Running stuff here
I've missed LJ for a while now, and since people have started making noises on FB about it, I decided to dip back in.
I'll start with a bit of running notes. I have other stuff to share, but I'll wait a bit on that.
I've been training for my 3rd half marathon on October 9 in Newport. My goal is sub-2-hour. Here is part 1 of my journey.
Let me back waaaay up. Like, back to childhood.
Prior to hitting puberty, I was a rather skinny thing. And I loved running. I remember being in a little running competition around a baseball diamond in elementary school. I came in second - only bested by one boy. I was considered a little boyish and athletic. Boys teased me by changing the words for "Georgie Porgie" to "Angie Pangie" (a translitteration that makes sense in the peculiar patois of south coast Massachusetts, as my name was pronounced AynJhreeUh). I played baseball with my friends, mostly as catcher with the occasional foray into left fielder. I even showed up to try out for little league, but they were pretty adamant about the whole "boys-only" thing. Then when I was 10 we moved to Indiana, which was a considerable shock to my system. This coincided with hitting puberty. My body transformed from slender-but-sturdy to chunky-with-breasts. In 6th grade, there was a "decathlon" type of event where each kids competed in a series of different athletic efforts. These included jumping rope and running a set number of laps around the gym. These happened to be 2 activities at which I excelled, and once again I placed second overall. It was a surprise to many, since by that point I did not seem to have an athletic build. I was also a perennial outsider with a funny accent, so my victory was chalked up to how most of the other kids didn't care about the competition. Looking back I realize that in spite of my changing body, I still kept quite active.
In middle school I decided to be on the track team. By this time most of my peers had also hit puberty, and so there was a very real discrepancy in heights (and body types). I was short and chunky, whereas many of the other girls were tall(er) and more willowy. My coach took one look at me and told me I would never make a good runner because I was too short and fat. I decided to join anyway (at this level there was no concept of "trying out"). The tall/skinny girls were in the 100m and the 1600m, and based almost exclusively on my height/weight my coach stuck me in the 400m (a distance most other students didn't like). At the time, I didn't have the aerobic endurance to go longer than that. So all of my training focused on that distance. And I sucked at it. Seriously. I think I routinely came in next-to-last at meets all season. My mother hated my running (she considered it unladylike), but my dad went to every meet. I am incredibly grateful to him for that.
I gave running up after 1 year. I avoided all organized sports in high school, preferring to walk extensively and ride my bike. I never gave up exercise, but for some reason that whole middle school experience made me think I just wasn't athletic. During the gym test at orientation in college, I tested out of all but one semester of the PE requirement. Ironically, it was my poor performance in the 1-mile-run test that did me in (yes, I passed th swim test in spite of being afraid of water - thanks to my strong backstroke). For my 1 PE class, I decided to take weight training. I was the ONLY girl in the class, and I loved it. I had finally found something that others thought I was good at. So when the class ended I kept it up. I build muscle easily, especially in my legs and back. Sadly, I also carry a lot of pudge in those places. These 2 factors combined to give me a high BMI. And given that my fat tends to cover my muscles, my doctors always interpreted me as being somewhat unhealthy and unathletic.
In my 20's I hit the gym 3x/week, mostly step aerobics (ah the 80s) and weight training with low weight/high reps, trying to lose weight. I did manage to get down to a "healthy" weight - 110#. But looking back at photos, I was kinda unhealthy looking. I still had a lot of pudge in my legs (and belly), but my ribs were prominent. I was happy with the number on the scale, as were my doctors. When I met my ex (Tony) in my late 20's I weighed about 115#. And he thought I was fat. So he decided to teach me how to run, since that's one of the best ways to lose weight. T had learned how to run in the army, so he was all about distance. I remember the first time he took me out to run I could barely run a mile, and he complained that I ran so slowly that his knees hurt if he tried to run beside me. So he trained me on a treadmill for the first year. I worked up to running for 30 minutes at about a 9 min/mile pace, then we started running outside again. He became frustrated because he wanted to gain weight/bulk, and running wasn't helping. But I decided to keep running, and I made the 4 mile loop from our Beacon Street apartment to the public garden and back my regular 3x/week run.
While I enjoyed running once again, I still never really felt like I could call myself a runner. But I kept it up on and off for the next 10 years. Right before Fred and I got married, I did a summer-long "fitness bootcamp." I had set an informal goal of getting down in weight to below 130#. I almost made it, but I still didn't really feel like I was an athlete. And in my photos from the wedding, I still felt like I looked fat. After the wedding, I decided to do my very first road race - the Tufts 10K. I had never run that far before, but I figured one more mile wasn't too much of a stretch. It was great, and I remember being shocked by my time (8:30 min/mile average). Unfortunately I didn't run much after that event. I had been laid off from my job, and I started working at the Boston Shaker over the winter. I was getting a lot of walking in going to/from work and being on my feet all day. Then I started another job with a car commute, and scheduling exercise became a chore. My father's health also started taking a nosedive, and the stress contributed to a 10# weight gain. After my father died, I decided to train for a sprint triathlon. I concentrated on swimming, since it was my weakest event. I did fairly well on the 5K run part and turned in another 9 min/mile performance. But then delayed grief set in and I gained another 6# over the next few years. My weight hovered around 140-145# for the next few years. I tried to work in some running, but I never could keep it up given my hectic travel schedule.
When I started at MIT in 2014, I ran a few times with the other Sloan Fellow runners, but it was apparent that I was the slowpoke so I didn't keep it up. I remember looking at the pictures from that year (OMG so many pictures, seriously Sloan Fellows are total camera/selfie whores) and omg I looked fat and OLD, and I had turkey neck. This is not what I imagined myself to look like at almost-50. So after a post-graduation month of slothfulness, I decided to go back to the gym. But I didn't want to run. Instead I drank the koolaid about how weight training ramps up your metabolism and makes you lose weight. And yes, in the first few weeks I lost a few pounds and I started fitting into my clothes a bit better. I decided to ramp it up and (more koolaid) try High Intensity Interval Training (on the stationary bike). I followed the training program faithfully. And after 4 weeks I gained 2 pounds back. I remember bursting into tears when I stepped on the bathroom scale. Fred tried to remind me that it was probably water/muscle is heavier than fat/etc. But it didn't matter. I was still fat. And most definitely NOT an athlete (in spite of the fact that I was lifting 5x/week). Frustrated, I decided, "Fuck it. I'm running."
I tried 6.0 mph on the treadmill. And I felt like I was going to die after 1 mile. Just like back in middle school. Just like my college fitness test.
So, I started slooowwwlllyyy. I resolved to make each session at least 4 miles 3x/week. Walk at 4.0, then jog a bit at 4.5. Walk some more, then just a bit at 5.0. Just kept at it, inching up the speed. It felt like it took forever. But after about 1 month, I was back to a 9 min/mile pace. And after 2 months, I'd gotten back down to 140#. It was at just about that point that I decided to train in earnest for a half marathon.
I'll start with a bit of running notes. I have other stuff to share, but I'll wait a bit on that.
I've been training for my 3rd half marathon on October 9 in Newport. My goal is sub-2-hour. Here is part 1 of my journey.
Let me back waaaay up. Like, back to childhood.
Prior to hitting puberty, I was a rather skinny thing. And I loved running. I remember being in a little running competition around a baseball diamond in elementary school. I came in second - only bested by one boy. I was considered a little boyish and athletic. Boys teased me by changing the words for "Georgie Porgie" to "Angie Pangie" (a translitteration that makes sense in the peculiar patois of south coast Massachusetts, as my name was pronounced AynJhreeUh). I played baseball with my friends, mostly as catcher with the occasional foray into left fielder. I even showed up to try out for little league, but they were pretty adamant about the whole "boys-only" thing. Then when I was 10 we moved to Indiana, which was a considerable shock to my system. This coincided with hitting puberty. My body transformed from slender-but-sturdy to chunky-with-breasts. In 6th grade, there was a "decathlon" type of event where each kids competed in a series of different athletic efforts. These included jumping rope and running a set number of laps around the gym. These happened to be 2 activities at which I excelled, and once again I placed second overall. It was a surprise to many, since by that point I did not seem to have an athletic build. I was also a perennial outsider with a funny accent, so my victory was chalked up to how most of the other kids didn't care about the competition. Looking back I realize that in spite of my changing body, I still kept quite active.
In middle school I decided to be on the track team. By this time most of my peers had also hit puberty, and so there was a very real discrepancy in heights (and body types). I was short and chunky, whereas many of the other girls were tall(er) and more willowy. My coach took one look at me and told me I would never make a good runner because I was too short and fat. I decided to join anyway (at this level there was no concept of "trying out"). The tall/skinny girls were in the 100m and the 1600m, and based almost exclusively on my height/weight my coach stuck me in the 400m (a distance most other students didn't like). At the time, I didn't have the aerobic endurance to go longer than that. So all of my training focused on that distance. And I sucked at it. Seriously. I think I routinely came in next-to-last at meets all season. My mother hated my running (she considered it unladylike), but my dad went to every meet. I am incredibly grateful to him for that.
I gave running up after 1 year. I avoided all organized sports in high school, preferring to walk extensively and ride my bike. I never gave up exercise, but for some reason that whole middle school experience made me think I just wasn't athletic. During the gym test at orientation in college, I tested out of all but one semester of the PE requirement. Ironically, it was my poor performance in the 1-mile-run test that did me in (yes, I passed th swim test in spite of being afraid of water - thanks to my strong backstroke). For my 1 PE class, I decided to take weight training. I was the ONLY girl in the class, and I loved it. I had finally found something that others thought I was good at. So when the class ended I kept it up. I build muscle easily, especially in my legs and back. Sadly, I also carry a lot of pudge in those places. These 2 factors combined to give me a high BMI. And given that my fat tends to cover my muscles, my doctors always interpreted me as being somewhat unhealthy and unathletic.
In my 20's I hit the gym 3x/week, mostly step aerobics (ah the 80s) and weight training with low weight/high reps, trying to lose weight. I did manage to get down to a "healthy" weight - 110#. But looking back at photos, I was kinda unhealthy looking. I still had a lot of pudge in my legs (and belly), but my ribs were prominent. I was happy with the number on the scale, as were my doctors. When I met my ex (Tony) in my late 20's I weighed about 115#. And he thought I was fat. So he decided to teach me how to run, since that's one of the best ways to lose weight. T had learned how to run in the army, so he was all about distance. I remember the first time he took me out to run I could barely run a mile, and he complained that I ran so slowly that his knees hurt if he tried to run beside me. So he trained me on a treadmill for the first year. I worked up to running for 30 minutes at about a 9 min/mile pace, then we started running outside again. He became frustrated because he wanted to gain weight/bulk, and running wasn't helping. But I decided to keep running, and I made the 4 mile loop from our Beacon Street apartment to the public garden and back my regular 3x/week run.
While I enjoyed running once again, I still never really felt like I could call myself a runner. But I kept it up on and off for the next 10 years. Right before Fred and I got married, I did a summer-long "fitness bootcamp." I had set an informal goal of getting down in weight to below 130#. I almost made it, but I still didn't really feel like I was an athlete. And in my photos from the wedding, I still felt like I looked fat. After the wedding, I decided to do my very first road race - the Tufts 10K. I had never run that far before, but I figured one more mile wasn't too much of a stretch. It was great, and I remember being shocked by my time (8:30 min/mile average). Unfortunately I didn't run much after that event. I had been laid off from my job, and I started working at the Boston Shaker over the winter. I was getting a lot of walking in going to/from work and being on my feet all day. Then I started another job with a car commute, and scheduling exercise became a chore. My father's health also started taking a nosedive, and the stress contributed to a 10# weight gain. After my father died, I decided to train for a sprint triathlon. I concentrated on swimming, since it was my weakest event. I did fairly well on the 5K run part and turned in another 9 min/mile performance. But then delayed grief set in and I gained another 6# over the next few years. My weight hovered around 140-145# for the next few years. I tried to work in some running, but I never could keep it up given my hectic travel schedule.
When I started at MIT in 2014, I ran a few times with the other Sloan Fellow runners, but it was apparent that I was the slowpoke so I didn't keep it up. I remember looking at the pictures from that year (OMG so many pictures, seriously Sloan Fellows are total camera/selfie whores) and omg I looked fat and OLD, and I had turkey neck. This is not what I imagined myself to look like at almost-50. So after a post-graduation month of slothfulness, I decided to go back to the gym. But I didn't want to run. Instead I drank the koolaid about how weight training ramps up your metabolism and makes you lose weight. And yes, in the first few weeks I lost a few pounds and I started fitting into my clothes a bit better. I decided to ramp it up and (more koolaid) try High Intensity Interval Training (on the stationary bike). I followed the training program faithfully. And after 4 weeks I gained 2 pounds back. I remember bursting into tears when I stepped on the bathroom scale. Fred tried to remind me that it was probably water/muscle is heavier than fat/etc. But it didn't matter. I was still fat. And most definitely NOT an athlete (in spite of the fact that I was lifting 5x/week). Frustrated, I decided, "Fuck it. I'm running."
I tried 6.0 mph on the treadmill. And I felt like I was going to die after 1 mile. Just like back in middle school. Just like my college fitness test.
So, I started slooowwwlllyyy. I resolved to make each session at least 4 miles 3x/week. Walk at 4.0, then jog a bit at 4.5. Walk some more, then just a bit at 5.0. Just kept at it, inching up the speed. It felt like it took forever. But after about 1 month, I was back to a 9 min/mile pace. And after 2 months, I'd gotten back down to 140#. It was at just about that point that I decided to train in earnest for a half marathon.