Friends of a Lifetime

8 Comments January 8, 2019 drworobec

This is a story about three girls who still think they’re twenty years old. But in fact, these girls are all turning forty, and these girls are headed to Mexico late next week to celebrate the milestone.

These girls are me and my two oldest friends, Sarah and Shannon, both of whom I’ve written about many times, sans permission. This is another one of those ask-for-forgiveness-not-permission posts, so I’m going to take some creative liberties to share our history with you, and they’ll likely read this post on their Tuesday morning commutes and shake their heads at my antics. That’s our usual pattern. (I’ll load my words up with hyperlinks, so that you can read more about the backstories, if you’re so inclined.)

I’ve known Sarah the longest, since we were twelve years old and became attached at the hip in grade seven. We met Shannon in our first year at the University of Calgary, and we quickly became an inseparable trio. Using our first initials in a brash acronym, we established the ASS Tour, and made sure the three of us went on a short annual getaway. Back then, our getaways meant road trips and small towns and hostel rooms and Missy Elliot mix tapes. We would take a weekend in Red Deer here or an overnight in Edmonton there, and once drove West for a week in Kelowna and Vancouver, through forest fire smoke and rock slides on the Coquihalla highway.

In 2002, I moved to Toronto, and in early 2003, Sarah moved to Washington, DC. Shannon stayed in Calgary, and I’m not sure if we ever spoke about it in depth, but in the back of my mind I always thought we’d all move back. However, life happens, careers grow, marriages take place, babies are had, and somehow we all found ourselves living wonderful lives 3500km apart. We still make the effort to see each other regularly, usually every second Christmas in Alberta, and the odd time we’ll uncover bonus visits like work trips or concert weekends. We managed a few days in NYC in 2011, the week after my miscarriage, at a time when I desperately needed them to help me heal, and our last big trip was in 2014, when we went to Vegas to see Britney Spears and relive our Uni days.

My memories of those adventures, and my memories of the three of us in general, are overwhelmed with laughter. The kind of laughter that makes you gasp for breath and squeeze your sides and wipe your tears. The kind of laughter that annoys your husbands and wakes your children and makes everyone else roll their eyes. We’re gone for four days, and with some creative scheduling at Burlington Sports & Spine, that’s only meant one shift off for me during our busy Winter season. It’s a short trip due to the realities of busy lives, but those four days will give us time to reflect and reminisce, and most importantly, to laugh; and the Mexican sunshine, the sandy beach, the tacos and tequila, well, those won’t hurt either.

This year’s ASS Tour is going to mark our milestone birthdays (although, ahem, I’m the youngest and my birthday is still nine months away), but more importantly, it’s going to mark decades of friendship, support, love, and connection.

They are the friends of a lifetime.

Race Report and Reflection: Mississauga half marathon

5 Comments May 15, 2018 drworobec

This post will serve as my official “race report,” nine days after the fact. For the runners in the crowd, I hope you’ll like the tactical parts of this report, and for the never-give-up-ers, I hope you’ll like the rest of it:

Thank you to Jodie for the photo. #teamtap #teamnuun

You see, I ran in the Mississauga half marathon on Sunday, May 6th, and finally met my goal of qualifying for the 2019 New York marathon. I say finally, because I’ve failed at this goal twice before, both times in spectacular fashion with lots of tears, walking, and self-doubt. In June of 2017, in my first attempt to qualify, I went out fast and the wheels came off on a 40C day. I walked a good portion of my second attempt in September 2017; another 40C day in which I got caught up in race day adrenaline and went too hard out of the gate. It’s an error that I continue to make, a lesson I can’t seem to grasp, a mistake that I’ve repeated far too many times- and going out too fast is the kiss of death for a distance runner. But with roughly twenty-five years of running and racing under my belt, and more than fifteen years of marathoning experience, it’s still so hard to follow a race plan.

The thing is, if you’re doing it right, you’re usually training on tired legs. Training plans have peaks and valleys of mileage, but endurance training requires, well, endurance. Runners are often accustomed to a certain amount leg heaviness and fatigue throughout their training cycles; in fact, a Sunday does not feel like a true Sunday if I don’t have that welcomed you-ran-damn-hard achy leg feeling all day. Masochism? Perhaps. But ask a runner, they’ll tell you: tired legs are earned. However, a few weeks out from race day, runners transition into their taper. A taper is a period of time, usually 2-3 weeks in length, whereby running mileage drops way back to allow for recovery. A taper can make or break a race, and when executed properly, it gets you to a point where you can toe the line feeling fit and fast.

For my last few races in particular, I’ve tapered really well. I’ve listened to my body, I’ve dropped my mileage, I’ve focused on rest, hydration, nutrition, and mobility. I’ve come to the line feeling great. And I’ve gone out recklessly fast. But the thing is, I’ve always done that. I’ve always been a go-out-fast runner who red lines in the second half of the race and holds on for dear life. Yet as I’ve gotten older, my body wants a different strategy; I can no longer fake a race plan and beat the system, and I’m learning that my mid-race rally and recover is not what it once was.

So with careful thought and consultation, and the 1:37 NYC qualifying time looming large, my race plan was this:

0-5km: 4:40/km pace (this is a very comfortable pace for me; my long runs are usually in the 4:50/km pace, so this is just slightly faster)
5-10km: 4:35/km pace
10-15km: 4:30/km pace
15-19km: getting progressively faster, aiming for 4:20 pace by 19km
19-21km: 4:15/km pace
Goal: progressive build, negative split.
‘A’ goal: sub-1:35
‘B’ goal: sub-1:37 (1:37 is my NYC qualifying time)

The mantras in my head were:

HAVE FUN
Start slow
Run faster, not harder
Let the hills carry you down
HAVE FUN

What actually happened:

My split times remained pretty steady throughout; a novel race strategy for me!

I ran into two training partners at the starting area who were running the full marathon, targeting a steady 4:29-4:34/km pace. I ran the first 7km with them, and they kept me hovering around 4:30/km pace. (thank you Jose and Steve, I surely would’ve gone out too fast yet again, because I was feeling great!)
I picked it up on kilometres 7-15. Much of this section is downhill, and I tried to open up my stride. I was feeling great, and had the 1:35 pace bunny in my sights. I passed him at 16km.
I started to suffer around 17km.
My pace started to deteriorate around 19km, but I was able to pick it back up at 20km.
I got really dizzy immediately after finishing and had to take a knee; surprising, since my heart rate stayed low the entire race and I did not red line at all.
My husband and kids met me at the finish line (and were able to live-track me on the raceday app!).
My dear friend Michaela also ran the half and also met the NYC standard. I saw her in the finishing chute; I hadn’t known she was running, and she hadn’t told anyone, so as not to put more pressure on me or on her. You see how running is such a mental game?
I gave it everything I had.
I HAD FUN.

Interestingly, this was the 15th annual Mississauga race weekend, and in the inaugural race in 2004, Michaela and I also ran: she came in 1st place and I came in 3rd. This year, however, I finished in 1:34:02, a full 11 minutes slower than my personal best. And yet, this race was my proudest. That eleven minute gap between my best and my present represents a husband, two babies, a career, and a life far more full and content than I ever could have imagined. Gone are my student days, my 110km/week days, my podium days. Now I’ve got two impressionable little people and a finish line full of hugs and tears, always tears.

I had tears that at that finish line too, but they were oh-so-happy tears.

Then the Wheels Came Off

4 Comments June 12, 2017 drworobec

This post is being published on a Monday morning. For the last five years I have published my blog post on Tuesdays, so a Monday post is new territory for me. But I ran in a half marathon yesterday, and since I have so many incredibly supportive people in my life, I keep getting texts and emails asking how it went. I thought I’d write a post to give you my summary of the race, and how I fell way short of my goal…..

I tried to write part of this post ahead of time, you know, before I had even run the race. I had some time mid-week last week, and because writing time is such a rarity, I pounced on it. But the words didn’t come easily. I knew what I wanted to write about, I just couldn’t seem to make it happen. What I wanted to write about was the half marathon that I had been focused on for months. I wanted to set the scene for you. I wanted to talk about my mindset, my training, and my race prep, but my headspace wasn’t right. I had doubts about my performance, anxiety about the forecast heat, and superstition about pre-writing even part of a post before the end result was known.

And so I write it now, with emotions running high and fatigue pulsing through me. It’s 9:00pm on Sunday night. My feet are up on our coffee table, there is a mug of Rooibos tea steaming, the hockey game is on, my tablet is laid before me, and I have had time to process what happened this morning.

Sigh.

You see, I’m trying to qualify for the 2018 New York marathon, which is traditionally built around a lottery system for participants. Last year, more than 98 000 people entered the lottery, and roughly 16 000 were accepted- that’s less than a 17% chance of getting in. The other 34 000 runners (yes, there’s 50 000 runners that run this race) come through various other means- 9000 charity spots, paid tour company entrants, New York Road Runners members, and NYC race volunteer spots. The tricky part of these logistics is that my dear friend and training partner, Michaela, has never run a full marathon and NYC is at the top of her list. So the best sure-thing option for both of us to get into the race is to meet the tougher-than-Boston qualifying standard; for our age group, that means running sub-1:34 in a race sanctioned by Athletics Canada.

Now, Michaela is much faster and a much more natural runner than I, and in fact, she ran 1:27 at the Hamilton half marathon last Fall on only two days/week of training. She’s a natural, and her effortless pace still astounds me, as I huff and puff beside her on our weekend long runs. In that same race last Fall, I ran 1:37, and battled stomach issues and under-training. I felt old and slow and defeated and the doubts creeped in. Could I manage to shave three minutes off my time? I have a 1:23 personal best and I’ve run under 1:34 dozens of times, but with an extra 13 years and 2 kids under my belt, my abilities have changed.

So for the last few months, I’ve been focused. I’ve run early. I’ve run late. I’ve run through blinding rain more times than I can count and an early-morning thunderstorm on the NorthShore hills. I’ve run with my daughter in the Chariot, with tired CrossFit legs, with to-do lists in my brain, with sunrises and skunks and solitude. And I remembered why I love this sport so much- this sport that’s been a huge part of my life for twenty-five years- sometimes in foreground but always in the background, a common thread through my teenage angst, my insecure twenties, my schooling, my cross-country move, my marriage, my kids, my career, my life.

But 1:34 still seemed seemed impossibly far away, my goal unreachable…. and then my training came together. Fitness is like that, at least for me; weeks of effort will come together in a single run, and all of a sudden it clicks. It clicked for me last weekend, when I tested my speed at the Moon in June 10k and surprised myself with a 41:46 and a first-place finish; my 4:11/km pace felt tough but manageable, painful but attainable, gritty but realistic. Perhaps 1:34 wasn’t a carrot on the end of a stick I couldn’t reach. So when I toed the line at the race this morning I had the usual doubts mixed with a taste of confidence and a sprinkle of hope.

Then the wheels came off. I didn’t just miss my goal, I missed it by nearly six minutes, and I was the closest I’ve ever been to walking off a race course and calling it quits. I went out way too fast, and ran my first 10k recklessly faster than I had planned. But distance-running can be risky like that; it tricks you into thinking you’re feeling well and then it pulls the rug out from underneath you. I hit the proverbial wall at 13km. I stopped, I bent forward, my head between my knees. I felt dizzy, my legs felt heavy, and I started to panic. I could feel my breath catching in my throat and tears came to my eyes. But Michaela was there to talk me off the ledge. “One foot in front of the other,” “you can do it,” “you’ve got this.” I cried and ran and cried and walked for the next few kilometers, the heat becoming oppressive, and my mind jostling between pain and anger and frustration. I wasn’t wearing a watch, I was running on feel only, and at the 17km mark Michaela looked at her Garmin and said “I know you won’t believe this, but we’re still on pace. You banked enough time in the first half, you can still do this.” Only four kilometers to go. Four kilometers to reach a months-long goal and I just couldn’t do it. I had nothing left in the tank, I couldn’t dig any deeper, I was running on empty. I suspect we walked 2km of those last 4km and I hobbled across the finish line at 1:39. FullSizeRender 16

But I hope this post inspires you. I hope you don’t see failure, but rather perseverance. I hope you see grit and determination and I hope you see that big goals achieved are that much sweeter when there’s been big struggle endured. I hope my kids see that too- they saw me win last weekend and they saw me cry when I got home from the race this morning….. the ups and downs of sport and life.

I’m going to lick my wounds and nurse my ego for awhile and I’ll try again this Fall. And if the wheels come off then too, well, I’ll try again.