Upcoming race: Dam to Dam half marathon

As I mentioned in earlier posts about second-quarter and overall 2014 goals, I've signed up for this year's Dam to Dam race.

I'd been interested in doing it in the past, but its transition this year from a 20K to a half marathon sealed the deal. (OK, and so did the reports of how flat the route is.)

The race is May 31, which also lined up quite well with my two-week hiatus in early April as I prepared for, went on and recovered from vacation.

If the past two years are any indication, the heat and humidity might hold off a few more weeks; if not, the early start time (7 a.m.) could be my savior.

So of course, my goal is to break 2:00:00. I probably should set alternative goals, especially if the weather isn't looking auspicious for me, but I'll do that later.

Right now, hitting or breaking 2:00:00 looks feasible. It's not a slam-dunk, but I'm cautiously optimistic that the polar vortex and my time off won't be insurmountable obstacles.

I'll have to average a 9:09-per-mile pace to do it. Not a guarantee, yet also barely faster than what I averaged at the Des Moines Half (9:11). So how close am I?

During my first long run, an eight-miler, I was only concerned about getting the miles in without suffering. I ended up actually enjoying the whole run, except the buggy parts, so I achieved my only real goal.

I treated my second long run, a nine-miler, as a more important test, which I passed, with a 9:12 pace.

The splits are all over the board, from an 8:30 (flat path, calm weather) to 9:54 (half-mile-long hill into nearly 20 mph winds), but the majority are as fast or faster than goal pace. 

Overall, the run took 1:22:55, leaving 37:04 for the remaining 4.1 miles. Though that's not outside the realm of possibility, I'd like more of a margin -- and, fortunately, I have faith that I can get it.

Race-day adrenaline will likely speed me up and keep me going earlier in the race. It's also safe to say the Dam to Dam route will be flatter and spend less time going west, which seems to be where Iowa winds come from.

So keep your fingers crossed for pleasant weather, and I'll handle the rest. 

Who let West Des Moines out dressed like that?

I'm back to judging my fellow west-siders' clothing choices — for workouts, that is.

On Sunday, sometime in the middle of the afternoon, I spotted a runner wearing a pullover jacket. Three-quarter-length sleeves, but a jacket nevertheless.

I admired her strength for running in the sun, during the hottest part of the day, in the humidity, in June in Iowa ... but my T-shirt-clad torso broke out into a sympathy sweat.

Sure, sometimes one can underestimate the weather conditions, but I'm pretty sure we'd been in at least the 80s, if not 90s, for a few days. Am I a tough northerner? Or are my neighbors just trying to sweat off all their excess weight?

Then, on Monday, I found myself behind a teenage boy on the bike path; he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, like me, but unlike me, he had his entire rear end hanging out of those shorts.

Never mind walking with your pants halfway down your legs — how do you balance on a bike like that?

I'll say this, though: I've made some questionable wardrobe decisions for workouts and beyond, but these folks have me feeling pretty smart.

Seen while riding: Critters and cranky kids

I didn't stop to take photos on my Monday long ride, but I did see a few things that made me smile (or in, one case, jump a little bit).

* Right as I reached Linden on the way out, a deer raced across the path. I will insist with my dying breath that I'm not one of those obnoxious city kids who think deer are novelties, but I'm not used to seeing them in human settlements ... just country fields.

* I encountered another Bambi just north of Linden as I doubled back; this one, I apparently flushed out, and instead of hiding in the woods, it bounded along the trail ahead of me for about a minute.

* Two maintenance trucks were on the trails; the first one arrived as I was daydreaming, and therefore its oncoming headlights scared the crap out of me. Also, when you're on such a rural, wooded trail, seeing another biker surprises you — let alone a pickup truck.

It was the best chance I've had to admire their leaping abilities — I'm used to them dashing out across dark country roads at night and having to worry about hitting them/being hit by any cars behind me.

* A duo that I will call a grandmother/granddaughter pair, though I have no such evidence, stopped me north of Linden. (That's where ALL the action was yesterday, apparently.) "How far are we from Linden?" the grandmother asked.

"Not far," I said.

"Less than a mile?" I hesitated so that I could think back to my odometer's reading, and the grandmother continued. "Just say yes."

By then, I'd gathered my thoughts and told them I really did think they were that close, and the grandmother turned to the little girl (maybe 6 years old?). "See? You can make it that far."

She turned back to me. "We walked here from Panora. Her idea." The look on the girl's face indicated that she didn't think this was such a great idea any more.

According to a sign I'd passed after leaving Linden, that was six miles away. Holy cow. I hope they indulged in ice cream and a nap after that hike.

* And my favorite sight: a cow just standing in a creek, the bridge over which wasn't all that high. After squealing with delight, I glanced past my bovine buddy to see a whole herd of them, just hanging out, not even fenced in.

I don't care how dumb, smelly and/or bug-ridden cows are. I'm 100 percent city girl in that I think they're adorable, and I highly appreciate their contributions to the human diet. (Mmm, cheese ... ice cream ... milk ... cream ... yogurt ... butter ... and, yes, steak.)

Yawning at milestones

Yesterday I rode 50 miles on the Raccoon River Valley Trail, going from the Waukee trailhead just past Linden and then back.

I was very happy with this effort for a number of reasons.

* First, I actually got out of bed and the apartment to do the ride. Motivation was not strong yesterday morning.

* I managed to head straight west on the trail without having a weather crisis.

* During the vast majority of the ride — I'd say about 80 percent of it — I felt strong ... and this even included a few windy-in-my-face stretches.

* I finished much faster than I'd expected: 3 hours, 23 minutes (plus a few breaks, but not many, and not for long). I'd prepared myself for about four. That's good for a 14.8 mph average.

* And I didn't acquire any new sunburns! (OK, a lot of the trail was shaded, but still, my diligence in applying and reapplying should be applauded. Positive reinforcement here, folks.)

It wasn't until I got back to my apartment that it dawned on me that none of my pride involved the fact that I'd ridden 50 miles. The distance was no big deal, except that I'd successfully blocked out the time needed to fit that much riding in.

Thinking back to the weeks since "biking season" began, I realized this shrugging-off of distances was a long time coming. A few times, I'd caught myself dismissing the shorter rides as "only" 20 miles.

"Only" 20 miles? Remember what a sweaty effort that was on your previous bike — a perfectly nice hybrid? It wasn't impossible, by any means, but I considered that a pretty significant workout. (Granted, with the hills I encountered out in the country, I was justified.)

But just like how, relative to past rides, 50 is long, 50 is short compared with what I'll be doing for the rest of June and July — 55, 60, 65 and 75 are all on the schedule.

So it's probably good that I didn't start bragging about my accomplishment on every social media outlet that I could. If I thought 50 was the world's biggest deal, then that would likely mean I wasn't mentally and/or physically ready for the serious training and for the main event.

(One tiny brag, though: This and my early May 50-miler have doubled the number of times I broke the 50-mile barrier from April 2011 through April 2013. To be honest, I don't even know how often I broke 40 miles during that stretch.)

Cleaning is more dangerous than running

When this winter first started — seems so long ago — I had a co-worker look at me in disbelief when I mentioned having run despite the recent snow.

"You ran in the snow? I would be terrified to. I'd be waiting to wipe out."

In his defense, he dislikes running no matter what conditions, and he also works closely with a Texas transplant who's experiencing his very first Midwest winter ... and has several bruises to remember it by.

At the time, I admitted to a scary slip, during which my flailing arms made contact with the side of a garage, but insisted that my worst running spills had taken place in perfectly mild weather conditions.

I maintain that stance, after cleaning my apartment Sunday night and going on a run Monday morning before the rec paths were completely cleared of snow.

The minor injuries I sustained during the cleaning frenzy:

* A bruised instep on my left foot. This came from stepping on the vacuum cleaner's plug in bare feet, and resulted in the most pain I've experienced since introducing my IT band to the foam roller.

Wait, that's not totally true; the IT band stops feeling tender once I'm done rolling, while the instep was tender to the point of not putting all my weight on it for several hours after that.

* A stiff lower back. I'd thought that the cat's litterbox was growing empty enough where it would be easy to just toss all the old stuff and replace it with fresh, clean sand. And maybe I would've been right, if I hadn't poured the entire contents into a half-full garbage bag.

I could barely lift the whole thing out of the garbage can, and I'm not sure what miracle allowed me to raise it high enough to put into the Dumpster. (Yes, I know, "lift with your legs, not your back.") Fortunately, the bag didn't tear at any point, and I woke up with more foot tenderness than back soreness.

In contrast, during the 10 miles I ran, mostly on snowy paved surfaces, I only suffered a few startled lurches when one foot landed off the path and one foot remained on it. (The snow helped the path blend into the grass.)

Maybe once or twice my shoes didn't quite get traction on an icy uphill slog, and I definitely splashed through a shallow puddle once — so shallow, though, that the absorbent part of my shoes were in the clear.

Still, the worst that happened the entire time? My skin is probably windburned. But I put lotion on it after my shower, which I always do, and it felt normal a few hours later.

Which leads me to the conclusion in the title of this post. I won't give up cleaning, because I'm a neat freak, but for those of you who hate vacuuming and taking out the trash, feel free to use my stories as justification for avoiding those chores.

An exploratory run

I don't have any interesting commentary about my running performance Friday, a five-miler that was supposed to be race pace.

I averaged a 9:16 pace ... oops ... or hooray, because there were definitely some inclines?

However, I did indulge the wanderlust I've started to feel. Not that I don't love all the rec paths around the West Des Moines area, but as half marathon training ramps up, I feel like my routes are growing repetitive.

So I got creative and explored more of the chi-chi neighborhood that borders those rec paths. The terrain was good -- sometimes I worry that the sidewalk on unfamiliar roads will end abruptly, as it does on University and Westown Parkway -- and so was the scenery.

Beyond all the beautiful houses (and, OK, a few ugly ones, like the boxy avocado-green mansion), these were my favorite sights:

This does not seem like very good urban planning, but I'm no civil engineer.

I love lions. And all cats. And the intro to Chicago Bulls games.

I'll be back, Country Club Estates ... I've got several more runs in my future, and most likely a few bike rides, too. Stay tuned.

The kindness of strangers

It used to be rare for me to greet people on runs, back when I was conquering the farm country of western Winnebago County.

Around my 'hood, it was expected, but beyond that, either I waved to acknowledge cars, shouted "STAY!" at loose dogs or silently cursed the friendly guy who liked to point out how steep the hill I was climbing was.

Now that I'm a city runner, I have a lot more brief and breathless conversations with people, mostly about the weather or hills (shorter and smaller than that awful one back home).

But the one I had a few Fridays ago with some teen girls definitely wins the prize for funniest.

The two were on the Jordan Creek Trail behind the Dahl's on EP True, and each was holding something that my nearsighted eyes couldn't make out. I also couldn't tell whether they were about to ask me a question, so I kept peering and slowed down.

As I approached, I realized one was holding a cigarette; the other, a pipe. Whenever I pass someone who clearly isn't a runner, I wonder what they're thinking of me and assume it's probably snide.

This time, though, we did more than exchange hellos. The cigarette girl looked at me, smiled and said cheerfully: "You're doing the right thing." (The pipe smoker was otherwise occupied.)

I laughed -- it was so unexpectedly self-deprecating and yet encouraging (even if she was being sarcastic), and so much more interesting than the brief hellos/thanks that I usually trade with other rec path users.

I rocked the Remembrance Run

I did Sunday's Iowa Remembrance Run practically on a lark — taking over for an injured friend, I hadn't trained for speed, nor did I turn in early the night before.

But somehow, it all went right anyway. It went more than right, actually. I finished 108th out of 402 total (and 88th among men, because I was filling in for a male friend, but I would've been 21st out of the women, I believe).

My official race time was 26:22, though I used MapMyRun to track me from the start line to the finish line, and it said I did 3.05 in 25:59. So, to those of you who received boastful texts about my 26-minute 5K: Sorry, I technically lied to you. You can take back your congratulations.

Still, my splits according to MapMyRun: 8:48, 8:34 and 8:16. I'm going to have to start trying to push myself more often, if this is what I can do when I put my mind to it.

I don't have many 5Ks to compare this one with, but even had I not notched some epic speed (by my standards), I would definitely say this was my favorite so far. The organizers definitely put together an event, not "just a race" — a flyover, a good prerace speaker, and a postrace concert with Jethro's BBQ that I sadly did not attend — and they did a great job.

What I liked the most:

* Seeing service dogs in training during the prerace events. I think they were freshmen, because they kept getting distracted by each other and invisible things in the ground.

* The costumes. Some people wore T-shirts that honored a particular fallen service member, and one woman went all-out with patriotic colors/patterns ... and a tutu. A few men even ran while carrying flags.

I was working on my 8:16 mile at this point, so forgive the questionable photography. I think I may have passed him at the end, but he definitely gave me a run (ha!) for my money.

* The woman playing music on her iPhone without earbuds. I briefly considered sticking with her just to benefit from her tunes ("I Love Rock And Roll"), but I was on a roll.

* The final stretch — posters next to flagpoles had photos of the fallen service members.

 
* The finish line welcomes. Someone called out your name (or, in my case, my buddy's name) as you approached, and staffers were waiting with a medal to hang around your neck.

* My start-line buddy. We only made running small talk for a few minutes, but it was definitely an Iowa nice moment.

* The racing chips — all you had to do was strap on a Velcro band to your ankle. No complicated lace weaving or twistie-tie usage.

I didn't wear glasses or contacts during the actual race. If I had, I might've noticed that this angle makes me look like I have cankles — which I most certainly do not. Not that there's anything wrong with cankles.

What I didn't like:

* Like most races, the first half-mile or so was a bit of a bottleneck. The poles that held up a big START banner didn't help, and the walkers who didn't listen to directions (go to the back) also caused me a little (OK, maybe more than a little) frustration.

* The earbud wearers. When 800 people register for a 5K on a park path, you should probably not block out the world — especially during the first mile, and especially if you're walking.

Last week was great for running

My old blog, Get Running, appealed to runners as well as nonrunners because I didn't bog them down with splits and complicated workouts measured in metric increments. (That's partly because I don't bog myself down with any of those things, either.)

So while I'm thrilled about last week's numbers, generally speaking, the goal here is not to cite too many figures or to wax too rhapsodically about my efforts.

That said, I have to repeat, stunned, my splits from last Monday's run: 8:55, 8:49, 9:49 and 8:44. If you don't remember/weren't in Des Moines that day, it was crazy windy in the late afternoon, which is when I decided to run a loop.

So there's a reason each mile is what it was: 8:55 was downhill with the wind at my back; 9:49, uphill with the wind in my face. 8:49 and 8:44 were on beautifully flat stretches.

Still — daaaaamn! And more importantly, it felt great. That wind definitely blew a ton of cobwebs out of my brain, and brushed a lot of oh-my-god-you-spent-three-hours-on-your-couch grossness off my skin.

Tuesday's numbers were not quite as sexy, but they represented my breaking last year's recorded run/walk mileage of not quite 670 miles. (Emphasis should be placed on "recorded," because I wasn't tracking tourism-related walking as diligently as I am this year.)

Thursday stunk in regards to performance. I was able, however, to psych myself up for the run — before I felt bleh and overly warm with long sleeves on — by deciding to run a familiar route clockwise rather than counterclockwise, like always. And I was also able to justify it by knowing that it still leaves hills at the end, even though I attacked it from a different angle.

Then Saturday — oh, lovely Saturday! — I found myself in the Iowa City metro area on a crisp, 60-degree day at Sugar Bottom. Aside from the giggle-inducing name, Sugar Bottom had a nice gravel path through the woods that gave me wonderful flashbacks to northern Illinois' Stone Bridge Trail.

Also giggle-inducing (but frightening as well): the names of some Sugar Bottom trails. I did not encounter the Troll Bridge or Becky's Revenge, though one hill did feel like a Hell Trail.

I'm very grateful for Des Moines' city trails, which wind through green space and muffle traffic noises, and I'm grateful for the solid sidewalk system, too. But I cut my running teeth on country roads and small-town paths. Sugar Bottom felt like home, and I felt like a million bucks after that run (and a delicious breakfast at Bluebird Cafe).

Seen while running: Week of Aug. 26

First, the sights:

This is someone's driveway in Clive. My college's mascot is Spike the Bulldog, so my attention is always drawn to pawprints.

The least-guarded private lake ever. It's a beautiful sight, though, because it always marks the end of a long ascent.

Then the smells: dead animals. Fortunately for you readers, I was on a naked run when I found the mummified squirrel on the 60th Street sidewalk, so I wasn't at all tempted to take a picture.

Even if I had brought the iPhone, though, I would have had to linger near the stench source to get the picture. No thank you.

And last, the sounds. A fellow runner on the Clive Greenbelt Trail seemed to be having just as mediocre of a run as I was — walking breaks, grimace, shuffly feet, etc. I, however, didn't make a coughing/hacking noise every few steps.

In her defense, though, she probably couldn't hear her own coughs. She sure didn't seem to hear me when I called out "on your left" like the other folks on the trail did. Seriously, people, turn down your mp3 players.

Confession: I break rec path traffic rules

During a generally unremarkable six-miler along the Clive Greenbelt Trail, I heard the following warning from a rider: "On your right."

Nope, this biker wasn't offroading, or perfecting her precision by sharing a lane with me. I had once again broken a cardinal rule of rec path use and failed to stay in the right lane.

I'm a drifter. I can't help it.

Often, I can correct myself, if it's oncoming traffic, and swerve out of the left lane. But when the passer is behind me, I'm figuratively caught with my pants down.

(Figuratively is a key word here, because outdoor runners sometimes must do things that require their pants to be literally down.)

During one of my first Des Moines runs, I had a rather breathless conversation with a friendly older gentleman about this issue. Congenital foot problems, and why I still run despite those problems, aren't something one can generally explain in passing with an elevated heart rate, but I tried.

First of all, my bevy of foot problems are for once not to blame. In this case, my podiatrist in Rockford told me, it's that one of my legs is shorter than the other.

Not at a level where it's visible to laypeople or where it needs surgical/orthotic correction. Just enough to create the wobbly stool effect — which would mean my left leg is the extra-short one, if that's how I'm leaning.

Soon after my latest noob-in-appearance-but-not-mind moment, Mark Remy posted his ticket for running violations. I clicked on the link with much joy, because I love Mark Remy, but with much trepidation, because part of me didn't want to find out what else the veteran runners were hating me for doing.

Good news: Lane violations didn't appear in Remy's post or the comments section. The folks passing me on the right don't seem nearly as irate as drivers who have to pass on the right on the highway (not, um, that I would have ever caused that to happen).

Maybe this infraction isn't as severe as I thought. Or maybe everything else about me just screams rookie and my comrades feel sorry for me.

Regardless, if you're ever the passer in this situation, spare a little sympathy for that person who might be an experienced, but slightly physically deformed, runner.

Who has to correct errors in their own blog? This girl.

Our family dog, Jenny, is famously full of personality, and she has quite a few fans. So I figured that my most recent seen while running post, in which I referenced a tussle she had with a wild animal, would elicit a reaction from the family.

Meet Jenny! This photo does not adequately show her droopy face and human-sized head, but it does show her impressive camera-mugging skills and rippling muscles.

I was right, but for the wrong reasons. Jenny did not literally face off with a possum, leaving with bloody jowls, but rather a woodchuck, I was reminded.

In my defense, the incident took place in 2008, and I'm not getting any younger. Out in the country, we've had run-ins with so many creatures that I should be forgiven any confusions: the raccoon that committed suicide under my car, the deer who dash across the road at night, the possums who come too close to the house, the coyotes who howl audibly and possibly bite our tortie cat, the bat that crept into our attic, the birds we find (dead and alive) in the yard, the rabbits/squirrels/chipmunks that feast on our yard when neighborhood cats aren't feasting on them, and the turtles who cross the road.

Those are just the wild ones — I'm not counting the livestock — and the nonroadkill ones.

Also in my defense, or to my credit, I'm phasing out of country-runner mode and into city-runner mode.

I'm growing used to running on sidewalks at any hour of the day I please, with all sorts of people around me: bikers, walkers, other runners, skaters and stroller-pushers ... everyone but drivers, who are kept at a safe distance from me. This is a marked contrast to my days of meandering down the middle of country roads, swerving to the shoulder for the occasional car.

And with the more urban setting comes the change in animal sightings.

Country folks like their dogs; their leashes, not so much — I can't think of the last time I saw a free-roaming dog. (I hear what are presumably unleashed but penned-up dogs a lot, however.)

Deer continue to show up along the wooded rec paths, and I'm used to that from forest preserves, but the boldness of rabbits scurrying across the trails is a novelty. The ones back home had more to fear (our cats) and more room to hide in the dense woods.

And that's about it, with the occasional chipmunk/squirrel. Certainly the terrain I cross these days isn't peppered with possums and raccoons who fell victim to cars, nor is it populated with fierce woodchucks.

Sorry, Jenny. As my mom pointed out, you're more than prepared to handle a stupid possum; this citified girl, however, is obviously not. The Scooby Snacks are on me.

Baby steps toward conquering the big(ger) city

On Thursday, I participated in a group bike ride led by a bike enthusiast employee of West Des Moines Scheels.

I've run fairly frequently since moving into my new apartment, first on the sidewalks in my neighborhood and later, once I spotted it, on the Jordan Creek Trail. This paid off Thursday, when I was both too lazy and too late to put my bike rack on my car and the bike on the rack; my exploration-by-foot of the Jordan Creek Trail led me straight to the mall that houses Scheels.

One of the bridges of Polk County. I took this picture heading back home from my first excursion on the Jordan Creek Trail.
EDIT: I think this is actually in Dallas County.

So I felt both efficient (what stop-and-go traffic?) and fit (what, you drive to workouts?) as I whizzed over to the meeting point. Once we started biking, from 60th to the Clive Greenbelt Trail, that sense of fitness began to dissipate, but that's besides the point.

I knew where I was all the way to the intersection of 60th and University Avenue — and then for the next 10 to 15 miles, I had no idea whatsoever. Around curves, through woods, down hills we whirred, and then at some point I saw the sign: Grays Lake, one mile. For a brief moment, I was oriented again, but then it passed, and we were winding all over the south side of town again.

When we reached the Valley Junction area, it began clicking. There was the farmers market, there was Furry Friends Refuge (from whom I adopted my cat), there was my veterinarian ... everything I recognized, I identified out loud with much glee.

Finally, as we reached the eastern stretch of the Jordan Creek Trail, our guide mentioned that we weren't far from where we began: "Oh, so we're not far from the underpass, then. It's I-35, right?"

The guide, a West Des Moines native, replied with some surprise: "Yep, exactly." He paused. "You sure know your way around for only being here two weeks."

I puffed up with pride. No one has ever before (and no one probably ever will again) praised my navigational skills — because I have none. I'd passed as a competent adult for years by living in my midsized hometown. However, I'd been determined since Day 2, when my head had finally cleared from the sleep-deprivation and tiny homesickness cloud, to achieve Des Moines fluency.

My strategy includes several components, one of which is running. It's easier to pay attention when you're safely on a sidewalk, it's a healthy, free, green way to roam the area ... and it's apparently a successful one. Hooray for discovering another fringe benefit to running!

Introducing Little Runner to Des Moines

There are two types of tired that I’m acquainted with: the one that results from too little sleep, too much concentrating, too much stress; and the one that results from healthy exertion.

The former drains me, the latter invigorates and then calms me.

On my first day in Des Moines, two weeks ago today, I was floored by the first kind of tired. I’d stayed up late and risen early, packed my car and drove it 300 miles to unpack it, hopped back in a car and taken a winding tour of my new home that culminated in a restaurant dinner.

Everything had gone according to plan — except the wave of homesickness that washed over me after my meal, making me feel my exhaustion even more acutely. It was too early to go to bed, and it was too rude to leave my host so I could privately wallow in my gloom. What to do?

Run. Run with no expectation of time or strength or distance.

My host showed me a 3.5-mile loop that combined a rec trail and sidewalks, and off I went, hoping for no rain and no creeper sightings.

The first quarter-mile was physically downhill and emotionally uphill. Clouds, rain and chilly wind from earlier in the day had faded into a fresh-smelling, sherbet-colored summer evening.

After about a third of a mile, I reached the rec path trailhead. I ran along forests, flowers, a river, rabbits, reminding me of home but better: Already I’d noticed that Des Moines’ downtown and suburbs had more plentiful and vibrant options than back home; already I had a few Millennials offering (and being offered) to take me out; and now I could see that this three-mile loop was only a tiny taste of what I could explore on my two feet or my two bike wheels.

This was the view that won me over, photographed the next morning.

Dripping with sweat, I wrapped up my run in 34:28, a 9:50 pace, having conquered hills — both metaphorical and literal — on the way. For the second time that day, I was glad to be in Des Moines, but this time it had nothing to do with being freed from a car.

With that out of the way, welcome to Little Runner, Bigger City, where you’ll mostly read about (and probably laugh at) the snafus and speed bumps I still hit after three years of running.

Curious about those three years? Check out my former blog, Get Running.

Curious about only the notable moments of those three years? Read my race recaps.