The Branford Road Race

Growing up in Branford, I’ve always spent Father’s Day weekend at the Branford Festival.  You can count on lots of fun, good music, delicious food and running into old friends who are in town just for the festival.  Sunday morning is spent at the Branford Road Race.  You either line the streets waiting for the runners to come in, or you participate in the 2 mile fitness walk, getting back in time to cheer on the incoming runners.  It’s always about the runners.  They always return to the center of town with a hero’s welcome, raucous applause, pats on the back and the announcers booming voice on the loud speaker “Thank you… for running… the …Branford Road Race” to each runner as they cross the finish line.  Sound a little Norman Rockwell?  For lifelong Branford residents this overcrowded, bursting at the seams day is our last ditch effort to hold onto that small town community feeling we all had while growing up there.

I have spent the past 30 years standing on the side of the road cheering on those runners.  I always imagined what it would be like crossing that finish line and hearing my name called out.  Every few years I would promise myself that I would get fit and run in the next race.  I’ve watched my sister run it.  I have watched friends and family members run it.  I have still not done it.  I considered it in April but quickly changed my mind because running 5 miles by June 19 would be very unlikely.  I decided to wait until next year when I could run it faster and have no worry about coming in last. 

In general I don’t usually worry or care about coming in last.  I came in last at the Salem Road Race.  It was me, a police car and a very long line of cars waiting for the road to open up again.  Michelle and Leah came back and ran the last few hundred feet with me.  There were times when Leah was pushing me not to stop and walk, literally pushing me because I was so tired from all the hills.  Being last that day was actually really invigorating.  People were cheering me on and high fiving me from their front lawns.  I didn’t care that I was coming in last because it was one of the hardest courses I have seen and I was so proud that I was doing it.  I crossed the finish line and the race closed down behind me.  On that day last was ok for me.  Last is not ok for me for the Branford Road Race.

I got an incredibly motivating email from a friend the other day.  She told me to “Stop being a "spectator" THIS YEAR....register for the Branford Road Race...this year is the year of change and doing things you normally wouldn't do. I KNOW you can accomplish this, to add to your list. It's mind over matter!”  I consider her to be among those elite few athletes who I strive to be like.  At 25 she is fast, strong and unstoppable.  Her abilities are endless and she truly believes in me.  Her words stopped me and made me consider it again.  I have not stopped thinking about it since then.  It has almost become obsessive.

I don’t usually back away from a challenge but this is different.  This could realistically be public humiliation in my hometown.  Slightly dramatic I know, but that’s how I feel.  I talked to my “fitness mentor” about the race.  She went from zero to marathon runner and has run the BRR before.  She is incredibly inspiring and is always motivating me.  I don’t think I would have even considered becoming a “runner” if it weren’t for her encouragement.  She told me to do it.  She too believes I can do it.  As supportive and motivating as these two women are, the voices in my head are still telling me no.  The voices telling me that I am not a runner, reminding me how slow I am, are much louder than my friends.  I can only imagine how loud those voices will be in the 10 minutes before the start of the BRR.

Committing to the Branford Road Race means I will need to add 2 miles to my run in the next 2 ½ weeks and get faster at it.  I am sure I can add the miles but I am not going to get faster in that time.  I still do not like running and adding 2 more miles now will make it even less fun.  I don’t want this race to kill what little running confidence I have.  If I don’t do it well, I will be crushed.  I checked the finish time from the past few years.  I will come in last.  Many minutes later last.  They might not realize that I am still out there kind of last.

Not committing to the Branford Road Race means another year of sitting on the sidelines, not living the life I want.  This is supposed to be my year of not looking back and having a year of “I wish I had’s.”  If I truly want to live this kind of life than I need to run the Branford Road Race.  It shouldn’t matter that I will come in last.  I should be just as proud that I did it as I have with the other races.  I will be so mad at myself if I don’t do it.  I am sure it will be a big regret.

I get that I am putting a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself about running the road race.  I know it doesn’t really matter if I walk some of it, if I pass out or vomit 50 feet from the finish or if come I last.  But it matters to me.  For me, The Branford Road Race is the pinnacle of road races.  This silly 5 mile race is my NYC or Boston Marathon.  It’s all about my pride.  Here’s where I am supposed to say I am going to do it, I’m going to run the Branford Road Race.  I’m not ready to say that.  I honestly don’t know if I will.  Today I am planning on cheering on my friends, imagining myself running alongside them, keeping up their pace, next year.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring, after all, I did register for the Tough Mudder and that’s 13 miles.

I Hate Running

In a paralyzing moment of unprecedented stupidity I signed up for the Tri-State Tough Mudder in November.  In case you are not familiar with what is “probably the toughest event on the planet” here is their description:

Tough Mudder is not your average lame-ass mud run or spirit-crushing ‘endurance’ road race. It’s Ironman meets Burning Man, and it is coming to a location near you. Our 10-12 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie. Forget finish times. Simply completing a Tough Mudder is a badge of honor.

WARNING: Tough Mudder is 3-4 times longer and MUCH TOUGHER than a typical mud run such as Warrior Dash. On average, only 78% of participants finish a Tough Mudder event. Only those in strong physical condition should enter.

What was I thinking?  These crazy Crossfit people have me believing I can do anything (and they seem to truly believe I can.)  But really, a Tough Mudder?!?  The Tri-State is 13 miles long.  That is a half marathon.  Let me reiterate so the weight of this has the correct impact.  13 miles of running with insane physical challenges (running through fire, 15 foot plank jump, running through 10,000 volt wires, underwater tunnels, scale 12ft high walls) all while being drenched in ice cold water in November.  Again, what was I thinking?

But I registered.  There’s no taking it back now.  I planned on doing it, eventually.  This is just a year sooner than I had imagined.  But I guess if I am going to do it I couldn’t be on a more supportive and encouraging team.  I know my friends will help me through it.  I am not afraid of the obstacles; I think I have a decent shot at most of them, but the running, oh the running.  I hate running.  There is nothing anyone can do on that day to help me with the running, unless someone carries me, oh that’s a thought. 

Fear is a great motivator.  I am not going to be the one who holds my team back.  I have 173 days until the Tough Mudder.  My training started today.  I've never enjoyed running.  I've never been good at it.  I learned at a very early age that if I hit the ball harder and further than everyone else I could run around the bases as slow as I wanted.  So running was never really an issue as long as I could run a few laps during practice.  I could always do enough to get by and blend into the runners at the end of the pack.  The older I got the less I “needed” to run, so I just didn’t do it.

For me running is a complete mental challenge.  As with most things, I get in my own way.  I don’t feel like a runner and I definitely don’t have the aptitude of a runner, especially for a long run.   All I do is beat myself up when I run.  Sometimes the music is the only thing that can cover up the sound of my ragged breathing and drown out those negative voices telling me I am not a runner.  Loud music is the only thing that can drown out the screaming voice telling me to walk.  My legs don’t feel like they are going to give up, it’s just my mind, telling me that I should be walking.  Running is such a foreign concept to me.

I have an absurd love hate relationship with running.  I despise it but so badly want to be able to run and call myself a runner.  I am not there yet and probably won’t be for a while.  My progress is slow.  Sometimes I think I can walk faster than I can run but runners don’t walk.  I often wonder what people think when they look out there windows and see me “running.”  I am slow and I often feel bad about how slow I am but then I tell myself it doesn’t matter because no matter how slow I go, I am doing it.  My motto is running sucks.  It really is, but I also say that it may not be fast, it may not be pretty but I’m doing it.  I am going to be doing a lot of it between now and November.  13 miles…what was I thinking?

Most days getting the courage to go out the door and run is really hard.  I’ve had a few days were I’ve walked to the end of my driveway and turned back because I just couldn’t handle the possibility of not being able to do it, so I just skipped it altogether.  Most days every step feels like a chore, and I don’t think I will be able to do finish without walking. Today was not that day.  This morning, I put one foot in front of the other and kept doing it.  I didn’t give myself the option to stop or walk.  My legs didn’t feel like they were cement.  My lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire.  Most importantly, my brain didn’t scream walk.   I ran 3.1 miles in 35:51.  I did this same loop 11 minutes faster than when I ran/walked for Feed the Need on April 2^nd.  This morning I felt like a runner for the first time.

I hate running.  I've got to get better at running and the only way to do that is... to run.  I’m a long way from being a runner but today, I will call myself a new runner.

Cupcakes, Ice cream & Barbecue chips

Note:  To my supportive, but blinded by love, husband and mother.  You may want to stop reading here.  I am going to use the F word and even the Big O.  I know how much you both hate it when I use these words.

Heavy.  Overweight.  Fat.  Obese. 

Say it with me, but say it correctly.  You need to say it like people say “cancer.”  Drop your voice to a near whisper and over articulate each syllable.  You know the way I mean, say it as if to say it, you may catch it.

I am fat.

The First Lady would have you believe it’s because my mother didn't breast feed me.  Residents of San Francisco want you to believe it’s because there were toys in my Happy Meals.  A large portion of society believes it is because of laziness.  I couldn’t disagree more.  I hate McDonalds.  I’ve never liked it, not even as a child.  My sister can live on it (I think she may have actually spent some periods in her life eating only McDonalds food) and she is far from fat.  I’m not lazy.  I am a hard worker and I have always been active.  That must mean it’s my mother’s fault.  Really???  Hasn’t blaming mom gotten old yet?

I am fat because I love things like cupcakes, ice cream and barbecue chips.  I really love barbeque chips.  I am fat because throughout my lifetime I have consumed too many of these bad things.  Why do bad things taste so good?!?  I could blame my family for not telling me to put my fork down and back away from the table but the reality of it is that I am fat because of my choices.  I love food.  I have always eaten too much of it.  I have made some really bad food choices.  These choices have made me obese.

Almost 4 ½ years ago (at my healthiest weight) I found out I was pregnant and almost in the same breath found out that I had full blown diabetes.  I cannot articulate the fear that ensued with this diagnosis and a very unhealthy and dangerous pregnancy.  They were only further complicated by becoming insulin dependent.  The physical and mental effect these things had on my life over the next few years seemed almost insurmountable. 

I spent the first two years of my son’s life overwhelmed by the joy that he was living and very healthy.  I was told that genetics were against him and he had a 1 in 4 chance of surviving the pregnancy.  I was paralyzed by this and never trusted his health.  Since life should never be easy or taken for granted, I also had to struggle with the loss of my sight.  My body couldn’t handle the hormones from pregnancy and as a result I lost my vision.  Several eye surgeries over 2 ½ years and it is completely restored….just without color this time. 

I got stuck.  Life with a toddler was hard.  My life felt hard.  I needed something easy.  Food is comforting and easy.  Before I knew it, it was 3 years and 40 lbs later. 

Four months ago I started Crossfit.  Three months ago I started eating Paleo (no grains, dairy or sugar.  Real food only.)  Cupcakes, ice cream and barbecue chips aren’t a part of my life anymore.  I’m not saying I will never eat any of it again because that would be unrealistic.  Where’s the joy if you can’t enjoy some ice cream now and then.  I had some the other day and it was fantastic.  I probably enjoyed it more than any other time I’ve had it because it was a special treat.  It wasn’t the snack at the end of the day, every day.

Obviously my life has changed drastically in these past four months but today I got a real glimpse of my future life.  I got the results back from my 3 month blood test, like all diabetics get regularly.  My glucose numbers have dropped down to that of a “person not at risk for diabetes.”  As of today I am no longer insulin dependent.  My doctor said if I keep on this track I will not have diabetes in a year, most likely six months.   My cholesterol was also down 70 points.  I have a few more pounds to go until I hit that 40 mark but the mental weight of those 40 pounds is long gone.  Even more exciting, my BMI has changed from obese to overweight.

Healthy.  Overweight.  Obese. 

We all have choices.  My life has become about making the right choices so I can live the life I have always wanted.  I chose to cross off obese, then overweight, on paper, on my body, in my mind and in my life.  I am going to replace fat with healthy.

5 lb Struggle

I have spent the majority of my life struggling with five pounds.  If I can just lose 5 lbs my life will be better.  I can’t believe I gained another 5 lbs.  If my newborn falls below 5 lbs he won’t leave the hospital.   Five pounds have always had such an impact on my life.  For many people, the only impact 5 lbs have on them is in their jeans.  When it comes to your jeans those 5 lbs can be the difference between a screaming button and being able to sit comfortably the entire day.  So many overweight people get annoyed when a thinner person says they need to lose weight.  Whether you need to lose 5 pounds, 10 pounds or even 100 pounds, if you are carrying around extra weight and you are uncomfortable with it on your body, than it is huge.  Five simple pounds have often been the difference between success and failure for me.

In my new “fit” life, five pounds is still weighing heavily on me.  A month ago I was lifting 55 lbs for a clean and jerk.  It didn’t seem that heavy and I could lift it fairly easily.  A few weeks ago in a moment of grand trickery, Super Coach Tony put an extra 10 lbs and then another 20 lbs on my bar and would not accept no from me.  He knew I would lift it and pushed and encouraged me until I believed I could.  I lifted those 85lbs, 100 times in a WOD with a 29:59 time.  One of the things I struggle with is lifting more weigh and going slower or lifting less and working through the WOD quicker.  I don't mind coming in last (I’ve perfected the skill) but too much weight can mean ending a good 4-5 minutes after everyone else.  

Last week I set a new PR (personal record) with a 95 clean and jerk.  I could clean the 100 lbs but just couldn't lift it over my head.  I was crushed by 5 lbs.  The first few tries were definitely mental; I got in my own way.  After that I was just exhausted and couldn't do it.  Those 5 lbs have been nagging at me.  I was so annoyed that a simple five pounds got the best of me…again.

Today I was going to beat those 5 lbs.  I started at 75 lbs just to build up the weight and momentum.  Easy. 

85. A little harder but still ok.

95.  Easy enough clean and a nice jerk.

100. Cleaned and Jerked!  I got that bitch over my head…twice!

105.  Feeling cocky.  Fail.  Walk away from it.  Rest.  Constructive criticism/supportive coaching from Elayne…it's only heavy in my head I tried to convince myself.

105.  Cleaned.  Attempted  jerk.  Fail.  Rest.

105.  Walked up to the bar.  Cleaned the 100 lbs.  Racked it on my shoulders.  Took a deep breath and….wait for it…..Fail. 

I was crushed by 5 lbs once again.  I was disappointed.  Why are 5 pounds always getting in my way?  I was really discouraged, completely disappointed in myself.  Before I could inflict any more mental abuse on myself,  Uber-coach Elayne reminded me that I went in specifically to get to 100 lbs and I did. Not only was I able to lift the 100 lbs but I got it over my head, on my first try.  In one month I have increased my clean and jerk by 50 lbs.  If Tony hadn't pushed me I would still be lifting far less weight. Success.  

I could have jerked the 105 lbs but I got in my own way.  When it comes to weight, in all contexts, I always do.  The mental weight of five pounds far outways the physical weight of five pounds.  The difference this time, I won’t back down.  Next week 105 lbs.  Next month 125 lbs.   150 by the end of the summer.  I am going to get this done, fat to fit, 5 lbs at a time.