Half of a what?

This post was written in March 2013 but I never published it. I had been in Boulder for about 6 months and still had only one child. This excerpt, however, illustrates challenges that I think many of us have with parenting, running, and moving to higher ground. I’d be interested to hear in the comments if you find you relate to any of this!

March 2016 - Lucky Laces 5k in Denver

Half of a what?

I have been a distance runner since high school. I had never been particularly interested in or adept at team sports such as soccer or basketball, but envied the team camaraderie enjoyed by my athlete friends. After hearing from some other girls I knew (who were about as athletic as I was) that the track team took pretty much anyone, I went out for it. The very first training run, where they just took you out on the streets in the school’s neighborhood to see how long you’d last, I ran the full three miles led by the captains. Thus, a distance runner was born. I was about 14 at the time. (Wow, that means I’ve been running for 20+ years! Yeouch!) Since then, I have run 7 marathons and more half-marathons, 10-milers, 10k’s 5k’s and other races than I can count. When my husband was deployed to Iraq with the Air Force, I even decided to train for my first sprint triathlon as a distraction, which also got me interested in swimming. I’m still working on becoming interested in cycling.

All this to say that I consider myself a veteran runner who loves spending weekend mornings at races filled with other joyful runners. For the last seven years, I lived in Washington, D.C., which has a surprising number of runners, running groups, and organized races. My almost daily runs included views of the Potomac River, Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, and the Capitol Building.  I did races at least once a month and sometimes even more often during the fall and spring, when the most races are held. I loved it! I had a great running buddy named Celine, who also happens to be one of my best friends, and together we tackled all sorts of running challenges. Since we both lived downtown, we could usually walk or jog to the starting line and then reward ourselves with a post-race breakfast on the way home. Then I’d nap in the afternoon. Those were the days! (I should also mention that I did not have a child for most of this period, and that my husband was stationed elsewhere for two and a half years of this time, so I was essentially living the single life, minus the dating.)

Now things are different. My husband and I finally live together again, which is great! We have an adorable little toddler, and six months ago we made a big move to Boulder, Colorado. Boulder is known as a mecca for runners, especially elite distance runners who want to train at altitude so that they can breeze on down to sea level and kick butt at national and international competitions. But there is a reason that they want to train at altitude: it is hard! The air is much thinner up here, and it takes some people a long time to get their lungs acclimated. I’m not sure how long for me, but more than six months it turns out*. Plus, unless you want to do a really long run, you’ll likely have to drive to a race or drive to a trailhead to run, and I hate driving to run. I just want to open my door and run! Spoiled, I know. Ah, D.C.

Anyway, a couple of months ago I was feeling a bit blue about not doing races any more, mostly due to the logistical issues associated with getting up and out to an early morning race with a young child in tow, and I signed myself up for a few. It seemed like a really good idea at the time. Now, the half marathon (13.1 miles) I registered and paid for months ago is just two weeks away, and the longest run I’ve done in the last, um, six months, is six miles, and that was only four days ago! And it hurt! So I’m panicking a bit.

Last weekend I did a St Patrick’s Day 7k (approx. 4.2 miles) in downtown Denver, which was great. Unfortunately, we realized when we got out there that it was much too cold for the little one to be outside that whole time, so my husband and son took refuge at a friend’s house while I ran and then drank my celebratory post-run beer alone. Actually I chugged it really fast because by then the boys were waiting to pick me up, so it didn’t feel quite as festive as it might have. In any case, the run was fun, but it was less than a third of what I need to do in two weeks on a much more challenging course. I think I’d better stop typing now and go run.

*Note: Ultimately it took me a good 2 years before I could do a run of 3+ miles without getting winded and having to take walk breaks.