Eugene 1/2 marathon report

Even under the thin veil of a "coach" contract held last year from Brooks ID, I felt like a daughter to a part of the sport, dedicated to representing even if I wasn't fully represented. I held myself in higher contention, took myself more seriously. It was small, but large enough to inspire me forward.

I worked towards redesigning my attitude on running; working from being too depressed to run, to the social goal of running Boston, to a serious goal of making the trials. And I thought if I were only moving upward, only improving, that I'd really deserve that xx support, plus, perhaps create more opportunities for support. That I would have validated my status. But things don't work that way (linearly), which lyfe teaches me again and again, but I am of the faith that if you put your head down and grind, something, even if it doesn't look like you hoped it would, will proffer as a benefit to your dedication.

This is really fun. It's like chess. Except you're playing against a community and consumerist-culture, and time & aging & bigwigs or small frys making decisions behind big wigs. You make a few moves, perhaps confident in some, not so much in others, and you wait, for what feels like forever for the mass to make theirs. You're this one person, with your own set of thoughts, and you've got to be confident in yourself despite the things that happen to you and because of you, along the way. Everything hangs on how you are perceived, or how well you can represent yourself, or numbers, always numbers, and my least favorite - who you know. At times, luck definitely plays a role.

Self-pity is an easy coat to wear. It's comfortable. Like, if I can be mad first, then I can offstep disappointment, lack of desire, the honest sensation which is - how long can I believe in this?  How I see sponsorship is like a cloud. It's good to you as long as you fit the weather pattern, but greener pastures, cloud moves to water the greener. Illusionary and protective all together.

What I want is to be believed in. I want that belief to bely in the moments when I forget, when I falter, so I can lean on something other than me. But I don't want a sort of desperation about it. I'd rather be on my own than desperate for an organization to believe.

Through these thoughts I developed a training plan, overtrained, became iron deficient, and found a more conclusive answer regarding my pube, all of which was a package deal I had to come to terms with leading into Eugene. And despite a really nice lead up, a great stay over in Portland with Red's wonderful friends & their family, I had a hard time digesting that I was about to underperform knowingly. I got a little angsty, shut down, opted out of what I knew would be really wonderful bonding with my team, and stood on the outside of the elite circle as we discussed the course, feeling, just, irritated. Still, a small piece of me believed in the potential for magic.

Trip to Portland:

LB, her gorg mom, Red & I ate a rich meal at an italian cafe created within a house in Eugene. I took a hot shower to relax, and we went to bed early. 4:45 am the next morning: hotel coffee, banana and Powerbar, Red dropped me off at Hayward, and I warmed up with LB & Ber. I limped the warmup, my knee still in pain from the bike crash, enough so that I took a bunch of 222's & Ber tried to get me to drop out; in my head, there was too much I had sacrificed to get there, and I was not about to not go through with it, despite my ability. The 222's kicked in for a perfect pain-free window of 1hr22minutes.

In the bathroom I put on my love, Mad J's, red Mac lipstick. As I traced my lips, women in flossy race kits seemed to pause and wonder - like, either, What the hell? Or, Interesting. Pre-race application of lipstick is kind of dorky & self-righteous because people might think a leg swing or visualization is more important. However, I'm really trying to combine my soul with my exterior, hence, wearing Mads J on my lips.

I did a minimal warmup & lined up with LB. The first 2-3 miles felt really nice. I was clocking between 5:40-47's, and it felt free. I allowed myself that totally off, naive thought that I could hold it forever, that I was magic, that everything could go well despite it having not gone well, and then.

I just knew. The "wheelhouse." My energy's ability to overcome and adapt. There was no push, no strong drive of the knee, no sensation except for a thin veil of acid trickling through the course of my insides kind of like wearing a see through dress exposed, you feel a little something, but the substance is gone. And when I knew, I knew, and accepted it within seconds. I accepted it willingly and with pride and realized, that for the first time in a long time, I could enjoy a race by choice. I backed off to an avg. of 6:18's, and felt better. I got the opportunity to run with Ber and then LB for a portion of the race & felt good to encourage them faster, beyond, ahead, get out of here. It was nice to race for something outside of myself.

It was with immense pleasure that I could finish within a minute of LB, someone I could look forward to seeing at the finish line, to make me feel like I hadn't experienced this thing alone. I was anxious to see the rest of the team come through, it felt like I had moved my unwilling legs for them, and because of them, and I wanted to see them cross the line in pain and happiness. Nikki came through, surviving & healthy enough, having battled a chronic hamstring irritation, then Aly, who looked like she needed a beer, with Eugene Marathon staff cupping her armpits (she had a solid PR). Then Al, who struggled against a pretty bad asthma attack to the point where they were going to wheel her away mid-race (and she just left & continued running - badass), and there we were throwing her water and borrowed inhalers & all pissed because how can you ever plan for such? We had a real rickety cool down, and dispersed, back to our adult lives.

Ber, I, Nikki, Al, LB, Aly

Red had to do the whole drive back because I was nauseous and cramping. And I'm really pissed I didn't drink, eat voodoo donuts or celebrate in any way. That is, until GOT later that evening over wine and pizza and a massage thick in coconut oil.

So let's see. I tackled my A race in Z form.  In a way I was a teammate, but I could have been better. I learned some things about myself and others. The course was nice, I did enjoy it, including the hills. But most of all, I'm thrilled to have met Red's friends who paint their lives in a way I could only wish to, and am excited to drink all this coagulated bloodrust iron to get myself back to feeling fast again.


*Big thanks to Ian Dobson, the Eugene Marathon, all the crowd support, Mad J's lipstick, Grandma Jean & Bill & their "shoe money," Team Moms looking gorgeous on the sidelines, Red, that guy that walked with Al & made sure she was ok even though he too was hurting, Nikki for all the advice on things I don't have a mind for, Aly for just being a babe, all the time, Catherine Watkins for being such a fierce and beautiful marathoning mother (someone to look up to when it comes to humility and prowess), Team BDP, wine, and Jon Snow. Winter is coming.