I can’t remember the last time I ran without any pain. No tugging in my calves, no aching in my feet or knees, nothing. This week has me feeling like my old self again (after six months I thought it would never happen. To say I had given up hope is a severe understatement). I had forgotten what it was like to return from a run and feel unstoppable, not falling apart. I was completely taken by surprise this week when I looked down at my watch on a short run and realized my average pace was what it was before I got injured, not to mention that I was running comfortably.

I am looking forward to this month and running strong.

I’m kicking off October with Bridge to Bridge in San Francisco. I’m using the 14k as an easy test run for my goal race, the Nike Women’s Half Marathon that’s only three weeks out! Yikes!

This week I’m amping up the midweek milage to make up for cutting back on my long run (I will end up running 7 point something miles instead of the 12 that’s on my calendar). I decided not to stress about peaking at 10 miles and focus on total milage for the week instead of sweating what I did or didn’t run this weekend. And since my longest run was only 9 miles before SeaWheeze, I feel pretty good about it.

The moment you realize you’re vain isn’t a very comfortable one.

For years I was the wild child who refused to let her hair be brushed or tamed in any way. I wore whatever I wanted and didn’t care.

I went to schools with uniforms for 13 years of my life. I didn’t really understand what it was like to have to pick out an outfit or worry if what I was wearing represented ME. That was the point of the uniform.

Now I’m apparently the girl who turns her nose up at solid, comfortable running shoes because they are ugly. I got my first pair of these when I was injured. I wore them with shame. Shame that I was injured and shame that I was wearing running shoes to work. Not even attractive or in style, intentional tennis shoes. These shoes were my burden. I dreamed of wearing my flats, my barefoot running shoes, my bright teal running shoes – anything but these.

I went to the running store this weekend full of hope of moving on. My injury is mostly under control, my mileage is steady, and my big race is just around the corner. I daydreamed of blue shoes, bright colors, and all of the fun I’m going to have in them this fall. It was going to be glorious.

Then I tried on pretty shoe after bright neon shoe, and none of them fit. The vain girl inside of me got mad. Why couldn’t I have bright blue shoes like my brother or the other runners I know? And then it hit me. They are just shoes.

These shoes took me from injury to an amazing trip to Vancouver. They comforted my aching arches and ankles and gave my friends a good laugh. They helped me bond with new coworkers and feel grounded while traveling. These shoes went over horrible miles and helped me run away from one of the most dangerous situations I’ve ever been in. It’s time to be the girl who doesn’t care anymore. Feet happy? Check. Nothing else matters with running shoes.

Life lesson: Get over it. They are just shoes.

The day after the race I got an email asking me if I wanted to run again next year. Registration was marked for less than a month away. I instantly began an obsessive (mostly internal) debate. Part of me really wanted to run it again, but the other part of me that thought I was going to die for the last two miles of the race and for hours after it was finished thought otherwise.

I was still on the fence until my mom started talking about how great it would be to go back to Vancouver, and that maybe she would run it too. This was huge. My mom has an opposite of a bucket list (it rhymes with bucket and starts with an ‘f”). It’s full of things she would never, ever do like skydive, join the Polar Bear Club, or run a half.

She decided to leave it up to fate. If we both made it into the race she would run.

I decided we were making it happen. At 10:03 this morning I got us into SeaWheeze.

Sorry, mom. Looks like you are going to have to cross this one off your list.

One of the reasons I wanted to run SeaWheeze was because the night of the half there is a huge sunset festival in Stanley Park with yoga and music. After seeing all of last year’s pictures I knew it was too good to pass up.

After finally recovering from the run (see my race update here), I stumbled down to the Vancouver Convention Center to take a complimentary shuttle to Stanley Park for the festival. I have never been so happy to sit on a school bus before in my life.

The first thing I saw when I entered was a huge trapeze. It looked so cool! I heavily considered trying it, but after finally overcoming my injury and being able to complete the half, I really didn’t want to blow the Nike Women’s Half in October with a broken ankle. Instead I spent a great amount of my time watching everyone else swing and flip (and listening to all of the yells of sheer joy/terror). While we waited they had a running slideshow of photos from the morning’s race which was really fun (and thankfully didn’t include me).

The festival kicked off with yoga and it was so fun. The instructor, Eoin Finn, clearly hadn’t ever run a half before (really Utkatasana? Dude, no.), but his jokes and general relaxed demeanor made it part entertainment, part relaxing yoga, and part get to know your neighbor (really well if you took his advice to slap your neighbor’s ass as a congrats for running).

After yoga The Colourist took the stage and played a fun set. I liked their music, but it wasn’t until they played their last song that I realized I had heard them many times before on a Songza playlist I listen to at work. (Since then I have been obsessed with this song.)

Capital Cities played next, but I was so beat that I only stayed for a few songs. When I was getting ready to leave I decided I didn’t feel like waiting in line for a shuttle. I convinced myself it would be faster to just walk back (HUGE MISTAKE). I hobbled the few MILES back to the hotel, kicking myself the entire time for not taking the shuttle. Every time a school bus would drive by me (which was frequently since I walked back along the shuttle route) I wanted to beg them to let me on. But if I had done that, I wouldn’t have seen how beautiful Vancouver was at night. Stunning.

SeaWheeze was at the top of bucket list this year. I spent more than six months dreaming of running along The Seawall. After not being able to train until 11 weeks before the race, I was panicked I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t make it. I wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. I wouldn’t even get to the start line.

It felt amazing to line up and know there was a damn good chance I was actually going to finish it.

When I first got to the corrals 30 minutes before the race I was a little worried everyone else knew something I didn’t. It was incredibly empty. I lined up in the 2:15-2:30 corral hoping to not go out too fast and make it back. I spent about 15 minutes before the start watching the 1:45 pacer get everyone around him excited. One day I will be there, but this wasn’t the day.

About 10 minutes before the race was going to start it got PACKED. People were jumping the fence blocking off the corrals and shoving themselves into any available space, regardless of time (which made it a bit of a mess for the first few miles as runners took off like a rocket to try to catch a pacer or created obstacles everyone else had to go around). 

(Apparently my nervous, pre-race jitters make my head itchy.)

My goal was to start the race slow and add a little speed as I went. I would love to say I did amazingly at this… but let’s be real. My watch wasn’t picking up an accurate pace at the beginning so I was running on feel (aka pure adrenaline). I will say I was zen about people speeding past me and not feeling like I had to keep up. I knew eventually I would find my people and we would all run at the same pace like one big, sweaty, happy family. What I didn’t realize is that it would take almost 8 miles to get there.

The good news is that I was planning to run between 11 and 10 minutes per mile for most of the race, and I kept on pace for the most part (my average pace was actually 10:21 not too shabby, but definitely some room for consistency). For the first 5 miles I felt GREAT. Okay, mostly great. I was sore from a stupid run I did with a friend when I was supposed to be tapering (doesn’t everyone run really fast during taper? No?). My poor calves protested from step one across the start line and my hope that they would loosen didn’t totally happen.

The race starts in downtown Vancouver and for the first mile or so it winds through the tall buildings. (See the full course here.) It then brought us past Rogers Arena (the closest I had ever been to a real hockey stadium) and down into Chinatown. From there we had our first major aid station (hallelujah, water!). We ran through the city a bit more on our way to Burrard Bridge and into Kitsilano for a few miles.

It was somewhere on the Burrard Bridge that I decided I could go for the unreachable. It was around mile 5.5 that I realized I hadn’t even been running for an hour yet. My secret it-would-be-really-amazing-but-unlikely goal of breaking 2 hours at this race crossed my mind and stuck around a little too long. I picked up the pace and powered up and down the bridge’s hills and tried to keep pushing a little harder on what felt like the never ending down and back in Kitsilano. My legs were killing me as I came back up the bridge, but I was feeling strong and ready to tackle the second half of the race.

(Thankfully there is no photo evidence of me tripping around the corner in the background of this photo and windmilling my arms to stay upright. It’s always unnerving when you make the crowd gasp. #Klutz)

After the bridge (and seeing my parents again for another super sweaty high five) we headed down to the water. The view was gorgeous! Too bad I was so busy trying to keep my legs moving and to not trip that I didn’t take in too much of it. Every once in a while I would look out over the water to the mountains beyond and it would hit me how lucky I was to be there.

We ran along The Seawall in Stanely Park in a pretty solid group (not too many people tried to shove their way ahead along the narrower path). Unfortunately I hand’t brought music because I thought I would like the crowd to cheer me on. I was wishing desperately I had it here since all I had to listen to was everyone’s breathing and the random squawk of a seagull. Despite the lack of external motivation, I kept my pace and my head up. I was still toying with what it would feel like to finish in under or close to 2 hours and I was pretty determined.

With only a 5k to go (and the finish line far far away as far as my eyes were telling me) I picked up the pace by 45 seconds (not recommended). I hauled ass for a mile and a half before the serious pain and struggle set in. I was so thirsty and starting to get nauseous from the intense effort. I was desperate for some water, but there were only a couple of aid stations along The Seawall. It wouldn’t be until mile 12 or that we would get water again. By then it was way too late.

I had pushed too hard, not had enough water, and not taken in enough calories. It was much warmer than I expected and I was sweating much more heavily than I did at my last half. I was rapidly crashing hard. I summoned all of the horrible CrossFit workout memories where I thought I was going to die and held my pace as much as I could. I thought I could push through it, and I did for about a mile, but at mile 12 I was crashing so hard I was almost tripping with every other step. Lifting my feet high enough was so hard. It took everything I had to keep moving. I felt like I was running through waist deep maple syrup. When we came around a turn and I saw another hill I just about lost it. I told myself I wasn’t going to walk, but after two steps uphill I walked shamelessly. Once the finish line was in site I gave it everything I had (and still got passed by everyone and their mother). I don’t remember the crowd. I don’t remember being passed. I remember feeling like I was dying and that I honestly might not make it. A woman collapsed in front of me about 20 yards from the finish line, and I thought I would sit down right next to her.

When I finally crossed the finish line my legs were shaking so bad I couldn’t stand straight. I wobbled toward the water station and tried desperately to get a bottle. At this point I knew I was severely dehydrated and that I had clearly bonked. I stumbled out of the finish area (it took forever) chugging my water (mistake, take small sips) desperately searching for my family. Despite wanting the promised waffles at the runners’ brunch (seriously, one of my goals was to finish before they ran out of waffles), I couldn’t stand up straight in line. I thought I was going to throw up everywhere or sit down and not be able to get up. My parents kindly shuffled me the few blocks back to our hotel and got me waffles (which I promptly ate from my comfortable spot on the floor).

It took me a few hours to finally stop feeling horrible (it was a really really rough three hours) and finally realize what I had done. Sure, I didn’t make my crazy, what-if time goal, but I sure as hell got a new PR. By 30 minutes! Not too shabby to go from being an injured, non-running disaster to finishing in 2:18. I’ll take it.

Am I the only one who enjoys tapering? After stressing for weeks (let’s be real, months) about getting my milage high enough for my upcoming race (only three more days!!!), being able to cut back my milage and put my feet up feels like a luxury.

I have fully embraced tapering. Only six miles for a long run? Absolutely! Lazy girl’s version of CrossFit once instead of three-four times? Three, two, one, GO eat cookies instead. Skip this week’s intense power yoga? A little sad, but okay.

My feet are up and I’m dreaming about gorgeous miles along Vancouver’s coast and how great those waffles are going to taste at the finish line. I’ve kicked my expectations to the curb. This race is all about the experience and the excitement of my first destination race. I’m ready.

I’m not going to lie, I know it’s important to warm-up. With that said, it’s not something I really do for running. With CrossFit the trainers lead us through an extensive warm-up that focuses on the key muscles we will be using that day – it’s fantastic. But when left to my own devices, I’m lackluster and lazy in my attempts.

When I was first injured my doctor gave me a convincing (and slightly shame inducing) lecture about how important it is to prepare your legs to run, especially since I midfoot strike and put a lot of tension on my lower legs. He also went on to crush my spirits by telling me that if I had been properly warming up my calves before running I may have avoided being in his office altogether.

I would love to say that since I’ve returned to running I’ve been diligent about this, but despite the lecture (and my months of PT), no one ever told me exactly how to do it. Then last week I was asked to try out a lesson (Dynamic Warm-up For Runners) for work and blog about it, and I jumped at the opportunity. (Check out the exercises and my original post here.)

While I felt like a complete goober doing these exercises (and I will probably do them indoors in the future), it made me feel a bit better about my pre-run routine. It also inspired me to dig into some more warm-up exercises that target some of my most abused (and prone to tendonitis) muscle groups.

I spent the weekend doing my longest run since my last half marathon in Oct. 2013 and planning what I want to see and do in Vancouver. Only 19 days until the race! I’m already so excited I’m having trouble sleeping.

Today I watched the videos of the course and for the first time in nearly four months, I can see myself crossing the finish line. This is happening. I’m running this race and I’m going to finish. This has been quite the comeback.