The puzzle of what to wear

The past two times I've gone running, I've had an uncomfortable realization:

Those people I secretly laughed at for being so overdressed? I, right now, am one of them.

Each time I've set out in tights, a windbreaker, a fuzzy hat and gloves, I've ended the run wishing I'd left at least two, if not three, of those items at home.

One run even found me bundling the gloves and hat in my windbreaker as I slogged up a hill, the sweat pouring unchecked down my face.

I bet those drivers on Westown Parkway were totally inspired to pick up running, after watching that spectacle. (Sarcasm.)

The offending hat and windbreaker. This is my "I-don't-wanna-go-run!" face. The "too-hot!" face is much redder and wetter.

Is this better or worse than the too-cold run to which my overdressing is reacting? Probably, because overdressing at least gets me out the door. Right now, this Viking princess is more princess than Viking.

But all self-deprecation aside — I know, when I'm not alternately thinking "SO HOT" and "I hate running," that it just takes a few runs to fine-tune my winter clothing strategy.

I'll also choose to believe, in lieu of lumping myself in with the springtime windbreaker-and-earmuff-wearers, that I overheated because I ran such smart routes: The same obsession with weather.com that uncovered "feels like 35," sending panic through my veins, also showed me the wind direction.

That meant I planned my loop going into the wind, then returning with it at my back, as running gurus have advised. So when my overheated body turned around to head home, it at least stayed too warm instead of turning into an icicle made of sweat (a sweatsicle?).

A less technical look at the Des Moines Half

So I've already rambled about what I did right during the Des Moines Half; here's what other people did right.

First of all, I really like Des Moines. So it stands to reason that I'd like the Des Moines Half's course. I liked passing familiar spots, like the Capitol, Court Avenue bars and my hair salon, and I also liked when we veered off the roads I always drive so that I could see a few landmarks I don't have memorized.

I know the race boasted about how much went through Water Works and Gray's Lake parks, and of course those were scenic, but weirdly enough I think I would've enjoyed more city running. 

(Then again, the familiarity with the Gray's Lake terrain was awfully nice. And as someone who works in downtown Des Moines, I probably shouldn't encourage more road closures/detours in a part of town that's already heavily one-way traffic.)

The spectator turnout always impresses me, no matter what race I do. Kids reached out for high-fives; strangers told us we were looking great; signs encouraged us to smile if we'd peed and reminded us that we were running better than the government.

Of course, this was one of the two best signs:

Zach (not pictured, because he's taking the picture), Emily and Regina made this sign for me, though I couldn't read it when I went by; after I'd finished, we came back out to the same spot to cheer on Cory, our marathoner. It was a crowd-pleaser in general.

Seriously, though, Zach, Emily and Regina were awake and dressed and out of their apartments at 8 a.m. on a Sunday trying to cheer me and Cory on. They missed us early on, but they found us at my mile 11/Cory's mile 24, and a block from the finish.

And here was the other best sign:

One thing they teach you at Truman State is how to make fantastic signs. Chelsea and I practiced this skill for Zach's weight-lifting meets, back in the day.

This one came via text from fellow Warriors Zach and Chelsea, who had initially thought they'd already be in Des Moines during the race weekend. (And again, because I got this at the race's start, this meant that a 20-something was coherent at 8 a.m.) It still did the trick.

Speaking of support, of course the volunteers at the aid stations were great (though as I mentioned I didn't really visit that often), and there was even one spectator who brought a box of Kleenex and handed out tissues. I run with my own, but I appreciated her effort.

The second-biggest boost I got was from another runner. Right after I passed Zach, Emily and Regina for the second time, as I prepared to cross the Locust Street bridge, nausea hit me. I could see the finish line, and I still clung to hope that I'd break 2:00:00, but my stomach ...

So I stopped. Maybe swore under my breath. And a woman in a lime-green shirt came up from behind, put her hand on my back, and chirped: "You can do it! We're almost there!"

I picked up my feet and started running again. Thanks, random runner. 

My only quibble was the opening/closing part of the Water Works Park section. You can see on this map that from about mile four to five, and from roughly eight to nine, that you had two-way traffic on your standard-width rec path.

I'm a little claustrophobic, and I was also feeling perky, so not being able to pass very well frustrated me. This was likely a good thing, to preserve some energy, but the crowd was big enough still at that point where it was physically difficult.

However, I will say that it was neat, and not at all discouraging, to watch an elite runner whiz by at his mile eight, which lined up around my pace group's mile four. Again, these guys literally run twice as fast as we mortals.

Last thing: I made sure to smile when I saw the race photographers. While I don't look like a monster, or a martyr, I still don't see why anyone would pay for these pictures ... but here's a link to them for your amusement.

Full race report: Des Moines Half Marathon

The theme of my Des Moines Half experience (2:00:20, to boast once more) was doing everything right.

When I told people my goals, their responses were either "Oh, you can totally do that" or "I think you'll do even better than that."

But previous races have shown me that executing my part of the plan isn't a given — nor is the continuation of the weather conditions that I've trained in.

That wasn't so Sunday. While it was cooler than the majority of my training, it was just about identical to the taper runs I'd done over the past week.

First good move: fighting off the paranoia about being too cold and trusting (correctly) that I'd warm up enough to appreciate a T-shirt and shorts.

I must've tapered properly, because the only body part that demanded "why are we running?" was my brain. My legs felt fresh and fluid, and I definitely did not get the sense early on that it wasn't going to be my day.

I feared starting off too fast and burning myself out. So once we got started — and wow was this a big race; I think it took about three minutes to cross the starting line — I kept an eagle eye on my phone until I settled into a comfortable pace.

Mission accomplished. MapMyRun says the first mile was my slowest, and it also says I stayed within a 40-second range.

Throughout the race, I mostly trusted my body. I've never taken so few water breaks during a half marathon, but I just wasn't thirsty, and I also really didn't want to stop and break my stride. I did have water around the halfway point, because I'd taken my gel, but that was it.

I've also never taken so few walk breaks. Again, I was in the zone and didn't want to leave it. There were times when I wanted to, but my practice telling myself "you got this" paid off.

The bargaining method ("you can walk at mile 10") worked even better than during training — as other runners have observed, once I reached whatever marker, I actually felt fine and just kept going.

On the converse side, I felt queasy twice. The first time was after the only hill in the half marathon, and after I passed some AWESOME friends who showed up to cheer me on with a sign; the second time was within sight of the finish line.

I let myself walk both times — embarrassing during the second time — and the nausea subsided.

Finally, to wrap this up, my post-race activities were mostly spot-on. I got the massage as soon as possible; I didn't go completely sedentary, but I didn't stay on my feet the entire time; I hit up a hot tub later in the day; and I went to bed at 9:30 p.m.

In conclusion? ALL GOALS ACCOMPLISHED.

Race report: I'm still rocking the Remembrance Run 5K

For the second time in as many years, I set a 5K personal record at the Iowa Remembrance Run.

Actually, "set" is an understatement. Smashed, shattered, destroyed ... those are all better words: My chip time was 24:09 (a 7:47 pace), compared with my old 5K PR of 25:30.

While the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick was an ugly PR, the Remembrance Run was a thing of beauty. I did a slow warmup jog before the opening ceremonies, found my pace right away AND kept it (a range of three seconds!), fought off the urge to walk at mile 2.75 and subsequently placed in the top 10 women (No. 7!).

All but one of these accomplishments are thanks to the tempo runs in my half marathon training plan. Hal, I'm virtually high-fiving and fist-bumping you.

The one that I can't thank Hal for? Not walking at mile 2.75.

I may or may not have gotten cocky after all those successful tempo runs, and I may or may not have told my gentleman friend that I thought I could beat him.

And then on Saturday, the day before the race, he notched a 5:45 mile at the Brew Mile ... so I definitely got nervous.

We took a moment's pause from talking smack to each other, and I even dropped my nervous grimace. Fortunately I ran better than I photographed that day.

We started out together, but as we wove through the crowds, I lost sight of him and hoped that meant I was ahead of him, not choking on his dust. But without knowledge either way, when I hit the final stretch — in full sunshine — I absolutely could not allow myself to walk.

Thank God I didn't. Cory would've overtaken me. Instead, I crossed at 24:09, and by the time I'd gotten my medal, returned my chip and walked to the sidelines, he'd finished.

Even if I hadn't been able to walk the walk, it would've been a lovely day. We cheered on and lunched with fellow runners Sharyn, Laryssa, Pam and Regina; it was Sharyn's first race ever, and like me, Regina bested her Friendly Sons of St. Patrick time.

Check out those sweet medals! From left: Cory, me, Pam, Regina, Sharyn and Laryssa.

Like Van Halen says, though, "the more you get, the more you want," and I eventually came down from the post-race high ... but that's fodder for another post, and it doesn't take away from the fact that both Remembrance Runs I've done would have been wonderful regardless of my performance.

Each time, I've come away just so impressed at the work the race organizers put in at this one, compared with an annual 5K I used to do back in Rockford. No wonder I used to be so lukewarm about 5Ks.

I'm ready to reach the finish line for 2012

A friend asked me a few days ago: "Are you excited for 2013 to arrive, or are you not ready for 2012 to be over?"

In a change from past "A Long December"-ish years, I couldn't say I was necessarily eager for 2012 to wrap up. At first.

When the cider started to kick in, I stood up to go to the bathroom and realized it hadn't fully taken effect yet: Though I did need to visit the ladies room, I still could feel all the knots that tied themselves up while I sat for extended periods of time. (A long night at the bar relaxes all knots, regardless of origin, though it might tie a few new ones the next day.)

If I work out for the first time in a while, those knots have tended to be in the quads or the hamstrings. Not this night — it was my new nemesis, the hips.

It's more tender than painful. It creeps up sometimes during, sometimes after a run. And it's relatively new to me. 

Whatever it is started sometime after my move to Des Moines, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't during the first few months. It could've been September; it was definitely in play by October.

My best guess as to its origins is my unprecedented mileage this year. In 2010 and 2011, I basically stuck to biking during the summer, but this year, my job change worked out to summer running's advantage.

The way to test this theory would be to back off the running, which I would do — despite the great mental boost it is for me, especially during the fall — if it weren't for the 1000 Mile Challenge. As of this writing, though not as of the cider night, I've broken 800 miles and will reach 900, most likely.

So I'm not going to spend the next few weeks on the sofa. I've taken the first step of finding hip-strengthening exercises (now I need to actually do them), and I'm going to keep running until Jan. 1, 2013. Then it's couch time.

And so if this friend asks me again: "Ready for 2013?" I'm going to say yes. Not emphatically as in "I-hate-running-and-can't-wait-to-quit"; more accepting with a splash of regret, because while runner's hip isn't the greatest, runner's high is.

I realize that writing this makes me sound like an idiot who deserves any medical comeuppance. In my defense, I could tell when it was time to quit running on buniony, weak-jointed feet and wait it out. The way my hips feel is nowhere near comparable.

Take off the rose-colored glasses

My train of thought while running recently:

"This is perfect weather for running — I won't overheat with temps in the 40s. ...

"I'm so glad that cold air doesn't hurt my lungs like other people complain about. ...

"Man, I love how clean the fall air feels. ...

"Too bad the leaves are gone, though — WAIT WHAT IS THAT SMELL?"

For the second time in two damp days, I had encountered an intensely musty odor, like a whole pile of wet towels, on the run. (No, it wasn't my clothing. That would've been a consistent stink, instead of an ambush.)

It had to be all the leaves that weren't on the trees, glowing in the sunset, and that weren't delightfully dry and crunchy underfoot anymore. Welcome to November, where they rot in clumps along the sidewalk.

I found drier land after going on the Jordan Creek Trail and especially through Knolls Park, and grew misty-eyed again.

"Done with hills. Flat final mile FTW! ...

"Wow, I'm really close to being done, and I feel good still! ...

"That soup is gonna taste so good. Can't wait to shower first. ...

"LOL, goose droppings. ...

"There's more? OK, well, pretend it's an agility exercise ...

"I just vacuumed, better watch my step. ...

"Seriously? Is this a minefield or a sidewalk?"

It was a dangerous effort, weaving around dropping upon dropping in still-slightly-damp conditions. I am happy to report my shoes survived unscathed, but my inclination to call geese cute, unfortunately, did not. It may recover; I can't say for sure.

(But seriously, I enjoyed the run. My sense of smell may be keener than other folks', and this is just a drawback to my powerful sniffer, and wildlife dung is never not funny.)

My 10th check-in on the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge

I keep forgetting it's so late in the year; typing "10th" reminded me of it for the billionth time.

So through Wednesday, I've run or walked 778 miles this year. For some reason — maybe seeing a friend's "900" on Facebook — I thought I'd be closer to 800 than that, but it turns out I'm on track for my settling goal of 900 miles this year. (As long as I average 14 to 15 miles per week.)

It was a pleasant surprise coming after a startling one, but my sister was right: Spending six days in Europe (plus two in airports) will rack up some distance. Maybe what I think is rust on my legs right now is actually fatigue.

Anyway, to pre-empt anyone trying to convince me that 1,000 is still mathematically possible, I counted out the remaining weeks in the year and divided the remaining miles to 1,000 by that.

Again, it's freaking late in the year: There are eight full weeks, plus some change, left until 2013. It would take a weekly average of 27 miles to get there.

Out of curiosity, I checked to see whether I've hit that this year ... nope. Technically I haven't broken 26 in one week, though I'm sure that if I were a diligent pedometer user, that would change.

Where I'm at, though, isn't a disappointment. I neglected my bike all summer, that's true, but I've well surpassed my 2011 run/walk mileage, and I'll blow it out of the water by the end of the year.

Making good decisions on accident

I spent last weekend in Ohio for a wedding — and I'm still feeling its effects.

Nope, it's not the world's worst hangover. It's muscle fatigue that makes me feel three times my age, thanks to Saturday night's exuberant and orthotics-free dancing.

My knees and ankles ached most of Sunday, and my calves were still so tight Monday morning that I could barely stumble down the hall to feed my cat. Wait a minute, I'd squandered a nice day and motivation to run on Sunday afternoon in favor of recovering ... and this is how I felt?

A shockingly smooth and easy 4.5-miler brought me brief relief. After averaging 9:24/mile, I thought the rest of the day would be limber and comfortable. I thought wrong, apparently.

But to the point of this post: It could have been worse. I could have started Saturday out with a five-mile run, which is what one of my hotel buddies had suggested we do.

Emily's getting ready for the Hot Chocolate 15K on Nov. 4, and last weekend being the halfway point of her training plan, she wanted to get a five-miler in ... even though she was on vacation. Nice dedication!

One friend shook her head in envy at our motivation; another scoffed at our decision to go out on a chilly, blustery day. We were not deterred. Maybe we wouldn't get five miles in, but our track date was still on.

And 10 minutes later, it was over for a grand total of 1.05 miles.

What happened? Well, at the time I thought it was a solo runner's naivete — I hadn't asked Emily how fast she normally went, so I didn't realize that I was pushing her at a 9:30 pace. (In fact, I'd thought: "Wow, she's speedy for a recent runner!")

Over my profuse apologies, though, Emily pointed out that the benefits of short, fast workouts aside, an abbreviated workout was probably best for the calves and feet that would take a beating over the course of a raucous wedding reception.

As my calves continue to stiffen if immobile too long, 48 hours later, running a single mile suddenly doesn't seem so silly after all. It seems like a good way to loosen up muscles pre-emptively and the culmination of a rare chance to be excited about running — on vacation, no less.