Nationals Fever, part one

Note: this will be more like a short book I'm afraid. But I'm developing a few stories ideas, and am trying them out here. Please forgive my diva-ism. This is about my first year snowshoeing, in 2013.

Ever since I saw the movies “The Other Side of the Mountain, and “Ice Castles” as a kid back in the 1970’s, I’ve wanted to compete in a national championship. It didn’t matter what sport, or what place I got, only that I was there representing my town and state. And heaven forbid, if I ever won a medal, I wouldn’t care what color it was.  I was also inspired by my late uncle placed 4^th in the National Skeet Shooting Championships, and proudly wore the hat he got there.

But how would I accomplish this when I was a fat kid who didn’t care for guns and could barely do a figure one?  I “figured” it just wasn’t in the cards.  (Speaking of cards, I could forget the World Series of Poker too: I’m a terrible liar.) Life does take its twists and turns though, and eventually this couch potato found distance running at 39. I am a back-of-the-packer who may lack speed, but not stubbornness. I average about 50 road races or trail runs a year, and am a member of the Half Fanatics, with 40 half marathons under my hydration belt. I started racing to stay healthy and help some good causes, and I truly enjoy it.

But let’s face it. A 3:06 HALF marathon personal record will qualify me for the Boston Marathon when I’m approximately 137. So I forgot about national championships and just enjoyed running for fun in tiny Wisconsin hamlets like Eland and Navarino, and made some new friends.

As the leaves began to fall a few years ago, my new buddies started speaking in tongues, about strange things like Northern Lites, Redfeathers, and the Braveheart Series. They were snowshoe racers. I had been intrigued by the sport years before as I sat on my couch, so I decided to join them.  That first race in Rib Lake, Wisconsin was an utter disaster. I felt totally off balance and kept tripping over my loaner Northern Lites snowshoes. I was sure I’d end up breaking something vital. I cried at the top of my first sort-of steep hill. The race director pointed to the short cut back to the lodge, and assured me I’d still get a bowl of chili even if I didn’t finish. But I guess I had developed a reputation on the running circuit for strong finishes and never giving up, so I literally tripped over the finish line a little too close to the fire pit. That was it, I was done: this sport was too dangerous for me.

My friends continued on to the next races in their series, and I did a memorable winter run on a golf course south of Green Bay. It was very cool event benefiting Iraqi war veterans, but it got awfully lonely out there by myself. I tried a few more races and felt comfortable enough to buy my own snowshoes the night before the race in Tomahawk. It was an epic fail. I had put my new shoes on the wrong feet, and was making a tough course of powdery snow that much harder for myself. I took so long in this rugged area, my gang was getting ready to call the sheriff’s department.

I was not going to quit again (perhaps due to Tomahawk’s excellent chili), but something had to be done. I got so wound up about it I must have made myself sick. I missed the race in my hometown the next weekend, a place where I had fallen twice in trail runs, and where I really had something to prove. As I recovered from the flu, I started examining what was going wrong here. I was trying too hard to keep up with the Joneses so to speak. I was putting too much pressure on myself on the race circuit. I really needed to take my time, and not worry about speed and just go at my own pace.

Turns out the perfect opportunity was coming the very next week. The local Catholic high school was holding a non-competitive snowshoe hike fundraiser for their cross-country ski team at 9 Mile Recreation Area (or 9 Mile Swamp, as us locals call it.) The very course that I wanted to conquer! While I did get the shoes on the right feet this time at least, they were still a bit loose. A nice lady helped me tighten them, and although I was slower than one of the turtles in the swamp, I actually started to relax and enjoy myself just a little bit. I got back to the chalet unscathed and uninjured: I had told 9 Mile who was boss! I enjoyed my bowl of wild rice soup, and then they gave me my “medal:” a small bag of soup mix to take home. I was so proud of it I posted it on Facebook. (Unfortunately, I didn’t quite cook it long enough and the rice was a little hard, but my cooking skills are another story for another day.)

In the end, I discovered I had missed earning the beautiful handcrafted Braveheart Series award by the one race I missed due to illness. I hated unfinished business, and was determined to earn one the next year.  Also, a developing personal situation with one of the snowshoers also inspired me to earn the award and perhaps earn a medal the next season...

Trying not to "burn baby burn"

It's no secret that many endurance athletes have addictive personalities. In many cases they substitute the seemingly healthy pursuit of exercise for alcohol, drug, or food abuse issues. But at some point, too much of this good thing overwhelms the body physically and emotionally, leading to burnout.

My story is the Hollywood cliché' from central casting: the lifelong mouse potato who started exercising to get healthy at 39, and fell in love with the alliance between feet and the earth. Before I knew it, I'd been at it nearly 5 years. 54 races in 2011, then 60 two years in a row. Like many runners, I always had an off-season where I kept up my fitness with the elliptical, Zumba, and outside running when possible. But there were few finish lines with hot chocolate and a banana waiting for me.

But this past winter was brutal. As the snow got deeper, it became dangerous just to step outside for the newspaper. So I turned to trail running's challenging northland cousin, snowshoeing. I joined the Braveheart Racing series, and strapped 'em on for eleven races from January to March. While it kept me in shape and gave me an excuse to see my buddies every week, stomping around with big paddles on my feet while trying not to fall in a ravine did not come easy to me. After our last race in the Lake Superior snowbelt (serious snow country) my friend and I did nothing at the host resort for two days. As someone who’s always on the go, this was unheard of for me.

No doubt, I was fried. When I passed up a St. Patrick's weekend run at an Irish pub a week later, I knew I was becoming a burnout victim. I had burned out of several hobbies before by overdoing them (concertgoing, eBaying…) but I really didn’t want to lose this one. I couldn’t. I had several health problems that were kept under control through exercise. Doubt had already been creeping in. I wondered if I should even keep racing, as a back-of-the-packer who places every once in a blue moon.

Since I had been so busy snowshoeing, I didn’t notice that I had missed a few deadlines for races I normally did every year. I used that extra time off for a little self-examination, and learned a few tidbits that can help anyone on the verge of burnout.

-Don't let the fear of falling back into your old habits drive you past your personal point of endurance. I thought that if I missed the Birch Breakout 10k once that my fitness would be gone, I'd quit exercising and start eating the refrigerator again. I happily discovered that it didn’t happen, when my formally stagnant times started going down a little now that I wasn’t using my body for a battering ram. Which lead to the next point…

-Give your body a rest and boost your confidence with cross-training.

In June, my local pool started aqua Zumba. It was a great break for my joints, but an even better one emotionally. Here I wasn't the turtle that had to keep jumping off the trail to let faster runners go by, but was one of the better athletes. All that kicking under resistance made those snowshoeing legs even stronger, and along with the extra rest, I PR'd a few weeks later.

-There's no shame in admitting you're not Superman or Woman. It’s just another variation of the ole’ keeping-up-with-the-Joneses syndrome. Just because other runners can do back-to-back 50k's every weekend, you may have a a tougher work week, more family obligations, etc. Consider all these factors when looking at potential burnout. Also, don’t forget to include travel and race preparation time as well, and try to rotate between destination races and the run on your local trail.

-Perhaps the most important key to avoiding burnout is balance. I know people became concerned that I was too obsessed when I’d skip dinner with friends or family to sneak in a second race of the day. I decided I didn’t want to become one-dimensional either. So instead of reading shoe reviews every night, I’d read something totally off-beat on my Kindle, like beekeeping, or how to join the French Foreign Legion.   

Because of the snowshoe series, my total number of races for the year will be the same, but foot races will be down slightly. I skipped a few to go to aqua Zumba, and to go to a jazz festival. Last week, I bailed out for a craft show. I must admit the best handiworks there were the medal racks with 7 pegs and a bib holder. So the runner didn’t run off entirely. But hey, it’s a start.

Lessons learned in the past five years

I just celebrated my fifth anniversary of my first race with my first marathon (albeit a walking marathon.) I have grown a lot since 2009, and have learned many things, most the hard way.


Here is a random sample:




-Sometimes it's nice just to turn off the iPod and just listen to birdies hooting, pecking, or singing.
-There is no shame in leaning on your friends, as long as your shoulder is there for them as well. Cherish these friendships, for they will truly see you at your best and worst.
-More can definitely be less. You are not invincible, and need your rest.
-Thank the volunteers at any event you're at, and don't get greedy and take too many granola bars (unless the organizers say it's all right.)
-Beware of drunken snowshoers.
-If you are slow real runners will understand that you are out there doing your best. Unfortunately, there are some uber-competitive types that only run for the medals, and don't have a clue why you are out there when you rarely win. Feel for them, because they are missing out on A LOT.
-Respect the methods and training of other runners, and what works for them. The Galloway method may not be for everyone, but it's worked for many, many people. Just because an ultra may not be for you doesn't mean others shouldn't do it.
-Starting off too fast is rarely a good thing.
-Don't do a tough trail run a week before your first half-marathon (or other major race) due to risk of injury.
-Stay until after the awards if possible. Sometimes you can get a second chance at a door prize.
-Try not to let weather mar your opinion of an event. It's the one thing the organizers absolutely can't do a thing about.
-On that note, don't be afraid to leave polite and constructive feedback to the race directors if you feel strongly about something, good or bad. I let it be known that the shuttle system was a mess (they changed the race to an out and back the next year) and told officials at a university that yes, they really do need a water stop when it's 87 degrees. I also told a course marshal that a first-year half marathon was one of the best races I ever did, and got a huge hug from the race director.
-You will see many very fit people out there. Don't compare yourself to them, just be the best you can be. Incidentally, sometimes it's best just to cheer on a fine looking runner of the opposite sex from the sidelines, and not get more closely involved (especially if they have a significant other waiting at home or the finish line.)
-Learn by watching people who know what they're doing. Ask their advise, and don't be afraid to give a less-seasoned runner a hand.
-You don't need all the latest and fanciest equipment. Stay within your means, and keep an eye out for good deals on gear. Last year's model of running shoes might work for you better than the current model.
-Find fuel that works for you. If you don't like GU, don't use it. If you like real food, pack a little along.
-Be prepared with extra gear in case of changing conditions, and a change of clothes for afterward. Don't let your friends give heck about this: remember it wasn't raining when Noah built the ark.
-Check the weather forecast for where you are RACING, not where you live, because even seventy miles can sometimes make a difference.
-While you might not want to give a play-by-play of every training run on Facebook (though this is certainly a matter of personal choice) don't be afraid to share your accomplishments with your runner and non-runner friends. You've earned it!

The five year plan non-plan

I am not a big goal-oriented person, but I guess I had a five-year workout plan in mind without knowing it. It was May 2009 and I had only been working out since March, and had proudly ridden my bike 8 miles to the Dime and Dollar thrift store. Even before I ever competed, I’ve had a strange thing for medals. I have one for my 700 series (yeah right) and for my third place showing on the uneven parallel bars at the YMCA gymnastics meet in 2004. As it turns out, I have had to use the ribbons off of a few of these, so my little fetish hasn’t been so useless after all.

 But this one was different. It wasn’t earned through hurling heavy objects down oily lanes or risking paralysis.  It had a red ribbon that said Walk Wisconsin Half Marathon 2005, and the medal had people walking on it (duh!) They give a medal for just walking I thought? Really!?! I had moved outside from my stationary bike and could now walk a few miles, instead of practically keeling over at Target. Maybe I should consider that. It turns out the event was actually just a few days later, and I wasn’t quite ready for the shortest distance yet, 6.55 miles. And I hadn’t even done my first race yet. But the seed was definitely planted, and for 59 cents I purchased my motivation.

That weekend I did my first race, a 3.7 miler that I got to ten minutes late, but still managed to pass about a dozen people, albeit most were families with strollers. I really enjoyed it, especially since proceeds went towards childhood obesity, a cause near and dear to my heart.

By the end of the summer I had 15 races under my belt, and actually earned a medal in Neillsville my third race. Hey, even a blind eagle catches a fish sometimes! I still try to do that race every year if I can, and Neillsville is also where I won my first snowshoeing medal this year.

Over the winter I kept working out, and started thinking that I should continue this unexpected vocation. That Walk Wisconsin medal beckoned. Could I possibly earn one with a red ribbon that said Walk Wisconsin 2010?

I printed out the little training schedule and diligently got at it. Unfortunately, I also got a very screwed up call from my doctor informing me I was diabetic. (That is another blog for another time.) The first question out of my mouth was “can I still walk my half marathon?” “That would be a good idea, she told me. So I kept at it, but not without a few bumps in the road. I decided to do a local trail run for training purposes (I had no clue what I was doing) and took a digger right at the end that screwed up my knee and elbow a week before Walk Wisconsin. To make matters worse,  the first aid tent accidently put bleach on my wounds, which naturally hurt like hell for my whole “taper” week. But I kept myself bandaged up, and set out for Walk Wisconsin the next Saturday  with all the equipment they advised you to bring.

Bug spray? Check. Sunscreen? Check. Raincoat? You betcha. When I was done putting all their advice in the little backpack they gave us it was a wonder I could walk. In fact, I think it threw me off balance, which lead me to another fall about 6 miles in, and yet another around mile 10, that totally blew off any healing that had taken place that week. Plus my blood sugar may have been a little low. Blood was coming out of my left elbow, but I kept it hidden from the Park Ridge first responders for fear they’d pull me off the course. In reality, they probably would have just patched me up. But I was determined to finish, in spite of the looks of horror from the little old lady walkers surrounding me.

It did actually start to rain in the last mile, but at that point I didn’t care. I made my way up to the stage at the finish and got my medal from the former mayor of the city. It wasn’t pretty, but I got it done and mom made me a steak that night too.

The next year I just did the quarter marathon, and in 2012 did the half again with my dear friend Michelle. We talked and ate and laughed the whole time. This was much different and more fun that being the “solitary woman” in 2010. We reprised it last year with the new ¾ Marathon: 19.3 miles. This was even more fun because we got to enjoy the famous pizza rest stop. We also got the slick yellow ribbon. So I now had 2 reds, a green and yellow ribbon.

One question I get is “so have you considered a full marathon?” It has always felt like unfinished business. I have no desire to do Ironmans or ultras, but I would like to get that much done. So this year, I decided I needed the coveted blue Walk Wisconsin ribbon on my medal (which are the same every year.) June 7 is the big day. I know this is just a walk in the park for many runner friends, but it sure would be an accomplishment for me. And even though it’s not running, I think I will have earned the 26.2 sticker for my car anyway.

Stay tuned in 3 weeks for an update, good or bad…

We're awfully proud of this one

I only yesterday realized the difficulty of what I had done. I finally was able to get a 9 mile training run in outside (in hopes I don't keel over during my first half-marathon of the year in Waukesha next week.) I felt pretty good throughout, but started to feel a bit gassed at mile 8. I said to myself, this is exactly how I feel after a tough 5K on snowshoes.


I started snowshoeing last year for that famous reason women do so many foolish things: a dude. I hated it. Every race felt like a trail run, where you have to watch every step to avoid going butt over teakettle. Too stressful. But somehow I managed to complete 4 races last year, and just missed winning a series award by one race. That bugged me: it felt like unfinished business. I had always wanted to be in a series, but aside from a few virtual ones, there weren't any running series in my area.


But things changed in the short period between winter and winter (it ended in late April, and began again in mid-November.) The dude and I parted ways, and then he was severely injured in a logging accident in October. There would be no snowshoeing for him in 2014. Then it starting snowing. And snowing. This year the trails would not have menacing roots hiding just beneath the snowy surface. Unless it was a spectacularly epic fall, the only thing you would hurt is your pride.


So I began the season with two goals in mind: to win an award from the Braveheart Snowshoe Series and to prove that life goes on without the man. I actually accomplished two more things I didn't think were possible.


I actually started practicing right after the first snow. The first time out was very similar to the previous season, but by the second snowfall, we had plenty of the white stuff. I found that if I could snowshoe on the street for less than half a mile, I could snowshoe right to the village park. I was quite worried that the residents in that area would yell at me for messing up the streets with my crampons (one neighbor especially) but they were all quite supportive. While on Christmas vacation, I did a candlelight snowshoe hike, and a daylight hike on Rib Mountain the next day. So I was prepared when the season started in Rib Lake, the site of my first ever (bad) snowshoe experience the year before. That first race went fine, and the next weekend I doubled with races in Rhinelander and Minocqua. Fresh snow made Rhinelander very tough, and the course in Minocqua had some technical stuff in it that would have had me bawling the year before. But I survived.


Then a strange thing happened. I found myself actually enjoying it. Due to cold and snow, snowshoeing became the only way to get an outside workout. The peacefulness of the woods just did something to me. Jolly (ie drunken) locals made Perkinstown and Athens fun, and the beautifully groomed trails of Iola were a joy. While my friends were busy trying to qualify for the Nationals, I was busy having a few brewskis and collecting a few door prizes. I had given up on ever getting a medal, so I just tried to make sure I was doing better than the year before. Then word got out that because of the extreme cold, a person could qualify for the Nationals at the Phillips race with just a 5k (usually it requires a 10k.) I knew my chances of having enough $$$$ to go to Vermont were slim, but I thought, wouldn't it be a gas just to say I qualified for a national championship in ANYTHING?!?


The roads were bad the morning of that race, but thanks to a determined friend, we got there only a few minutes late. I was literally handing a gentleman my race form with one hand and putting the 'shoes on with the other. I had no idea if my qualifying information would go through or not. We finished the race respectably, and then we waited until Sunday night when the United States Snowshoe Association posted the "qualifying athletes" list on their website. Lo and behold, there was my name. Frankly, I was just overjoyed to be dubbed an "athlete." Even though it was a fluke, it was a redemption song for all the times I felt like my efforts were in vain.


The exact thing my mother predicted would happen did: I desperately wanted to go. But no rich benefactor came forward, and even a gambling junket didn't do the trick. Then we found out my mom was having surgery the day before the Nationals, so it was definitely out. Depression ensured, but I got through it thanks to the support of my friends. I got a t-shirt from the Nationals, which was very cool, and my friends even hugged a Revolutionary War monument for me (long story.)  By that Sunday, mom was recuperating nicely, so I decided to do a new race in Neillsville by my little lonesome. Surprise! My first snowshoeing medal.


It was at the awards ceremony that I realized I had gained even something more. I was now part of the snowshoeing "family." I could tell that the regulars on the circuit were happy for me, as they knew I don't get many medals. I also found out that the 2015 Nationals will be in Eau Claire, home of my college alma mater. I know it's going to be much harder to qualify, but I am determined to make it there, and will at least do the Citizen's Race if all else fails.


The following weekend we had our last race in Cable. This is in the Lake Superior Snowbelt, making it serious snow country. People were asked to wear their biggest snowshoes, and the race was shortened slightly. This was the site of the 2011 Nationals, so it was tough going. At the banquet that night, I won the second highest award for doing 11 races. I received two handmade trivets and two coasters, all carved from the woodlot of the series founder. If I had done 12, I would have gotten two additional coasters, but I missed one race due to a funeral (and because I had such a hard time there last year!) But in the end, it didn't matter.


Of all the awards I have won, I am proudest of these. I believe that snowshoeing 3 miles is the effort equivalent of at least 6 on the road These hunks of wood stand for the ultimate in strength, stamina, and will, physically AND mentally.  And for never giving up when you've stepped off the trail into snow up to your knees.

An unlikely inspiration

For awhile now I've observed and asked other runners who is your running hero? For many of course, it's Steve Prefontaine for his guts and heart. Others have more specific heroes based on their own interests: vegan runners look up to ultra marathoner Scott Jurek, the run/walkers adore Jeff Galloway.


Mine would be Terry Fox, the young Canadian amputee who attempted to run across Canada in 1980 for cancer research. He made it two-thirds of the way before his cancer recurred and forced him to quit right outside of Thunder Bay (he died about 18 months later.) I have been to this spot, which is memorialized with a statue of him heading west towards home in Vancouver, and it's very moving. Since his death, his goal of raising twenty-two million dollars (one dollar for each Canadian) has been surpassed many times over in North America and around the world.


As you may remember in my last blog, while I enjoy getting medals, many a time I have run a race for a good cause and received nothing but a wristband and a smile, and I loved it. The charitable aspect is very important to me, and one of my goals is to do a fundraiser on a bigger scale, like walk the eighty-mile Mountain-Bay trail for a wildlife rehabilitation center or something. So I greatly admire this man for his courage and positive outlook through great personal adversity.


This also got me thinking: who are the heroes from other sports that actually got you moving in the first place? I have told the story of Gene Kelly inspiring me to get off the couch many times. (You bet dancers are athletes!) I have always had great respect for Hank Aaron, and was thrilled to get his Bobblehead at the Brewers Mini-Marathon last year.


But who, who represents you as an athlete? The underdog, the misfit, the one who may seem like a joke to some, but who is out there training and busting their butt like everyone else? Why of course! The Jamaican bobsled team.


Back in 1988, they were considered a joke. C'mon, a bobsled team from a country with no snow?!? But they had guts, and hung in there longer than was ever expected. In reality, it wasn't so unbelievable, because of the great Jamaican sprinting tradition (exactly what you need to push a bobsled.) Sadly, they had not qualified for the Winter Olympics since 2002, until yesterday. Their 47-year old driver has come out of retirement, and they are ready for the Games next month. However, they are sledding on a shoestring budget (sound familiar?) and will have work to do before they even get to Russia. You bet I will be cheering them on.


Other than being painfully slow, I know I have some assets that others admire. The biggest would be heart and endurance. Just yesterday a lady said "you got some good steam going up that hill." But the looks I get sometimes when I pass people late in a race (sometimes dirty!) or come thundering across the finish line can be fun to watch. I'm not what you expect. I'm proud of that, and I'm sure the bobsled boys are proud of themselves as well.

A mile in different shoes

My car and I have been together for 10 years now, for thousands and thousands of miles for concerts and road races. Alas, it is wearing out, on 143,000 miles now. So almost every time I go out of town I hear the "your car is going to break down" chorus from my dad. I know he certainly has a point, but he has always specialized in paranoia. So I try to keep my out-of-town journeys to places my family is a familiar with.


So when some friends from my Zumba class asked me if I wanted to go to two snowshoe races on separate days about 70 miles away, I jumped at the chance to go along. While I am very grateful to be included, it certainly showed me a little different insight into the minds of some runners.


The lady that organized the expedition is 64, has only been running about two years, and is just naturally talented. She places most of the time, even in races of 1500. It seems, however, that is her almost her sole focus and motivation. She gets antsy during long award ceremonies.The minute she has the medal in her hand, she's ready to go home, as in grab your bag right now. She doesn't do fun runs where there aren't age groups and no medal and glory. Don't get me wrong, me and my buddies like hardware too. But we also run for enjoyment, and our own satisfaction. As I've spent more time on the circuit, I've learned myself to slow down and relax and just socialize with other runners. I did not enjoy being hustled out right after the race and not getting to talk to my buddies. This is a very nice lady, and I realize she was Captain of the ship, but time with these friends is something I don't like to give up.


But a more serious contrast of philosophy turned up on this trip, one I admit that I'm rather sensitive about. We had done two hard races on back-to-back days, and the Captain said "I don't know if I want to do that again." Maybe I was boasting a bit, but I said I've done it many times, even doing as many as three in a day, so I was used to it. And she said "yes, but we RUN the races!" she emphasized. I know for fact that the other lady that with us is also a run/walker like myself, but she is just faster than me. She also seems to share my attitude of just having fun with it and doing your best: in fact we are planning on walking (gasp, don't tell the "Captain!") a full marathon together in June. But that implication that I am less of an athlete for not running the whole thing bothers me. I know it is quietly there with some runners, but I truly think those that doing it for the love understand. I have extremely fast friends, and turtle friends like myself. \Most know that I am giving my very best effort, whether both feet are on the ground or not.


And that is what I politely told her. I know she is new to the game, and doesn't realize that you can't always run every step, and is probably not familiar with the Galloway method or John "The Penguin" Bingham." She may not know that Bill Rodgers won Boston one year with a four minute walking break, and that in the ultra-marathon game only the very elite can run every step. And that doing 30 half-marathons in 3 years, even if some were strictly walking, is an accomplishment worth being proud of.


She just recently did a 5-miler and wants to run a 10K this year. I wish her nothing but the best of luck. But I do hope she learns to run not just for the hardware, understand that others are not as gifted and will someday try a half marathon, even if she does have to walk part of it.

Running resolutions

A friend posted on Facebook last night that someone is going to leave a status today that says "new year, new me!" I told her you won't be getting that from me! While I would like to tweak a few things like getting my diet back on track, I am generally satisfied fitness-wise. I have never been one for resolutions on January 1. I believe if you feel the need to change something in your life, you do it whenever the time is right for you. In fact, Runner's World has proven that many runners actually start their regimens in March, which is just when I did, going on, (gasp!) five years now.

So many of my running friends know exactly what they want. As usual, I'm flopping around on the dock like a grouper. One wanted to run up mountains, so she spent the summer in Maine doing just that. Two others just signed up for a 50 mile ultra (to which I have the utmost respect!) Another is still going strong attempting to become a 50 stater; others have the Disney challenges in mind.

Oh, I'd know what I'd want if I had the resources. I'd be a 50 stater 50 times over, not to mention every Canadian province. Then I'd go race in funky places like Istanbul or Auckland. But for the budget runner, it's a bit tougher.

I have been finding out that rest really doesn't do much for me (though a few non-runners dispute that. They think I get too worn out and crabby.) Since October 27th, I've only done one half, four 5k's and two non-competitive snowshoe events. I also dropped out of a five miler due to the lingering affects of a cold combined with frigid conditions. Yes, that might be a year of racing for many fast people, but not for this chick. The thought of a starting line really does help keep me motivated to keep working out even when I don't feel like it during the week.

So what DO I want? I guess I will give it a try:

 I would like to break 3 hours in a half marathon. You can all stop clutching your stomachs from laughter now, but for me it would be something. Mostly I'd like to get a little faster so that I don't have to worry about the SAG wagon. Time limits make me very nervous. Even though I was in no danger in Milwaukee, I think I pushed a little harder than I should have in that concrete jungle (to quote my brother-in-law) which is how I got injured. I didn't do the fall race in Madison due to a time limit, so I stood on the sidelines watching people I passed in May go by me. A friend said I must have looked like Aaron Rodgers standing on the sidelines after he broke his collarbone, thinking "give me the ball and let me play!"

Which leads me to Grandma's. I want to try to get into the Bjorkland half up in Duluth, which has a 3:03 time limit, although apparently it is not heavily enforced. Everyone knows how I love the Great Lakes, and you know that I am a firm believer in combining running with my other life interests.

Within a few years, I'd like to do a snowshoe 10k in a  respectable amount of time to qualify for the National Championships. They always say if you want to go to the Olympics or become a national champion in something, find a niche sport like team handball to do it in. Apparently, the snowshoe championships aren't much bigger than a regular race, but it would really be something to me to compete and finish there. Improving fitness isn't the biggest obstacle though, it's my fear factor on downhills and in the heavy woods.

I want to finish my book, tentatively called "The Absolute Beginners Guide to Racing" and get it on the Kindle. Even though a plate of escargot is faster than me, I think I have enough experience and knowledge to help someone else out.

Then there's the big one. Even though no one has ever said it, I can sense the question in the back of some minds when I tell them I've done 30 half-marathons: so when are you going to do a REAL marathon? My mother is skeptical, my dad watched a woman who was out cold for 45 minutes at the finish line, so he is convinced that's me. But my runner friends are much more optimistic. In fact, they are using a little friendly peer pressure: if you do the Fox Cities Marathon we will do it too and be there waiting for you. How can I resist that?!? I will sign up, and I can always drop back to the half if needed.

So apparently I do have some goals in mind after all. But a ticket to the London Marathon wouldn't be turned down either...

A strange year

I have "only" run four races now since the first of November. This is very strange for me, and my times have proven that I need to be out there every weekend. Also, my blood sugar doesn't care for it either. But in a way, the break is nice too.

Normally after the last race of the year I can give you my totals for the year, but frankly, I've lost track. It's been such a strange year, very bipolar: great joy and heartache, friends moving forward, and me meandering through the woods like a lost baby wolf, not sure where to go next.

Do I want to make the jump to the marathon next year, or am I content the way I'm going? Or do I need something new altogether?

Until I can come up with some concrete answers, here are a few highlights. The first kind of explains why I'm floundering, because even though I'm not sure what my goals are, I did achieve a highlight.

-Although it was a non-competitive walk for suicide awareness, I decided I was going to go for it and do my best. I started walking with a few volunteers, but they stopped to pet a German Shepard, so I kept moving on. Before I knew it, I was about a block ahead of them. Could it be I was in the lead?  Soon I was behind a very tall gentleman, who takes one step to my three. I tried to keep pace with him and fell just short. Then I noticed he didn't take any water at the water stop, then just as I got to the corner of Marathon Park near where my mom grew up, he turned the other direction. He wasn't in the walk at all! I looked back and saw no one. When I made it back to the shelter for the second lap, the volunteers said "holy cow, you're moving there!" I knew unless I totally blew up I'd "win" the whole thing, and when I made it around again they said "here's our winner!" Someone asked, how does it feel to have everyone in back of you? I quoted Gene Kelly from "An American in Paris" and said "I don't know, it's never happened before!" For once, I had the pick of the snack table, and watched everyone ELSE come in.

So while it meant nothing to anyone but me, I finally "won" an event with over 200 walkers, something I've never even managed out of 15. It felt like the peak of the mountain: where do I go from here?

-Another highlight also happened in Marathon Park, where I PR'd in the half for the first time since 2011. What was cool is that my dad was tracking my progress through his amateur radio club. Someone said keep track of 133, and the guy at the halfway point said, what, is she in trouble? Nope, it's KB9ZOF's daughter. So when I got to Camp Phillips the "ham" said "your dad says hi" and I returned with, "tell him I'm doing just fine!" My parents have never been to a race of mine, so that was kind of cool.

-Running in Lake Michigan on New Year's Day was cold but very exhilarating.

-While I have run around Lambeau Field four times, baseball is my sport, so going around the warning track at Miller Park was a great joy. Saw so many different parts of the city as well, like Miller Brewing Company (where all the hops made me woozy!) Also, we each got a Bobblehead in our packets, and I got my hero, Hank Aaron.

-The Madison Half Marathon was the same way: getting to see things I don't see every day, and making peace with some old demons I've wrestled with since 1999.

-My favorite race though, was nothing fancy or exotic, only 35 miles down the road benefiting St. Bronislava in Plover. In fact, I had to walk it after being injured at Miller Park. But for a first year, they did everything right, had all the niceties that make racing special. Cheer groups and porta-johns every two miles! Popcorn at the packet pickup, more spuds than you can shake a stick at. I told the lady at the finish that this was one of the nicest events I've done, period, and she took me over to the race director who gave me a hug. Being appreciated for using your feet to help a charity is one of the nicest feelings, ever.

So that's why I'll be back on the trail next year!

Virtual runs

Two years ago this November I tried something new at the time, a "virtual" run. I paid my money and got my bib and shirt in the mail like any other race, and then submitted my time afterwards. There were no medals for that first one, but I still thought it was pretty cool thing to do.

Now these runs are all over the place. There is a popular group on Facebook devoted just to listing the events, and people posting pictures of their finishes. But like anything, there are plus and minuses.

The biggest plus of virtual races for me is that travel expenses can be absolutely zero if you wish (of course, you can race them anywhere you'd like.) I  have an elderly car that needs to be babied a bit. So it's great just to run right out the back door and get down to business. When you're in your home area, you know right where the bubblers are (drinking fountains, for those not from Wisconsin) and where potential rest/food stops are located. Also, I know I'll always come in first in my location, and that I don't have to worry about being last and having volunteers wait for me in a half-marathon.

I also like that I can do races for different causes and events that may not be available locally. Many of them are for the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society, and I just did one in honor of my mother who is a two-year lymphoma survivor. I did one for an animal sanctuary in Illinois, and another to send disadvantaged youth to an aquarium, causes that I believe in. I am renowned for my love of Canada, and doing one race in Canada is at the top of my bucket list, but there are not too many Canada Day races in Wisconsin, lol. But I was able to do a virtual 10K for the maple leaf, and it's one of my favorite medals.

Speaking of medals, last but not least of the advantages of virtual racing is the bling. Some are extremely creative, like the Virtual Bacon Challenge medal, where you have to eat 3 pieces of bacon during the run. It features two pigs framed by bacon, with green stained-glass in the middle, adorable!
Another exceptional one was for that lymphoma run, called Christmas in July. It has a patriotic Christmas tree with an eagle instead of a star on top, and instead of visions of sugar plums, the children have visions of a cure dancing through their heads. I prefer these creative ones, as opposed to many that are related to Disney, Harry Potter, etc. I am currently working on earning my medals for the World of Hope series (which I didn't realize had Disney ties.) All the medals feature kids from all over the world, just my kind of thing.

To me, the biggest negative of virtual races is that it feels a little like cheating. Medals are something special, and having so many available for a price and the asking de-values them in my mind a little. I know someone that waited 11 years to get one (I lucked out and got one at my third race!) Many races let you split up mileage. I personally don't believe in that: the half-marathon is 13.1 miles done all at once. Lots of people can do it a mile or two at a time, not everyone can do it in one shot: that's why it's a challenge. However, I understand some people have health issues, and that for them, that is a big accomplishment. So I can't judge. But I prefer the races that hold you accountable, and at least make you submit a time, so it's not just a medal factory. I don't even look at the medal until I've earned it. Then of course, there's the competition and excitement of an actual starting line, but virtual runs can be relaxing.

Another con is that many don't offer shirts, though my favorite virtual series www.fortheloveofthekids.com does. After awhile though you just get too dang many shirts in the closet. In my climate, it's the long-sleeve Dri-Fit shirts you tend to hoard, as you can layer several of those for winter runs. But I'm pretty well stocked up now on those also. With the plain cotton shirts you get at most races, I tend to just wear a few select favorites, either because I had fond memories of the race, it fits just right, or it's a different color than most. So I can deal with the lack of shirts.

I think these races are a great idea for people that might be a little fearful to go to an actual race, or that would like to get their kids involved. I would highly recommend trying at least one for a cause you believe in to all my runner friends.

Loss

I've still been walking/running, doing my thing just like I have the last 4 years of my life. Although my times have been stagnant, I'm hanging in there, even placing in two small races this year. But let's face it, something is missing. In a previous blog I touched on how a friendship I valued very much was taken from me in a way I believe was unfair. Although I'm gradually getting better and moving on with my life, I still can use a little help in that department.

But yesterday, I received news of a loss that never has hope of renewal. He was not a runner (he would have rather been hunting, though he enjoyed hiking in the mountains), but was one of my friends through my love of music. We had met 12 years ago through the craziest of circumstances (my favorite singer did a concert in his backyard!) The story is still one almost too crazy to be true, and I will never forget that day. And I will never forget Jim.

Although we never lived in the same state, we did manage to get together several times in the years he lived in northwest Indiana, and took one very memorable road trip back to his hometown in western Maryland. When we were together (or communicating via phone or IM) you couldn't wipe that smile off my face. Most of the time. But he had this funny habit with all his friends apparently. He'd be your best friend for days at a time, call you, e-mail you every day for weeks then suddenly disappear off the planet. I always suspected he was fighting the demon of alcoholism and most likely was bipolar, and tragically he was found in his apartment after 6 weeks of hardly anyone hearing from him. He lingered in an Atlanta hospital for a few days before succumbing to alcoholism.

When we went to Maryland in 2003, I could still tip them back with the best of them, and one night I even outdrank him (I thought I was Earl Weaver, the former manager of the Baltimore Orioles.) Yet he held down good jobs, and seemed like he didn't have to drink every night, but when he went on one of these binges, look out. When I hugged him and left him in the driveway of his parent's house after that trip, I said "that's the last time I'll ever see Jim."

He moved to Atlanta 5 years ago and he invited me down, but I basically stood him up (I was very broke at the time.) I was still harboring a bit of grudge over $50 for cheese curds that went bad because he didn't tell me he was leaving for two weeks. My family thinks he asked for the curds to be mean and that he was using me, but I honestly think he didn't remember asking for them, as I think the disease was taking its toll even then. After we both got on Facebook, he asked me at least a dozen times to send more, and I blew him off every time. Now I wish I hadn't been so petty.

But aside from that, he was mostly very kind, supportive and generous. When I took up racing he said "I'm so proud of you" and when I got upset on Facebook one day he said "knowing you has always been a pleasure." I think he was very happy that I was (trying) to live a healthier lifestyle. I just wish he had made the same call in his life.

In 2002, we met for a concert in Marinette, Wisconsin, and he pulls this wooden shelf with tin-punch pineapples and wooden hanging pegs out of the bed of his Silverado and says "this is for you." Apparently it was gift he gave an ex that gave it back to him. While it seemed like a random gift at the time, it was very nice and I used it for many years for different things. When I started my medal collection in 2009, those pegs made perfect hangers. Eventually I put all my most treasured half-marathon medals on it. So I have decided that my next half-marathon (perhaps this weekend) will be dedicated to his memory (note: I did the Bear Cupboard Half Marathon in Minocqua one week after his death.) As I can't go to his memorial service (barring a miracle) it will be my own tribute to a dear friend.

I do get discouraged sometimes, when I can't lose weight, or my diabetes acts up. But I know I have to keep up the fight, for Jim, for others that died way too young from any number of demons. And for myself.

Madison

Last time I told you how I got my groove back, but not how I got my love back. At the last minute, some dear friends talked me into coming to Madison with them Memorial Day weekend. So I signed up for the Twilight 10K since everything I read kept saying the half marathon had a 3:05 time limit. I was just going to be the cheering section the next day. But I was feeling pretty good so at packet pickup I decided to ask about this supposed limit. They assured me that it had been lifted for this spring race, but would be back in the fall race. I had no problems whatsoever switching over to the half, and in the end, it was a great decision.

After a harrowing night in one of Madison's shadiest motels, we got there with plenty of time to spare. My friends told me to take it easy at first, since there was a large hill near the beginning. It was simply lovely though, going past the frat houses, and seeing 32 new dorms under construction. The bike patrol told those of us at the back, anything you need, just let us know. That was very nice. The "hill" was Observatory Hill, sort of like the dreaded hill back at UW-Eau Claire, only twice. It wasn't easy, but as one of my friends said, it was gradual. The views of the lakes were stunning. Then back down to earth and past Camp Randall, and down Monroe Street, a very colorful area of shops. While it wasn't quite like Green Bay with spectators everywhere, plenty of normal (at least for Madison) citizens were cheering me on. Did not care for the short section however where the leaders were coming at us. Soon, we turned left into this little neighborhood, with a boulevard full of people drinking beer and having a good old time. I asked them to have one for me.

We spent about the next 5 miles in the UW-Arborteum, where I thought I'd be arrested for tossing a banana peel. This was actually the least fascinating part of the course for me, though it was beautiful. Passed a lady who had shorter legs than me! Someone on the road had a totem pole in their yard. I wasn't sure just how we were getting back to the Capitol, but figured these boys must know what they're doing! Next was Lake Wingra, and Vilas Zoo, though we didn't go close to the animals. I was running pretty good, until I saw something concerning at mile 10.. Now I am from hill country, I live on one, so they don't bother me. But I saw this steep monster and thought, surely the course doesn't go that way after we get over this stone bridge.

It did. To make matters worse, I was listening to "This Ole House" at the time, a song about death! I quickly changed to "Billie Jean" I think and encouraged the other ladies up it. A gentleman was high-fiving everyone at the top. After than, things got much simpler, back down Monroe Street and then onto the Southwest Commuter Bike Path towards the Capitol. The volunteers were fabulous: they let me use their chair to tie my shoe, and a lady and her daughter acted as greeters and ran with people for a short time. Then some everyday Joes yelled that I looked great from their balcony. After that it was rather uneventful, except for flipping off Noodles and Company. Nothing personal, I yelled (this was where I had my "last meal" in 1999 before nearly kicking the bucket.) Then I ran past the Capitol Brewhaus, where I whet my whistle the night before, and thanked them for the energy. Dave was waiting at the finish line, and Fay kindly brought my jacket. Aside from the beer tent running out of Fat Tire, it was almost a perfect day. It was just the kind of race I love. Green Bay is wonderful with the crowd involvement, and the run through Lambeau, but aside from that, it is mostly running in neighborhoods two blocks from my house. This one had so many different sights and people, and while it seems counterproductive, I actually race better when I'm not bored!

Alas, Madison wouldn't be so kind to me a few weeks later on my vacation, when I attempted to do the Weenie 5K. Drove all the way down there, paid too much for day-of registration, only to have the race delayed. That I could handle, but then it was called off and nobody told me! That day I got a great beer and a t-shirt for my money. Oh well, win some, lose some. I did however, have what I would choose for my "last meal": real barbequed chicken. Yum! I did however get some mileage in when things cleared up a bit. So I still thank you, Mad City!

How Patty Got Her Groove Back

After two years of lousy/horrible weather, we finally got a good half marathon in Green Bay today. Wind was the word of the day in 2011, and last year of course was the black flag heat disaster. Today it was exactly as it should be. What makes it such a great race are the ordinary people that sit in their driveways, on street corners, with their boomboxes and even gas grills. And we were back inside Lambeau Field for the last lap, which was not available last year due to construction. I only saw two injuries, and no Penske trucks carting people off the course like last year. Many happy faces, and the grumpy ones were just from normal fatigue. My time was 3:11:36, much better than the 3:28 I did in 2011.

Nice copy, as us writers would say, but it is far from the whole story. Three weeks ago, I did a 3:25 half marathon in Wautoma, Wisconsin, my worst half since Tomahawk in 2011. True, "spring" didn't begin until two days before that race, royally screwing up half the training schedules in the state, going from like 35 to 70 degrees just like that. I had only done a 9.5 mile indoor/outdoor combination  just the Monday before. But I had stayed in fairly decent shape over the winter with snowshoeing and Zumba, so it was more getting used to be back on nice ice-free pavement. Also work was extremely hectic that week. But it wasn't my physical condition that was the problem.

Just as the weather was making a turn for the better earlier that week, a personal situation took a turn for the worst. The details are still very painful, and frankly are not important (watching reruns of Jersey Shore might give you some insight!) But I had spent the last two days in tears, and I'm no crybaby. I just couldn't get myself motivated to make the 75 minute drive, but I did it. I slogged up to the packet pickup, and I got all teary again when I saw two very good running buddies familiar with the situation. They knew immediately something was wrong before I told them, and they could've have been more supportive, even after I told them not to wait for me. Still, I wasn't right. It doesn't help that this particular race is in the country, very nice and quiet. A little too quiet. Sure I had Mr. Sinatra, but some songs weren't going down too smooth. There were two ladies 40 minutes in back of me, and a couple just out of sight (normally I would've beaten them) so I had no one to push me. So I was basically alone with my thoughts, a bad idea at that moment in time. Mostly I walked it, with little intervals of running. Still my emotional state must've made me look terrible. Usually people tell me I've got it, but that day they were telling me to hang in there, and trying to hand me Gu. A very nice marathoner came up and started talking, and told me my lesser mileage wasn't a problem. He asked if it was my first half, I said no, it's my 20th, I was just having a bad day (I spared him the drama.) I assured him I'd make it. I slogged on, and finally I made it to the corner of the fairgrounds, where my friends stood waiting anyway. And there was the marathoner telling me to finish strong like I said I would, and I did. I apologized to my friends for making them wait an hour, and one said, do you know what Ohana means, and I said, it means family in Hawaiian. He said we're family and no one is left behind (I almost cried again.) They even waited to eat. That meant an awful lot.

Still, the terrible time left me shaken, and wondering if I should just give it running permanently (I had toyed with it twice before, but I was serious this time.) The thrill was gone, there was no joy left. Then I started thinking I was doing certain things for the wrong reasons, trying to impress certain people, and prove things I shouldn't have to prove. I started thinking of what made ME happy. I went back to my roots, and just picked a random race that a lady in Zumba class recommended. I won a camping set, and had a nice time there. Then I chose to drop from a half marathon in Eagle River that I was doing with a friend, and just do the 5K. Due to weather and logistics, it turned out to be a good decision (even one of the best runners in the area that usually does the marathon only did the shorty!) Again, I had nothing to prove, so I did what felt right for me. My 5K times at least went back to almost normal. I was afraid the "situation" would flare up again last night, and my dad said, forget it and do what you have to do. It turned out to be great advice.  My family is just proud of anything I do, but are afraid I overdo it. So again, my running is generally up to me. I kept that in mind this morning, and put some different music on the iPod. Nothing traumatic happened, and I was doing pretty well. Sure I had a few slower miles, but that was more due to my Grave's disease causing heat issues. My friends showed up again on the course, which made me feel good. Today my thoughts were, don't try to keep up with the Joneses, just do what's right for you, and consider that you are 43 and have some health issues. You're not Superwoman, I told myself as a man in a Superman costume passed me.

As I passed through the stadium I felt the joy that had been missing, and crossed the finish line strongly, even though I missed a PR. But the biggest victory of the day was deciding to do things on my own terms, and finally getting my groove back.

Uh trail run, er, waddle, maybe snowshoe, or hell, skijor!

There was no way, no way yesterday that I was putting on my longjohns on April 14th. Turns out they were not needed: snowblowers  and a wetsuit were, however.

I didn't do the Iola Trail Run last year because, frankly, I don't care for trail runs. But several of my friends were doing it, and since I'm considering going to the National Snowshoe Championships in Vermont next year I figure that I should try to get more comfortable in the woods. Thanks to the weather, it was no Thoreau moment.

In February, I rode along with my friends to Iola for a snowshoe race. The GPS told us to take a series of backroads to the back of the park. The roads were much better then than yesterday! The forecast for Sunday was for rain mixed with a little sleet, starting at 9:30 am. At 9:40 we were sitting in the car and I said don't look now, but it's starting. Only the weather didn't listen to its own forecast: it was pure snow, the whole time we were out there. This course starts with a very large hill, and I'm not sure if it was our hike up Rib Mountain on Saturday or this particular beast, but my calves seized up on me to a point of pain I've never felt in a race. I was starting to wonder if this would be my first ever DNF. After about a mile, through a few easy rolling hills things started to ease up, but I think I was already thrown off. However, there was a St. Bernard at the water station, so at least there was brandy available if I needed it.

To me, trail running is one tree after another, with no real scenery to look at. One of my favorite things about racing is seeing the sights, even if it is just a sewage treatment plant. But this watching flags to make sure you're on the right course is nerve-wracking to me. Still, there was something serene about it, until about the second mile when the snow became an issue. At that point my Garmin said 2.25 miles, and it kept getting more off course, which made me think I took an extra loop onto the 15K course. I started to get weepy, wondering if I'd ever see the car again when I finally saw the photographers in the pines at the sign that said 3 miles (my watch said 3.7.) It was getting awfully hard to see the finish, but I finally got there.

So what happened? I don't know. The gentleman at the finish said it was probably around 3.8, my friend Jody heard the same thing. Someone else said trees can affect a Garmin, personally I thought someone forgot to scoop out the satellite dish upstairs. Regardless, my time stunk.  Normally we try to have one person at least to greet our gang at the finish, but no way. Any thoughts of pictures was kaput. I slinked back into the chalet where Brad greeted me with a tounge-in-cheek "you look like you had a good time out there!" I must've looked like hell. And we only did the short race. Our other three pals did the 15k while the snow just got heavier. One came in looking like the mascot from Red Lobster. Meanwhile his wife had so much snow on her head she looked like she was wearing a hat. Michelle had to keep taking her glasses off, as they had no windshield wipers on them. I was so wet that I spilled bean soup on me and didn't even feel it.

After changing clothes, no one hung around terribly long (well five of us anyway) as we all had about an hour drive home. While everyone finished safe and sound, I could tell it took a mental toll. We all handled it in ways that fit our personalities. Several stopped for goodies or groceries on the wicked drive home. I ate the bacon egg and cheese Subway half that wasn't in the fridge when I left (thanks, mom!) and proceeded to fall asleep to tales from the scanner telling who was in the ditch where. Then there was our national champ Michelle, who walked back to her truck, got out her snowshoes, and went right back on the trail we just ran on! Talk about turning lemons into lemonade...

Lemonade, summer, ummmm, will it ever get here???

Six week update.

My last blog ended on rather a sour note in February, so thought it was time to show the positives since. I am up to 14 races/events for the year: 4 snowshoe races, 1 snowshoe fundraiser, and the rest in the new running shoes. I did go to the snowshoe race in Edgar, and while I came in last, I was still almost 25 minutes ahead of my time at that terrible Treehaven. I even planned on racing at our own 9 Mile, a place with nothing but bad luck for me during trail runs. Then I got a short but intense case of the flu: there was no way. I must be a fast recoverer though, since I did the 5 mile Point Bock Run the next weekend with a time only 53 seconds slower than last year. The next day I had to decide if I wanted to hit the snowshoes again. By that time I was too far behind on races to win the coveted Braveheart trophy, so I was ready to hang the new 'shoes up. But then I read about a fundraiser for a cross-country ski team out at 9 Mile, which used the same snowshoe loop as the race missed. I actually enjoyed it!

On the other end of the scale, Zumba class has been going pretty well. It did get a little rough at the start of the 2nd session, when we switched instructors from a gym teacher to a Zumba militant, lol. She's a bit younger, so naturally the classes have a bit more of a hip-hop feel, but there's less turning and more strength and toning moves. I did have to skip one week when I had the flu, but otherwise I've been there faithfully. While it may seem sissy, it is a great workout, especially in combination with snowshoeing, oddly enough.

But I was very happy to get back on the road somewhat, with a few fun events. I did a Virtual Bacon 5K run (actually did 5.25 miles) where you had to eat three pieces of bacon (will get my medal in the mail in about 6 weeks.) Didn't do the greatest at Bull Falls Brewery, but one goes to that one mostly for the extracurriculars, and to send out local veterans to Washington D.C. The next (very cold) morning in Kimberly I was only a minute slower while wearing a tight dress, wig, and cape! Sadly, Little Green Running Hood did not win the costume contest, but she was brave in the attempt. Meanwhile in Oregon, two of my friends were off winning medals at the National Snowshoe Championships. I determined next year I'll qualify myself and join...Nah...But I would like to get the series trophy for doing 9 snowshoe races.

Yesterday was certainly no big-time race, but it represents the reasons I run. I have been wondering lately, should I just give it up since I may not get a lot faster, or I'll never be able to afford "destination" races like Disney World. A personal trainer set up this race in honor of her mom, with all proceeds going to the Highground, a wonderful park in Neillsville, Wisconsin, full of memorials for veterans. It was very no-frills, no shirt, but that was fine with me. While the course crossed a U.S. highway (there was nowhere else for it to go) and had some dandy hills, they really appreciated us being there. One gentleman came and paced me in the last 10th of a mile, and whenever a runner crossed the finish line they rang the bell that use for observances at the park. A man from the Highground shook my hand and thanked me for coming. And surprise, we all got a small medal. Very classy, and confirmation that I'm doing the right thing.

Snowshoe, noshoe...An embarrassing outing

On my last blog, I told of the good time I was having. Yesterday, not so much, to say the least. For only the second time in 150+ races and 3 1/2 years, I wanted to hang out the snowshoes AND the running shoes.

I am not huge on goals, but my first and foremost priorities in any race are to get my butt home in one piece, and to represent myself and my home area the best I know how, without embarrassing myself. While I did barely manage the first, I don't believe I accomplished the second. I can't say I wasn't warned. My friend Brad e-mailed me and said hard course, be careful. I knew he was concerned.

My first snowshoe race was on a very hard-packed trail, the second had a little more snow, but this one was quite a bit rougher, with very soft snow (everyone was having issues) and with my least favorite thing, tree roots! During my first race in Rib Lake, I was on 25 inch snowshoes, but felt out of control, like I was stepping on them all the time. So when I bought some of Friday I bought the shorter model, which would have been great for those other races, but really sunk in there in Tomahawk. I was also using poles for the first time, and while they can be in the way when you don't need them, they are a godsend when you do, especially going downhill.

It seemed like nearly every step was a chore. One of the things I don't like about trail runs is that you have to be on your toes all the time, vigilant about obstacles. Sure, accidents can happen on the road, especially in bad weather, but most of the time you don't have to constantly worry about injury. I just kept plugging along, but I never even saw another person until nearly 2 miles in. I did pass them without trouble, but then I hit that single-track again (ie the tricky stuff!) and couldn't make up as much time as I would have liked. I didn't even set my watch, I didn't want to know I guess. But then one of the finished racers came down the trail (I think he was seeing how many people were left) and I asked, how much farther? About one minute, right around the corner. Up ahead I could see Brad, Michelle, and Marcia (a lady I usually pass around halfway) all looking worried wondering where the hell I was. Poor, sick Fay (who I rode with) was sitting in the car waiting so I could get my gear out. I  yelled out "I'm coming!" and they seemed relieved.

I didn't even get the guts to see my time until last night, I was like 50 minutes in back of Fay who was third place in my age group. A disgrace. Most of the 10k'ers finished ahead of me. A disgrace. I didn't have any business being out there. I told the race official I had just set the course record, for slowest time ever. Then he reminded me of the two ladies I passed. So while I didn't even come in last, it wasn't good. I felt so bad that everyone had to wait. Eventually I got some chili and beer in me and was welcomed into the group with open arms. I don't think they worried so much about injury (the first responders reported no problems), as much as the possibility I got lost.

I started wondering if my fitness level was going to hell. After all my 5K times have been at least 4 minutes off of summer, when I'm really consistent. Then I started thinking of conditions: running in Lake Michigan, below zero windchills, and up big snow bunkers. I also had to remember I owned these snowshoes for about 18 hours. A classic case of being too hard on myself.

After considering giving up all fitness activities for stamp collecting, knitting, or astronomy, I decided I would miss it all too much, especially the friends I've made. I compared their behavior with some "friends" I've had in the past, who would be all embarrassed by this, and leave me to my own devices. That means an awful lot.

So this morning I signed up for a race in Edgar, where I've done trail runs on a similar course.  I'm just taking it one at a time. I can't give up snowshoeing now (especially after dropping a chunk of change!) But I will be giddy to be back on the road again.

Not breaking any records, but having a ball

It's 5 weeks in to 2013, and I already have 5 races in, including some of the most unique I've done. I started the year off with a dash through a little puddle called Lake Michigan. While I was a wee bit bashful compared to some people (I say it's because I know what those Great Lakes tides can do) I did indeed do the 75 yards around the tiki torches into the drink.

I am proud of the many races I've done for charity, but I must say this is the first one I've ever done for a dead gorilla. The Sampson Stomp at the Milwaukee Zoo was a cold one at 10 degrees with like a 20 below windchill, but along the way we were greeted by penguins, elk, llamas, and even a camel (hey, it gets a wee bit nippy in north Africa at night.) For a kid growing up in northern Wisconsin in the 70's, THE trip was to go south to the big city and see the flamboyant Sampson, who pounded on the glass, and liked to throw things. This race has been going on 32 years, with proceeds benefitting the big guy's descendents. Afterwards we toured the zoo (just the thing to do on the coldest day of the year!)

Then another strictly-for-me proposition, the Winter Warrior 5K in southern Brown County. All the money went to the WI Desert Veterans, and it's done in the cold and snow to remind us of the harsh conditions soldiers face everyday. The first half was a run on a snowy golf course (golf courses can be a bitch to run on, that's why many cross-country meets are held there.) Then we hit the bunkers, hill, moguls, whatever you want to call them, 5 in a row. I tend to slow down going downhill (more on that in a minute) but then you lose momentum. Once you got the hang of them, they were pretty fun. They told us at the start just to have fun and stay safe, which was rather liberating, not to have to go all out or worrying about finishing last (I did just fine). At the end we got a dogtag that said "I survived the Winter Warrior 5K. Be a hero, run below zero!" It's in my favorite medal collection.

During this "off-season" I also joined a Zumba class one night a week for 5 weeks, which I can make 10 weeks for another 20 bucks. The first class was interesting, as I had the old "fat girl thinks everyone is watching and laughing at her" syndrome, but it wasn't that way at all. Everybody is busy keeping themselves in line. While I have no problems with the fitness part, I sometimes turn counter- clockwise when everyone is going clockwise. I say it's because my instructor is Australian, and everyone knows tornados and toliets spin the other direction down there! Still, it's fun to shake your booty to some Pitbull, and while I don't want to make a steady diet of it, it's a nice change of pace.

Then there is something I don't enjoy so much: snowshoeing. While some runners with deeper pockets can think Birkenbeiner, the rest have to go with a sport requiring less equipment. It is not for the faint of heart. You can't pull yourself along like on skis, and if your legs naturally turn out like mine, you can easily step on your shoes and lose your balance. However, this turnout is great if you're a ballet dancer (as you can move quickly in any direction.) Most importantly, I have to pick my feet up higher with each step, which can take almost twice the energy of running. So basically doing a 5K on snowshoes is like a 10K on the road. While there are metal cleats on the bottom of your shoes to stop you from careening downhill, I'm still a bit of a wuss and sidestep down the bigger ones.

I made several mistakes the first race, the first being showing up in Rib Lake! Rib Lake is on the Ice Age Trail, right where the last glacier ended a zillion years ago. It left behind some real dandies of those bumpy things. Next, I had on 25 inch snowshoes, which I believe were too big for my short stride. I practically had to jump between steps. Lastly, I didn't have them laced up tightly enough at first. But I'm getting better at that. Still I managed to (barely) stay upright that first race, practically falling at the finish line. After much swearing and declaring I was never doing this again, I had to admit I liked the crazy people that did this sport. But I was not, repeat not, buying snowshoes. Two weeks later I started pricing some when we still didn't have a lot of snow, and could've gotten a pair for half price. I spent my dough and went to run for the vets instead. Then I firmly stated I was only going to the Athens Udder Plunge race to cheer on my buddies, no racing. A few minutes later I had the last pair of loaners in my hand from the same gentleman from Rib Lake. I wanted to do this particular one because all the money went to support the Athens Fair, which is a free fair, and quite a spectacle for a small town. They were quite a bit smaller, and this course was quite flat, so once again I survived it, though the air did turn quite blue with my swearing again. It was the same result. I was 4th from last, with a nice lady from Rhinelander about 10 minutes in back of me, followed by two kids.

This morning I signed up for the Braveheart series, and while I won't earn the coveted hand-carved trophy for completing 10 races, I might just do one or two more, and I will be able to go to the end of the year bash in Cable if I wish in March. I'll either rent 'em or hope for an end-of-year sale for the rest of the seaon. If I do buy, I will get some poles, which should help me feel a little more secure.

But I sure look forward to the rubber meeting the road again!

Running into 2013

What would New Year's Eve be without ye tired old tradition of recapping 2012? First of all, we didn't blow up on December 21st, so we can take it from there.

Something though happened this year. Yes, I focused more on half marathons, switched to 5K's during the summer for heat purposes, then went back to halfs (pulling 3 within a month!) But this year wasn't so much about physical growth as emotional. While I still love to pick out a random race just for my own enjoyment, I found that this misfit could be part of a loose-knit runners group. And like it! I also discovered that there are times it's better to have a friend along, like the Cellcom.

The first goofy random one was an Oshkosh/New London St. Patrick's double fiasco that I didn't quite pull off (thanks to disregarding traffic from a parade of 25,000!) Things went better in St. Paul, MN April 8th, after a rocky start on the morning after my friend's wedding reception. When I found out he was tying the knot again, the first thing I did was check active.com for a race the next day. Despite the previous chaos (too much beer, appetizers, and emotion) the run itself around Lake Phaelen was very peaceful. Although it was right in the city, it was an beautiful oasis. I also showed I could kick ass on hills!

I'm also very glad I did the Runway Run at the EAA in Oshkosh. In a way it was a salute to my dad. We ran right under the control tower, and I made a point to salute the boys up there. We ran under the wing of a C5, and I PR'd to boot (by 6 seconds I believe.) I have a feeling if I go back next year I will have company.

My favorite "random" solo race had to be in Adams. Although temporarily taken aback by a detour, I got there in plenty of time. For 17 bucks I got two t-shirts, two medals, and a pancake breakfast! If that wasn't enough, I got the bonus of a ride on a 1938 fire engine. I asked another runner to take a picture of me, and it turned out so nice I had copies made.

But then it was back to the gang. Not long after I got home from Adams we went to Eagle River for a midnight run, followed by Run Your Bass Off in the U.P. the next morning. Understandbly my time sucked on that one, but it was a helluva a good time. The next week I ran in only a sports bra on a very steamy night in Point, Nobody passed out, nobody cared.

I noticed something else that night, looking at our group picture later. From the knees down, my calves looked just as strong and nice as anyone else's. I was always self-conscious of my body and supposed lack of fitness (which is really kind of bullshit) but thanks to these friends of mine, I'm starting to get over it. As I've been this way 43 years, I don't expect a full recovery anytime soon, but I'll take it.

When I went back to 5k's in summer, I started training more for speed and it showed. I PR'd in the 5k, mile, 2 and 5 miles (did especially well in that last one.) The only thing I didn't PR in was the half and all I have are excuses as to why I didn't. Bad ankle in Eagle River, adjusting to diabetes medicine at Fox Cities, sleet in Wautoma, heat in Titletown (not even going there!) But still, 13 halfs is nothing to sneeze at! Who would've thought the mouse potato would ever say that doing a half in Wisconsin Dells would make it one of her nicest birthdays ever? Not this chick.

Speaking of chicks, one of the more unusual races I've ever done was the all-women Chick-amegon in Ashland. Despite horrible weather, it was a roadtrip to remember, complete with feathered boas, artisan wells, and Barry Manilow. There's still more tales to tell, like the half in Norwalk where I was nearly taken out not by physical defect, but claustrophobia! Then there was the half in my hometown where I was totally kicking butt until I got to a hill that my sister doesn't even like to drive up. I learned a lot about pacing that day (and the evils of eating too many wings and drinking too much 75 cent Old Style after a race.)

So many memories, and lessons learned. Here's to 2013.

Fox Cities marathon

I've been reading several blogs from the Fox Cities Marathon, but I just can't seem to get mine going because it was a very drama-less race for me. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I was 4 minutes off last year's PR of 3:07, and really have no good reason for that. Sure I could blame the Forerunner for going into Personal Trainer mode so I didn't know what my pace was. And I could sing the blues about that damn Glipizide diabeties medicine I was put on the week before the race.

But that wouldn't be fair to either the Garmin corporation or the pharmaceutical industry. Simply put, sometimes under near-perfect conditions I suffer from a lack of mental focus. Like a race horse without blinders I start looking around, and forget why I'm there: to get the best time I possibly can. But then again, what's really so bad about that?

So I will focus on the 5K, which went very well, despite a few glitches. Just as they were making an announcement thanking so-and-so for the PA system, it cut out completely, along with the timing system and the giant Finish arch deflating. Somehow they lost all their power, and I saw several people trying to get it all back up with one extension cord. Finally they dropped the megaphones and got back on real power. By that time though, the starting area got pretty chaotic. I ended up further back than I should have been, right amongst the dog walkers and strollers. So there was lots of weaving at the start. Finally I got some clean air and started loosening up a bit. I was rather amused by the 75 volunteers wearing the same shirt so I uttered "looks like a whole church." "It is!" said the enthusiastic water lady.

I was feeling pretty good by the time we hit the trail, so I knew I could kick it in at the end. Unfortunately, not being able to see the finish line without the arch I started the kick too early, and missed my PR by 15 seconds at 39:22 (though I'm sure my weaving at the start didn't help matters there.) Still, the shoe-shaped medal was worth the price of admission. I was 61 out of 110 in my five-year age group.

As for the rest of Saturday, I took a bus tour of the full-marathon course. I thought that the windwill in Little Chute was only symbolic, but nope, it was 100 feet tall! I started to feel sort of woozy on the ride, so I needed food, soon. Thankfully I had some pretzels to hold me over, but then I tried to go to Noodles and Company and it looked like a riot. I attempted to drive somewhere else in the Fox River Mall area (impossible on a Saturday) and my car made me wait 10 minutes. So I ended up walking to this place called Serious Burger. Indeed it was, in taste and price! I had the Farmhouse Burger: Nueske's Bacon, sunny-side up egg, garlic mayo, and onion rings, 12 bucks! Still, any port in a storm.

Finally the car settled down and I got to Half-Price Books where I found a Sinatra set that turned out to have 7 songs I didn't have for $2! A treasure. Eventually I got to my motel, and made plans to meet Michelle for dinner a few doors down. Damn wifi wasn't working at motel, the only thing that marred the visit. Medium pizza cost only 2 bucks more than my bleeping burger. Took my picture by the tank at the American Legion. A nice time was had by all.

Running statistics, Patty style

Runners are obsessed with statistics: split times, negative split times, mileage, and pace. Looking at my physique, I’m sure a lot of people think the only “pace” I’m interested in is the picante sauce. Though it is one of nature’s most perfect foods, I am indeed concerned about the other one, and I crunch the numbers like everyone else.  While I used to keep a more detailed training log, these days I leave it up to my second Garmin to do that for me.

Instead, I log more fun stats. I finally sat down and totaled my number of races since 2009. To the best of my knowledge, I’m at 155 right now, including 13 half-marathons. Due to the fact that I have worry-wart, elderly parents, I try to confine my racing to counties that border my own (it doesn’t hurt that I live in the biggest county in Wisconsin!) While one of my friends doesn’t believe me, I can show him that yes indeed, most are within that radius. Out of 44 races so far this year, only 11 have been “outside the lines,” and most of those were within 2 hours of home.

I also keep track of the charities that I run for. Granted, some races are for profit, but I still enjoy the ones that are going to a good cause.  This past weekend, I ran to help the tuition assistance fund at a local Lutheran high school, and also did Lacey’s Run, which gives scholarships to people without insurance fighting cancer. This year I did a “virtual” run for Paul Newman’s camps for kids with cancer, ran to help preserve part of the Ice Age Trail, and hoofed it for high school sports teams, and fire departments.  Sometimes I wonder if I do too many races, but I really do enjoy that aspect of it, and it’s time and money I’m not spending in a thrift store (though I still partake in moderation.)

While hearing the words “Boston” and “New York” make  runners’ hearts beat a little faster, I am a small town woman, and my race roster reflects this. Of all the towns I’ve ever raced in, only 14 of them have a population over 12,000. The two smallest, Navarino and Mt. Morris are unincorporated. The next on the list is Eland at 251, an old railroad town where the postmistress once took my water bottle home to fill from her own well (and brought me back a cookie too!) Next is tiny White Lake at 329 souls, then Withee to the west at 508. On the other end of the scale, the largest is nowhere near NYC in population: St. Paul, Minnesota at 288,488. Maybe someday I will cross the start line in a big metropolis, but for right now, the eastern Twin City will have to do.

Maybe these are not the most competitive statistics you’ve ever seen, but they’re one of the big reasons I run.