of a helping hand from NyQuil or a sleeping aid every now and then? I won’t take any the night before, but I’m thinking I might need something Friday night otherwise I’ll be a zombie. Maybe not even NyQuil, but something that has ingredients for sleep.

One of the best tips we got at the send off was to think about 10 miles. We’ve all had a good 10 mile run at this point. Think about a 10 miles run, another 10 mile run, and then a 10K.

Oh! Now, that’s something I can do! 10 miles, sure! A 10K, that’s nothing! I know it’s not that easy but it’s a way to put my mind at ease about it.

This morning, my mentor and I ran our last long run before the big day. A week from tomorrow, we’ll be in San Francisco, running our sneakers thin. It was another good run.  It was just what I needed before the marathon. We had great lap paces and nothing hurt.

When we got to the benches, there was a new teammate who will be training this winter for her first marathon. She listened to me talk about our taper runs. Just 11 miles last week and only 8 this week. She laughed. JUST 11 miles. Ha. It is kind of funny. We told her she’ll get there, too. She’ll taper and feel like (almost) a pro.

It was an interesting feeling standing beside her, knowing what she’s about to start. Knowing that no matter what I say, she’s going to have to figure a lot out on her own. A bit jealous that my training is coming to an end while her’s is just beginning.

I’m super excited to finally run the marathon, but I’m getting sad for it to be over. It’s been about 4 months since all this began and it’s become a pretty huge part of my life — in case you hadn’t noticed. I’ve met some of the greatest people, reached a ton of goals of varying difficulty, built a new set of priorities, and learned a lot about myself. Sounds like summer camp, right? But really. How can I say this? How can I tell you what this training has been? I can’t. I really can’t.

When I was in college — both undergrad and grad — I would have writers block or just be really tired of words, mostly my words. I would finger paint, draw with crayons, make collages from magazine cutouts. The things I made then said something my writing never could. That’s kind of how I feel about this. My running, it’s doing something I can’t do in writing.

A week from tomorrow, I’ll be thousands of miles away doing something I was never entirely sure I could do while surrounded by people who want nothing but for me to finish what I started.

Aisle 26.2

My fundraising goal is not just met, but exceeded! And donations are still coming in!

I’ll be honest. I didn’t know if I could do it. I was really worried for a while there. And I had some bouts of the blues about it. Fundraising is seriously hard work. I know. I do it at my job everyday. But I write to foundations asking for money for the organization I work for.

Fundraising for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and the marathon has been a completely different experience. I learned a lot about you all. How generous you can be. But you need to be inspired. We all do. And it’s funny because while I tried inspiring you all to give, you all inspired me. I would return from long runs to an email notification of a donation and it made me want to do another 5 miles. I would get donations from strangers to find out that you had spread the word, making my small network of people grow.

I know that money isn’t easy to come by. And I know there are plenty of other things to spend it on. So, when people chose to use it to support me and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, it felt like…well…it felt like you chose me. Like you stood in line at the store with a new pair of shoes/pants/earings in one hand and me and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in the other. You lifted us up, gave us a look-around, and thought about what was most important to you. You put the bottle of wine/video game/bulk size bag of peanut M&Ms back on the shelf and handed me over to the cashier.

When you made that choice with either $5 or $250, you made me want to make better choices too.

I’m so grateful but I feel like I’ll never be able to express it in a way that doesn’t sound cheesy. Thank you for your donations, thank you for believing, thank you for inspiring me.

Down Hill from Here

I don’t know how or why, but I my body is hardly sore after my 20 mile run.  I was more sore after 17 miles! I did concentrate really hard on my form this time, which I’m sure is a huge factor. And even though I didn’t have time for an ice bath, I’ve been keeping ice packs on my knees every chance I get.

Now, they are merely grumbling — not screaming as usual.

I’m not calling it a miracle, but somehow things are starting to work they way they should. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to keep up with all my running from now until the marathon so I’ll be in better shape and less likely to fall into a dark mental place during the marathon. I’m going to try to keep this positive attitude and forget about all the doubts I had the other day.

When it comes down to it, I ran 20 miles. I didn’t stop, even if I thought about it. Even if I thought I was crazy. I finished. And during the marathon, I won’t be alone. There will be crowds and coaches and other runners and a finish line calling my name.

I made some huge mileage jumps in the last couple weeks. My longest run was 13.1 miles at the Bronx Half-Marathon, and that was August 13 — more than a month ago. With the knee issues, I wasn’t able to increase my mileage until the 18th of September, tacking on about 3 more miles after I hadn’t been running much at all. And then I just jumped from 16 miles to 20 miles. So, in two weeks I added 7 miles. I’m no expert, but that’s a bit hasty. Body and mind unprepared, I think. I’m going to cut my self some slack here. I think I deserve it.

My training peaked and now I’m peaking in my fundraising as well. 85% toward my goal! Last night running buddy Becca and I hosted an outdoor film fundraiser. She has a gorgeous deck and all the makings of a theater. We had popcorn (butter and kettle), brownies, British treats, Mike & Ikes, Hot Tamales, Sour Patch Kids, Swedish Fish, M&Ms (chocolate, peanut, and peanut butter), and Junior Mints.

We watched Run for Your Life, a documentary about how Fred Lebow, a Romanian immigrant, took the NYC marathon from a small, unknown race and turned it into the worldwide, celebrated event that it is today. It’s an inspirational movie that has a great tie to our mission. Lebow had lymphoma in his brain and three years after his treatment, he ran the NYC Marathon — the race he created — for the first time. INSPIRING.

We raised $150 and had a good, sugar-filled time. Now, I just need about $600 more and I’m ready to go!

If you haven’t donated yet, now’s the time. I need to reach my goal by Wednesday. If you have, think about reaching out to friends and family. If each person who has already donated recruited a friend to donate $10, I’d meet my goal. I bet you could find someone in your life who’d donate! Just send them a link to My Fundraising Page and tell them how their support, just $5, $10, will help make a difference for those with blood cancers.

Twenty Miles

Skeptical Saturdays. That’s what they’ve become. I hoped to run 18 miles but knew there was a good chance I might not make it past 10. I decided I’d be thrilled with 18, happy with 16, satisfied with 12, and a little devastated with anything less.

All the training teams met at Union Square  – Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan — because there was a Bone Marrow Registration Drive and we wanted to get swabbed so if we were a match for anyone, they could find us. I was happy that we were meeting and ending in Manhattan because I had a mentor orientation for Girls Write Now that afternoon and it would have been hard to make it there from Brooklyn on time. My plan was to run, get swabbed, shower at a gym nearby, eat, get oriented, get home, sleep. Not the ideal schedule for my longest run. No time for an ice bath in there!

Since the Nike Marathon is coming up sooner than the NYC Marathon that most of my teammates are doing, I had a longer mile goal so I didn’t really get to run with the usuals, plus half of the usuals weren’t there. In fact, I think it’s hard to call any of us usual at this point. Between our busy lives, traveling, and injuries, we’re kind of hard to keep track of these days.

Suzy and I are both doing the Nike Marathon and though she wanted to do 20 miles, she was going to only do 18 with me because 18 with someone is better than 20 alone! We kept together almost the whole way, which was good because I didn’t see much of anyone else. Our run went along the coast of  Manhattan, down through the Financial District and up the West Side Highway. We saw a handful of runners when they turned around coming the other direction, but most of them we didn’t know because they were from other training teams. My knee only acted up when we stopped to fill up on water but re-adjusted pretty quickly once I got moving.

We ran with a couple of coach around mile 2 or three but that was the last we saw of them. Which was problematic, to say the least. The turn around point for 18 miles was 105th street. But since we were running along the West Side Highway, there was no signage. Well, there was, but it was for 125th! And even there people were confused as to where to turn around. I feel bad for the people who went further; they went well past 20 miles!

For few moments, I thought, okay. 20 miles. I probably didn’t have enough fuel for it — both water and food. But I really didn’t have a choice at that point. 20 miles. Okay, okay, let’s do this.

This attitude changed relatively quickly. The heat had taken its toll. And while my knee was behaving, I was hurting. In general, all over, everywhere. Suzy had more in her and ran ahead. She was in sight most of the time, but the truth is the truth. I was alone for the last 5 miles. And if there’s a time you don’t want to be alone, it’s during those 5 miles. I kept looking for coaches. I don’t know that they could have said or done anything to help. Probably not a whole lot, but I needed to focus my mental energy on something so I spent it on looking for them.

After I gave up the hopes of seeing a coach, I got to a bad place. A friend of mine whose done a marathon told me it’s the 18 and 20 mile run when people get really discouraged. I thought that was backwards. You would be so close! You would have come such a long way! But he was right. All I could think was that I was crazy. Why am I running? Why do I want to do a marathon? Am I kidding myself?

I think some of the mental block came from the fact that my knee was okay. I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say it’s been a scapegoat, but I’ve thought all along that it’s been my knee holding me back. So, when my knee wasn’t holding me back, why was it so hard? It should be easier now. But it wasn’t.

I had to walk a handful of times. In total, it was only for about .25-.5 miles. But I wasn’t happy about it. The last mile was on and off. And as soon as my watch hit 20 miles. I stopped, popped into store to buy a Powerade, and hobbled back to meet with what was left of the team — which wasn’t much. They’d finished miles and hours ago.

I kept my busy day going, a bit delirious, of course. I wasn’t hungry but made sure to eat. I was tired but tried to fight it until about 10pm. I worried about being sore today, but it’s not so bad. Not like you would imagine after 20 miles. So, it makes me still feel like none of that really happened But, thanks to my watch, I’ll never forget!

GTS 9/25 (aka Longest Run!) by jbenjamin382 at Garmin Connect – Details.

I feel like I should be happier. 20 miles. That’s crazy and awesome and amazing. But I keep thinking about those last 5 miles and I’m mad that I thought that way and worry it will happen again the day of the marathon. But maybe that’s why it’s good to go that far. To prepare not just your body, but yourself. To know how low you might get so you are prepared to talk yourself out of it.

Ice, Heat, and Hope

After cutting a long run short and missing the next, I was ready for Saturday. I had to push past my 13.1 mile longest run. The marathon is, what feels like, just around the corner and I needed to put some miles on these legs.

I found out a few days before that we’d be running to Coney Island again – this time there and back. I was a little disappointed because, well, been there, done that. I missed runs along the West Side Highway, the Manhattan Bridge, and the Verrazano Bridge. Sure, I could do those on my own, but who are we kidding? I loved my first run to Coney Island but I wanted something different.

In order to change my tune, I thought about what was so great about the Coney Island run the first time around. It was fun to end at the beach, jump in the ocean, hang out at a beer garden. But what made that run most memorable to me was that it came after my terrible, no good, very bad run to the Brooklyn Promenade when I had to stop at about mile 3 and take the train back to the park and got lost.

This second Coney Island run was much like the first and not just because of the location. It was – and needed again to be — redemption. An I-Can-Do-It, I-Got-This run.

After a week of heat and ice on both my knees and aspirin and stretching and rolling, I knew I did everything I could. All there was left to do was run.

And that’s what I did. For 17 miles.

The first half was great. I got to run with some friends and chat about boys and underwear and chick lit and other fun things. We even created characters for a novel. I found the eerie, closed down boardwalk a nice distraction. It made me think about how long we’ve been training. Weren’t we just there a couple of days ago coping with the sun and heat and crowds of people? It also took me nearly 4 miles to eat my Gu – I hadn’t tried it before but someone recommended the chocolate (“it tastes like frosting!”). All of these things made the first 12-ish miles go by smoothly.

The rest, however, is another story. Mostly by myself, I kept looking for the overpass that came right before the park. I thought I saw it a dozen times but it was never where I wanted it to be.

My knee hurt. What else is new. It hurt a lot and then a little and then hardly at all and then too much. Because it never got worse and stayed worse, I figured I could push through, maybe find a happy place. During the moments it wasn’t so bad, I thought, hey, maybe I’ll do a lap of the park when I get back to get up to 18-19 miles.

Crazy talk.

There was no happy place. There was only a tired, sore, slightly delirious place (which I think I stayed in for at least 12 hours afterward.) Once I finally did reach the park where all the other happy, quick footed runners sped past me, I thought, I’m not running. What I am doing is very easily just a strange way of lifting my legs at a walkers pace. I wished I could carry a sign that said, no, I’m not ridicules – I just ran to the beach and back!

The last mile was fueled by one thought: getting back to the benches, laying on the grass, taking off my sneakers, socks, and shirt, and just laying there. But once I finally got there, I didn’t do any of these. Instead, I hobbled around trying to make sense of things. I felt confused…amnesic I guess. Like I was in the wrong place and that I hadn’t started my day off at this spot. How did my things get here? It literally felt like a dream (..you never really remember the beginning of a dream do you? You always wind up right in the middle of what’s going on…)

I didn’t get the happies like I usually feel after my longest run of all runs. I had run through some pain I knew I shouldn’t have, at least for a few miles, and was worried about another 9 miles would mean for me and my knees.

But 17 miles, everyone says. 17 miles is awesome. It is. I ran 17 miles. Still feels fake.

My knee is still bitter, but not as angry as when it swelled up on Sunday. But I feel pretty lucky that I wasn’t very sore elsewhere, only a little in my thighs and back. My physical therapist has prescribed sneakers from now until the marathon. I’m mostly sad because there are only so many more days of flip-flop weather.

I had to skip Tuesday’s training but I’m hopeful for Saturday. Ice, heat, and hope, it’s all I can do now.

The Coldest, Darkest Day in Winter

Last night was my first run with the team in a couple of weeks. Everyone else did tempo runs — a faster pace than what we do for our long runs. I knew that’d be too much for my first day back so I decided to just run. Plain and simple.

It hurt. Sometimes my right knee, sometimes my left. At one point they nearly both locked up. It was dark and since I was going much slower than everyone else, I was alone. And since I have the worse sense of direction, I had no idea where in the park I was at any given moment.

Think about the coldest, darkest day in winter when you don’t want to answer your phone. You don’t even bother putting on the tv, you rather just stare at the wall, maybe out the window. Your toilet is clogged, you’ve got no hot water, the people upstairs are having a party. You’re hungry and there is no food in the fridge. Maybe some peanut butter in the cabinet, but nothing to put it on.  You think you saw a spider. You know you saw a mouse. You’re worse than dumped; you’ve never been loved.

This is kind of how I felt. And the funny part is that I felt the worst not when the pain was at its peak, but when it softened for a couple of minutes here and there. I wanted to cry. I nearly did. Okay. I did, a little. In the dark, when I hope nobody could see.

But I don’t even think it was about the knees. I think I figured something out:

This is my body and I can’t fix it. My body could develop blood cancer tomorrow. Or not. It could become paralyzed. Or not. It could do a lot of things and I would have to find a way to live with it.

I felt helpless. I feel helpless. And it’s the strangest feeling paired next to some of the amazing, fearless feelings I’ve had this summer, the I-Can-Do-Anything moments I had after running all the way to Coney Island and after the Bronx Half-Marathon.

It made me think about how it feels to be sick. Really sick. To fight against your body. But people have to do this for real. Not for a race bur for their life. I think I cried because part of me wanted to stop running and in this tangled, depressing metaphor I created in my head, it was, well, a kind of death.

I didn’t stop. Well, obviously, eventually I did. But I stopped on my terms. I stopped when it wasn’t quitting.

And today, my knees feel okay. I don’t know how they will feel tomorrow. I don’t know how they will feel in a week. I certainly don’t know how they will feel on October 17th, the big day. But I’ll live with it. I’ll make it work. I’ll walk if I have to.

Dun Dun Duuuun!

I am freaking out. A little. Maybe a lot. It doesn’t’ quiet look like a real freak out yet; I’m freaking out on mute, submerged in water, wrapped in a plastic bag.

I haven’t run in over a week and that was only 5 miles. I haven’t run-run, marathon-training-run, more-than-10-miles-run in more than two weeks.

While I’m stuck at a pitiful 13.1 miles, my running buddies have run up to 18. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world but I am jealous that they need ice baths.

But what’s worse is that my knee still hurts. After all the rest, it’s still pissed off. Chill out, knee. Calm down. Why the hell are your panties in such a bunch? GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER!

At physical therapy last week, we went over my running form. Turns out, I don’t do it right. My knees turn in, my hips shift back, my feet land on the heels, and I cut my stride short. These are all things you won’t catch, well, unless you’re a physical therapist. They are the slightest little shifts you would never notice by sight but they are causing me some serious issues.

Basically, I feel like I’m learning to walk all over again. I have to think about every step, about where each part of my body lands, and how I lift it up. It takes serious concentration. Watch your lids each time you blink. All this focus is exhausting.

Will I be able to keep my knees from turning in?

Will I ever be able to put my ice pack away?

Will I be able to run on Tuesday? On Saturday? On October 17th?

DUN DUN DUN!

You Are Going to Donate Because:

1)      You or someone you love has or has had a blood cancer. You know that LLS has been a key player in making sure they had access to the best medicine and care to help them through their struggles.

2)      You believe I can run a marathon. You’ll put your money on it.

3)      You’ve graduated from school, gotten married, had a baby, bought a house or achieved any other milestone that I’ve helped you celebrate. You want to help me celebrate one of my greatest (26.2) milestones in life thus far.

4)      If not now, there is a good chance that someone close to you will receive a diagnosis and you want to make sure that the best medicine and support is available to them to make sure they survive.

5)      You need a tax deduction.

6)      You can’t fix blood cancer. You teach, you write, you sell, you build, but you don’t know how to find a cure. You know giving money to the LLS will empower those that can.

7)     You owe me money and know this is the best way to pay me back.

8)      You’re having a bad day, week, month, year and donating to a good cause will make you feel much better about yourself and the kind of impact you are having on others.

9)      You have $15 in your wallet and you know you’re better off bagging lunch, walking rather than driving/taking a car, and skipping the morning late` or after work cocktail. Your body will thank you. (And I will thank you – forever.)

10)  Someone has done something kind for you and you want to send your own good vibes out into the universe.

11)   You love me and don’t want me to have to find an “alternative means” of coming up with the rest of the money.

12)  You…just love me.

DONATE TODAY!

Help me reach my goal by the end of this month. Please. With cherries on top.