Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head... and sneakers

I normally avoid running in the rain; it's one of the reasons I have a gym membership.  On Friday, however, I needed to do a 15 mile run and it was raining and there was no way I was doing 15 miles on a treadmill -- a girl needs some standards.  And because of scheduling conflicts, I couldn't put this run off.  In the back of my mind I knew that running in bad weather was a necessary evil.  After all, what if it rained on race day? I needed to know I could power through, even in less than ideal conditions.

So after weather.com assured me once again that it was not going to stop raining for the rest of the day, I laced up for what was going to be my longest run ever and my first experience with rain running.  Water belt: check. ipod in plastic baggie: check. Waterproof headphones: check. Baseball cap to keep rain out of my face: check.  Route mapped out: check. Could everything on my person get wet and would I still survive?  yes and yes.  And so I was off.

The first few miles were pretty nice.  I actually found that since I was concentrating on the rain, I wasn't thinking much about running and so the distance sort of melted away.  It also turns out that the rain feels pretty nice when you're running, especially in humidity.  I ran along Rock Creek Park and down past Watergate at which point the trail opens up and the Potomac appears on your right.  I watched the rain hit the water's surface; an uninterrupted downpour of grey on murkier grey.  I passed the Lincoln Memorial and the brave tourists with their umbrellas and their cameras. I passed the Korean War Memorial with the troop of hunched soldiers in their heavy ponchos and was reminded that there are much more challenging things than running.  That monument always gives me chills.

Every time the rare runner passed I felt a sense of camaraderie; we're both braving this weather to run!  We're both sopping wet! We're hardcore!  Of course, it wouldn't really be fair to call myself hardcore at this point -- I never run in the rain. These people passing me probably ran in the rain all the time.  Weather probably meant nothing to them.  They laughed in the face of weather. If there was a way to eat weather for breakfast, these people probably did it as a pre-race snack.  I was an impostor, pretending to be a part of their hardcore, weather-eating club when this was in fact my inaugural race.  I was accustomed to oatmeal!

By mile 10 the rain was coming down a lot harder and the puddles were getting bigger and I knew that I could either duck out now and finish at the gym or, because of my route, be committed to finishing the last few miles in the storm.  Maybe it was a lame decision, but I opted to finish on the treadmill.  I felt confident that 10+ miles in the rain were adequate to prove to myself that I could do it and honestly, I was just completely soaked - sneakers, pants, hat - the works.  So I finished my run at the gym and then ran back home. And I felt good!  The last few miles were tough and my legs were definitely tired, but this was one of the first runs where I have started to feel like I can actually reach 26.2 miles.  Maybe it was crossing the half-marathon point and getting closer to the length of the full race.  Or maybe it was that even at 10 miles in, I still felt pretty strong.  In any case, my rain run gave me more confidence going forward and made me feel good about training (I had sort of started getting nervous and psyching myself out a little, and I know that that is a big danger with distance running).  I feel good knowing I have almost 2 months till the race and things are on track.  Oh god, a track -- can you imagine running 15 on a track?  60 laps. SIXTY. Maybe rain isn't so bad after all.

Destination San Diego Half Marathon

Yesterday I ran a half marathon. I am still having a little trouble digesting this fact because it was such a non-event, in comparison to the two other times I have ever run that distance.  I've run the Philadelphia Half Marathon in 2009 and in 2010 and so my past experiences running a full 13.1 miles have been comprised of big crowds, crisp temperatures, commemorative shirts, thousands of other runners, and adrenaline.  Sweet, sweet adrenaline.  And then at the end, you get a medal! And a banana!  And other such food that your recovering body craves! You take pictures and revel in that post-race glow and marvel that your legs have stopped moving for the first time in 2+ hours. You get a free massage, for god's sake.

My run yesterday, in comparison, was just a training run.  And in some ways it was a special one because I'm in San Diego visiting a good friend and was able to plot a course that took me through Balboa Park and along the Pacific Ocean and then -- and this was weird -- past the San Diego Airport (a necessary course to get to Harbor Island Drive Park, but a pretty boring stretch).  I got to explore a city by foot, which is one of my favorite ways of seeing a place.  But it was 13.1 miles that were largely alone, especially because this run was on a Monday, when most of the rest of the world is at work.  By the last 3 miles I was running along a touristy section of Harbor Drive.  My legs were burning and feeling the ache as I dodged the tourists and pedicabs.  When I squeezed my fists I could feel the salt build-up, the grittiness upon my skin a sign that my body knew this was serious.  But to the tourists taking up the whole damn promenade (cause let's face it -- it's not fun to admit, but by this point I was silently cursing anyone in my path whom I had to run around and expend any more energy than was necessary to get to the finish -- those inconsiderate bastards!!) I was just another runner out for a nice morning jog.

Really, it doesn't usually matter to me how people consider me when I'm on a run.  Part of what I like about running is clearing my head and using the time to push my body according to my own limits -- it's not about competing with others in any way.  I have been forever scarred by being the slowest runner on my High School track team and now I run against myself and no one else.  But in comparison to the last 3 miles of a big race, my final miles yesterday felt anticlimactic and almost alienating.  When I reached the end, I stopped my Nike+ tracker and Lance Armstrong's voice came on, congratulating me on "my longest run yet!"  (note: this is because it registered as 13.11 for some reason instead of 13.10.  This was not purposeful, believe me.  If I could have run .01 less, it would have happened).   But aside from Lance, there was nothing.  Tourists kept milling about, none of them holding congratulatory signs, none of them even giving me a banana.  I walked up the hill to my friend's apartment, stretched, showered, and ate some crackers with peanut butter.  No medal. No free massage.  I still felt like I accomplished something, but this time my run was not the goal in and of itself.  It was just a step on my way towards running twice that distance.  I should mention that while Lance was talking to me post-run, I had the terrifying thought that "in just over two months you are planning on running double that amount."  DOUBLE.  Later, in the shower, I thought "Yup, you'd still be running now."  Lying on the couch even later I started to have the same thought and quickly pushed it out of my mind.  I know that training for a marathon is part physical but also part mental.  So freaking myself out is not the way to accomplish this goal.   Bad Lauren.  Bad.  Instead, I guess I just need to remember that running 13.1 miles, with or without an official race, is a big deal for me and I should feel great about that.  And that I have a whole 10 weeks left to get to the 26.2.  And it's going to be okay.  It has to be.  I mean, with Lance on my side, how can I not do this?