Every so often I get busy and overwhelmed and like to bury my head in the sand and pretend I’m living someone else’s uncomplicated life. My therapist would likely toss around some label like “denial.” I prefer to think of it in more positive terms such as “coping mechanism” or “survivalist technique.” The glass is always half full (of wine) around here. Except in the final week before a race, when I typically abstain from alcohol. It’s unfortunate when this dry period coincides with…life.

Here we are, two week after my last post – practically an era in social media terms. Right now this blog should be in the midst of adolescent angst, a breakout and telling me it hates me for embarrassing it, and yet it has barely left the toddler years.

Speaking of toddlers, has anyone ever thrown a birthday party for one? I just entered the world of planning and executing such an event, as the previous years were small, family-only affairs. Thanks to Pinterest, I’m led to believe that if I don’t create a buffet of options to cater to the most discerning of three- and four-year old tastes, I have somehow failed as a parent. So there I found myself at 3 a.m. the night (morning?) before the big day, creating multiple cupcake frosting flavours and colours, threading fruit chunks in rainbow patterns onto skewers, and carefully wrapping thoughtfully-chosen loot bags for a Muppet Show-themed party my little girl will probably not remember for more than a month or two,let alone during the aforementioned turbulent teenage years (not matter how long it took me to find a dozen Kermit, Miss Piggy and Animal Pez Dispensers).

In the past few weeks, we’ve also prepared our house for a major basement renovation and I’ve started a new part-time job. And we might have run a half-marathon somewhere at the end of it all.

To make a long story longer, life happened and didn’t always leave much room for other important things like blogging and training (and stretching!). I entered my race this past weekend, the popular Harvest Half marathon through the south end of Calgary’s Fish Creek park, feeling underprepared and just plain tired.

A few minor (but potentially longer-term) injuries meant that for the several weeks leading up to race day, I was doing only my long runs after my nine weeks of hill training sessions were complete. No mid-week steady runs, no speed work like last year. I had very low expectations for the actual event, which worked both for and against me. Because I was so busy, I was mostly distracted from the usual nerves and over-analyzing that plague the final days pre-race. However, I also had the sinking feeling that my lack of preparation meant I couldn’t even attempt to make this a PR no matter how good I felt the day of.

Yet once again 21.1k (mostly) zoomed by. I remember the warm morning air of a perfect race day; nervous, excited porta-potty line-up chatter; the crunch of fall leaves under my feet; feeling good until approximately the 16k mark when queasiness overtook me; trying to focus on, and get through, the final 5k stretch; unplanned walk breaks in the final three kilometers; the glorious sight of the inflatable finish line; screaming muscles in the last 50 metre sprint when you can’t think of stopping or slowing in front of such a large crowd of spectators/witnesses, even as your legs curse your every move; victory hugs from supportive parents and your excited (to see you) kids; celebratory coffee and bananas, and of course, a new piece of hardware to add to a growing collection.

I finished in a respectable 2:13:32, not terrible for five-and-a-half months postpartum, yet my slowest half-marathon race time of the three I’ve run. Despite that, I had envisioned myself running this very race throughout nine long months of pregnancy, should I be healthy, strong and rested enough. And as someone who doesn’t always plan ahead and do the necessary work to achieve goals, this felt like a big accomplishment. Especially when I remember the struggling breaths and terrible nausea of my first short 3k run, on the May long weekend, six weeks after giving birth.

And now the past few weeks of stress and preparation and celebration all sort of blur together, which most parents tell you is a fairly normal aspect of early parenthood. However, I am just grateful at this point to have a few vivid memories of the experience – a deep breath somewhere around 6k that smells like fall crispness; deeply inhaling the scent of my daughter’s clean hair a couple nights before the race, as she meshes her fingers through my own hair at bedtime and declares “I cuddle you mommy” amid my exhaustion; a small leap of excitement seeing smiling, chubby cheeks at the finish line and the feeling of my medal crushing against my chest as I squeeze my two babies against me. They don’t know what I’ve just done – they’re just happy to see mommy.

My PR can wait until next year.

The following is a guest post from So you want to run a marathon, eh? runner Ryan Travers.
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Here I am, two weeks away from running my first marathon, thanks to iRun and the So You Want to Run a Marathon Eh? program.  My wife and I are proud of me sure, but what have I really learned.

1. Let’s begin with the actual training.  I have learned that, with focus, dedication and some accountability you can and will improve your running.  I’m really glad this turned out to be true because I tell the high school cross country and track athletes I coach the same thing every year but know I can point to myself as proof.
2. I have learned that it really is difficult to train properly for a marathon without the support of a loving partner who is willing to massage my sore legs and blistered/calloused feet after leaving her alone with an 8 and 6 year old for 4 plus hours.
3. I have made two new friends without whom I would never have been able to get through the arduous training, especially on the very hot and humid days of mid-summer.  That’s right, you may know them, Gold Bond and Body Glide.  Our relationship is a deeply personal one on many levels.
4. I have learned that it takes a very long time to go from blood blister under the toenail to the actual time the toenail falls off.  Three weeks and counting.  My kids do love the fact that I can lift the edge and they can see underneath “all the way to the back.”
5. Finally, I have learned to be careful what you wish for.  While a marathon was not really on my bucket list, my wife thought it would be funny if I filled out the application when the call went out to the Gear Test Team.  Since she has done a marathon before I thought I would humour her.  Imagine my surprise when I was selected.

All of these life lessons in about 10 weeks. I can honestly say I don’t regret it one bit.  I have met several new runners (albeit over Facebook) who are all first-timers and who I can’t wait to meet.  I have gained valuable insight into coaching which I am applying to my cross country team as we speak and soon (if all goes well) I will be able to say I’ve accomplished something very cool.  Thank you very much iRun for this opportunity.  See you in Toronto.

“Peroneal tendonitis” he said, “hopefully, not a stress fracture, too. Time will tell”.  I recall asking him, weakly, “how much time?”

“Two weeks, no running and make ice your best friend” and he didn’t mean ice, as in “on the rocks”.

As he adducted and abducted my foot, ankle and leg, his words echoed in my head. Tears slipped from my eyes. Nausea gripped my stomach and panic coursed through my veins. My brain’s default setting, on a good day, is always the same “I need a drink to handle this”, when faced with adversity, the passing thought becomes more of a fixation.

To a fly on the wall and to Glenn, my physiotherapist, I probably appeared to be ridiculous; shedding tears at the thought of two weeks off the road. I cope with emotion, any emotion, happiness, sadness, stress, anger, in one of two ways, I used to drink and now I run. If I can’t run to numb the intensity of my feelings, then bottoms up. The thing about my best friend, Coors Light, is that he’s always there for me, calling me, taunting me, tempting me. Without running as a source of comfort, distraction and support I become really nervous about my history with my old drinking buddy. All it would take is one moment of feeling pushed too far, to say screw it and take that first bittersweet guzzle, and we would be celebrating our long, lost kinship and time apart. This is only the beginning of the problem, because, while I wish time and again, that I could be like those of you who can have 1 drink and stop, I am not programmed like that. One drink is never the end, no matter how much I try to make deals with myself about having only one; enough therapy has made me accept on some very deep level that for me, my next drink will not be limited to a single; my buddy and I will be reigniting our special friendship.

I am stronger now than I was a year ago, and sobriety is not as fresh as it once was, which only means it doesn’t take as long for me to make the decision to turn the car around and head home instead of to the liquor store. Never the less, living without running for two weeks is torture for me, my husband, my kids, my co-workers, and the poor checkout lady. I can resort to “self-checkout” at the grocery store, but I cannot avoid all frustrating stimuli.   I am a miserable person on the edge of grouchiness without the soothing rhythm of the run. I could get all biological and mention endorphins and dopamine and their roles in the brain, but I’m not going to, maybe another time. The fundamental principal at work here is I need to feel good.  If a bottle or two of wine is out of the question, then I need to run, if I can’t run, I don’t feel good. If I don’t feel good, I want to drink…it’s a bit of a go around. Injury and rest come with high risk stakes. With constant thoughts of drinking, temptation is a burden I live with.

When I am at my weakest and temptation is strong, I stop and I ask myself…is my life better now or before I quit lushing the liquor? As much as I want an icy, cold beer, in my favorite frosted mug that reads “Christa”, on the front, I am quick to answer myself by admitting my life is better than ever. I love my life more than I love to drink. I love to run more than I love to drink. I am committed to a good life.

My two weeks of rest did not kill me, but they tortured my husband. I am proud to report the tendonitis had cleared, there is no stress fracture and they are still wondering where I am at the beer store.

I have been running for over 20 years without the benefit of any technology. Well, that’s not entirely true..I often train with music and my trusty disposable watch, but aside from that, nothing else. I totally fought the temptation to jump into the world of the GPS enabled watch from they day they where first put on the market.

I mean, when I was looking at them (20 some odd years ago) they were the size of a laptop, they were complicated to program …(I’m talking VCR complicated) …battery life was questionable, satellite reception was inconsistent…and I just couldn’t justify the cost.  Besides, my training was going OK, I knew my race pace for the most part, and if I didn’t then it was just going to be yet another training run…

Fast forward 20 years…and the GPS enabled watch is much improved. They are a very reasonable size and weight, battery and satellite issues have been resolved, programming and tracking data is a snap, and the cost is affordable… so as a gift to myself on my 50th birthday I purchased a GPS watch…and now can’t see ever running without it.  It tracks my every step, logs my training, tells me when I am slacking off…monitors my heart rate, and is much easier to program than my VCR.