Trying to Keep the Dream Alive

During one of my last track workouts, as I fell off the pace, I realized I didn’t want to go to CIM. It will be the death of a dream. I don’t want to watch it die.

But, if I truly don’t want to do it, I wouldn’t still be here: at the track, in the cold, mid-3K repeat. I would have quit already, gone home, gotten warm. Yet my feet continued to pound the track. I hadn’t stepped off, I hadn’t given up entirely. Not yet.

On the cooldown, I tried to talk myself back into fighting for this dream. My main disbelief comes from the fact that I have to run nine seconds faster per mile than I did for my last (and best, by far) marathon pace workout. As I drove home, I listened to Des and Kara’s podcast. (Highly recommend! Despite this next bit…) They were discussing first marathons and bad marathons and, if they were a coach, whether they would tell their athlete to go out hard or conservative. Kara, my running idol, said that if you had trained at 5:20 and the pack went out in 5:15 it would be dumb to go with them. “That’s a lot of time in a marathon.” 

Whomp, whomp. That’s exactly what I was trying to convince myself was not crazy. (For the record, Kara also admitted she’d probably go out hard regardless, because that’s how she races. Also, was she just talking about first marathons? Let’s hope so.) 

Maybe the way to tell how bad I want something is to notice how bad I desperately hold on, despite the evidence. I feared watching the dream die, but I couldn’t let it go. What was the alternative? Giving up without a fight? 

It wasn’t just that CIM would be the death of a dream, I didn’t want to go if achieving the dream wasn’t even an option. I don’t care about any other outcome. I could go for a PR, but even if I made it, I would be bummed I missed the standard. I’d wonder if I should have gone for it. I don’t even think I have the drive to go after “just” a PR, because that’s not where my heart is. When the race gets tough and I have to fight, I don’t think I would. Not for anything less than the original dream. I have to at least try. And if I fall apart spectacularly, have to drop out in agony, whatever, at least I will know I tried. I can miss my goal in two ways: (1) not even trying because I think it’s hopeless/too crazy or (2) going for it anyway and finding out for sure. I’m choosing the latter.

Once I accepted I was going to go for it no matter what, I had something to focus on during the taper: my mental game. I need to get better at arguing myself back into trying, to not giving up on myself, even when it seems impossibly hard. 

I had to come up with my reasons why this isn’t crazy. 

1. Sorry, Kara. Advanced Marathoning says it’s not stupid 

Back in 2014, I thought I had to hit goal marathon pace in practice exactly, but I proved in Pittsburgh (and again at CIM in 2018) that I could run four seconds faster on race day than in practice. I didn’t believe that was possible until I did it. Maybe nine seconds is possible, especially with the help of the pack. 

“It always seems impossible until it’s done.” – Nelson Mandela

And just two days ago, looking back through my much-bookmarked copy of Advanced Marathoning (trying to remind myself of what race day warmup consists of) I instead happened upon a post-it on a page about how if you have a pack to run with, going out 8-10 seconds per mile faster than planned is okay. 

Which brings us to… 

2. The power of the pack

A lot of my confidence and hope relies on the power of the pack. In Pittsburgh, despite being unsure I could make it when I didn’t run that pace in practice, I ran alone. I still made it. I run all my workouts alone, even the half marathon a few weeks back. Having a group to work with, to not constantly fret over the pace, is a huge advantage I don’t usually have. 

With the OTQ pack in 2014

The benefit of having a pacer is well studied and undeniable; world records fall with pacers. The only time I’ve ever run with a pack was in 2014, at CIM, when I first qualified. It was an immense help. This time will be harder, the task greater, the pace faster. But I’m a more seasoned athlete now. Back then I had to take ten minutes off my PR, I had to prove I was an athlete good enough to qualify. Now I just have to prove I still am. And just take off a measly two minutes.

Now, about those two minutes... 

3. I fight harder for big, meaningful goals. With deadlines. (That happen to be this weekend.)

I’ve thought about CIM in 2018, when I set my current PR, a lot. The last 10K was ugly. How am I going to fight through that this time? And run faster than I did then? 

I talk a lot about having big goals and I also come up short a lot. But when the goals really matter, when something big is on the line, something that matters even more than a PR, I have an extra fight. CIM is the last day to qualify for the 2024 Trials. It’s my last shot. There’s no giving up in the middle and thinking I’ll be back another day. In 2018’s CIM, I was going for a PR, but the time was flexible (I wanted to run 2:38, or break 2:40, or just get a PR, I already had my qualifier secured) and so when it got ugly in the last 10K, I didn’t have as much fight as I would if those times meant something more. 

And finally: 

4. The trajectory is trending up

This year has been unlike any other. I was on crutches in January and yet somehow ran near my best ever by November. I feel like I am on the upswing more than ever, like my fitness and breakthroughs are coming at an alarming rate that I’m not used to. Who knows what I’ll be capable of on Sunday. 

....Still, it’s going to be hard as shit. 

Going into a race is willingly walking towards torture. (Why do we do this??) You know you are in for hours of suffering, of forcing your body to push through exhaustion and pain, or battling your mind as it goes to the deepest, darkest, ugliest places. It’s terrifying. 

I’ve been reminding myself that its only about two and a half hours of pain, after four years of dreaming of this, working toward this, running through pregnancy and the postpartum period (wishing I could be in this shape), of biking and swimming and elliptical-ing through injury (wishing I could be this healthy). Thousands of miles, hundreds of hours spent working my butt off when I could have been sleeping in or relaxing. In the grand scheme of everything, suffering for a couple hours is a drop in a bucket I’ve already filled. What’s another 2.5 hours? It’s worth it. Otherwise, I may spend hundreds of hours regretting I didn’t go for it, I didn’t give it my all. 

“If you had one shot, one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment a few hours, would you capture it? Or just let it slip?” --Eminem, Lose Yourself... mostly

I’ve been visualizing the course and the race. I’m reminding myself that it will be hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m adding to my mental arsenal of mantras and quotes and strategies to call on. I’m really focusing on what I’m going to do when I want to give up, when the pack starts to slip away. I’m picturing those moments, and how I’ll respond. 

“You want to spend all your time thinking about what you’re going to do, not what’s going to happen.” – Mike Smith, NAU coach

It’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I can do it. I am capable. 

Every time I’ve gone into a race trying to qualify, I’ve qualified. 

Every time I’ve gone to CIM, I’ve PRed. 

Time to try to make it 3 for 3. Time to try and keep this dream alive.

Keep dreaming big, 

Teal 

Fumbling for the Switch

I feel myself giving up on this dream. Imagining the finish, the women celebrating OTQs, I am picturing other women, not myself. I am accepting how to get over the fact that I won’t make it. Trying to come up with other goals that are still worth fighting for.

This is self-preservation. My mind trying to have an admittedly healthier attitude to my goals. I know that they don’t matter, that my family loves me no matter what, that my self-worth should not be based on running an arbitrary time within an arbitrary window. That factors like weather and sicknesses will always be out of my control. 

In the words of Laura Green: no one cares. Whether I make it or miss it by many miles, no one cares. 

But I care. 

I do this for me. Really and truly me alone. I know it’s a selfish habit and in times of guilt I try to rationalize it (it makes me healthier, happier, more energized, a better mom, etc. etc.) but truly I do this because I love it. Because I want to see how fast I can be. Because I love that “holy shit I can’t believe I just did that” finish line moment. Because I want to believe in myself again. Because it does add to my self-worth and makes me feel good about myself. Because I love the training, even when it’s not going as well as I like. I love starting my Wednesday with a “medium" long run (what any rational person would call a long run) and feeling slightly exhausted but also fulfilled all day long. 

There are days, months, years where it breaks my heart. The heartbreaks have been racking up the past couple years. I’m desperate to hang on to this goal because I don’t want to admit my best days may be behind me, that I’ll never get to the level I was once at, that I’ll never line up at a Trials again. Age catches up to all of us eventually, I don’t want to believe it’s already caught me. But it’s been five years of struggle. (Admittedly, having a baby took more than 2 of those years.) And annoyingly enough, I don’t appear to be getting any younger. 

Still, I love it. I care about it an unhealthy amount, I know that. But I need to care, or I’ll give up. 

There’s a switch that needs to be flipped on race day and hard work out days. You have to think it’s super important in the moment or you’ll give up. The marathon is so grueling that there will be a moment where it’s overwhelming, it’s too much, you want to give up, give in, not care. Your mind is begging you to slow, even slowing your body down against your will. You need to fight back, you need to care about it like it’s everything in that moment. As ridiculous as it sounds, it needs to seem like life or death to push yourself to new depths. You need that adrenaline, that belief, that unreal power that allows someone to lift a car off a child. Your brain will seize on any crack in your armor, any speck of “this doesn’t matter.” It will compromise, give in, and give up. 

But then you cross the line, stop the watch, end the workout, and it needs to not matter anymore. Flip the switch back. Running doesn’t matter in the real world. Leading into big workouts and race day, the switch needs to be on “unimportant” or the anxiety and pressure will be overwhelming. Moreover, the switch probably needs to stay like that—nice and chill and comfortable—until mile 15 or 18 or so, until that moment of reckoning, or you’ll be too stressed to run relaxed. 

But… 

HOW?! How to flip the switch at the right moment? How to not care that much, to let it go, until that last moment? And how to run fast from the beginning—nice and chill and relaxed, but also fast—if you’re trying not to care? This last bit is the struggle I’m having in my workouts. Trying to relax and take it mile by mile and let the fast pace come to me… but when it doesn’t, and the times slip, how to stay engaged and fighting? While also relaxing so you’re not forcing it? I want to force it. It seems my only chance. But I know that’s not how this works.

Trying to channel this finish line fight...
even when the finish line isn't in sight.

If I put too much pressure on myself, I’m not likely to run well. But if I give up on my goals now, I’m not going to run well either. I wonder if my recent workouts going poorly is me giving up: too many years of struggle, too many doubts seeping in, too many excuses. My mind trying to preserve itself. 

The pressure I put on myself seems astronomical but it’s because I want it. I know no one else cares, I know it doesn’t matter. But it matters to me. I think I thrive under pressure: I need that do-or-die reason to fight. I can feel myself trying to let it go, starting to let it go, and maybe that is healthy. But the part of me that is still grasping on, knows I need to grab it with both hands and hang on like life depends on it. (Even though I know it doesn’t.) 

I need to believe or I don’t stand a chance. 

Goals

People ask how I got into running marathons and the truth is I needed a Big Scary Goal to get me running at all again. I ran cross country and track in high school, but once I got to college, I ran only in fits and starts and basically ignored it for long stretches of time. (I wasn’t a college athlete, obviously). I wanted to run because I loved running, it kept me in shape, relieved anxiety, blah blah blah… all of the million reasons to run. But the truth is none of those reasons got me out of bed in the morning. Only a Big Goal that requires serious effort would.

And so I decided to run a marathon. That was serious enough to get me going and it worked. Ten years and twelve marathons later, the same principle holds true. I love running for a million reasons, but getting out the door is still not always easy. I need a push, and the push for me has always been Big, Scary, I-Might-Not-Make-It-Unless-I-Do-Everything-I-Can Goals.

Last week I talked about the fear of injury, and the obvious solution for my anxiety would be to chill out a bit on my times and goals. Enjoy running the Trials because I’m lucky enough to be there. Many people, mostly concerned friends and family, have mentioned this and I’ll grant that it’s a fair point. But… it’s not me.

The fun for me is in the pursuit of the goal, in the figuring out what I’m capable of, in having a great run/workout/daydream and imagining the possibilities. Running the Trials is huge, yes. The thrill of making it hasn’t worn off. But just running them, calling it in and enjoying a seriously high profile jog around LA doesn’t get me out of bed in the morning. The dream of racing well at the Trials does. 

A while back I listened to the Run to the Top Podcast with Dr. Stan Beecham, author of Elite Minds. He talked about setting goals that you’re only 60% sure you’ll hit. You might not make it, but you’ll almost surely run faster than if you went after a goal you were 100% sure you’d hit. I found myself nodding along to so much of what he said:

“We need goals that scare us a little bit… goals that wake you up in the morning and push you out of bed.”

“It’s the possibility that I may not be able to pull this off—that’s what makes every day interesting.”

I make these ridiculously ambitious goals unintentionally. Unofficially they’ve been simmering in my system since the last race. Wouldn’t it be awesome if… I would love to run X… The first couple passes through my brain they seem a little nuts. Yeah right, Teal. But, like I said, they simmer, keep gently bubbling up, and they won’t go away. Pretty soon they seem less like daydreams and more like goals. And I’ve thought about them so damn much I can’t imagine aiming lower.

Sometimes, they’re hugely crazy ambitious, and I come up way short. I never even made it to this past spring’s marathon starting line.

Sometimes (yes, less often), they’re hugely crazy ambitious, and I somehow achieve them. Last fall I was scared to admit to many people I was going for 2:43; my PR was ten minutes slower and I had come off a disastrous performance that spring. But dammit, that 2:43 simmered all summer, so I went for it.

And so this season, like all the others, my goals are Scary Big/Maybe Impossible, but that’s my favorite kind of goal and the only one that works for me. In one feeble attempt to keep me grounded, I’m trying to be a little flexible about them as the season goes on, so I won’t share them here. I will say, at the very least, I’m aiming to run a big PR on what looks to be a fast course. I hope to enjoy my laps around LA, but I know I will enjoy them far more if I’ve put in the work and am chasing something big.

Despite all that, I know I can’t go for PRs in every race. (Every marathon, yes; every race leading up to the marathon, no.) Some races will be workouts, tempo efforts, fun ways to celebrate holidays. This weekend I’ll run the Philly Half, and I honestly can’t tell you what my goal time is. I’m using it to gage where I’m at and to squeeze in one long fall race before the winter grind begins. I’ll be aiming to crush my PR at the next half I do. But this weekend, I’ll just see what happens.

And then it will be back to dreaming big.

Race Schedule:

Philadelphia Half-Marathon – Nov. 22

Richmond Turkey Trot 10K – Nov. 26

Jingle All The Way 5K – Dec. 6 {PR attempt, because… I mean, c’mon. 

Jacksonville Half-Marathon – Jan. 3 {PR attempt

US Olympic Marathon Trials – Feb. 13 {PR attempt, because… well, see above.

Dream bigger,

Teal

My Other Marathon

In between my morning runs and evening carbo-loading sessions, I am a scientist. Or, at least, trying to be one. I have spent the last five years working towards a PhD, the two years before that working towards getting into a PhD program, my undergraduate years working towards getting a job that would get me into a PhD program... All the way back to elementary school adventures with exploding volcanoes, science fairs, and cakes decorated to look like animal cells. (The mitochondria were delicious.)

My first science fair. Told you I was a nerd.

People tell you that a PhD program is so hard, that it really takes something out of you, demoralizes you, makes you dig deep into reserves you didn't know you had. 

I thought, whatever, I'm a marathoner. I can do this. 

But they were right. 

Years of failed experiments. Committee meetings where the end seemed further and further away. Countless days that ended in tears. 

I wanted to give up and quit. Why am I doing this to myself? At one point my dad tried to put an end to my complaining, reminding me that no matter what, "You will never give up now." The defeated voice in my head silently responded, "Oh yea, watch me." I was so close. But no one--husband, family, friends, teammates--would let me.

So I kept going. 

Up the hill. Exhausted and demoralized 20 miles in. Aching to drop out, sit down on the curb and end the misery. 

Slowly milestones ticked off and things came together. This past January, my committee gave me permission to set a defense date. The end was in sight. And yet, there was still so much to do: write up five years of results, present the data in front of the department, friends, and family, and respond to an onslaught of questions in such a way that would convince people I deserve those extra three letters at the end of my name.

"Good for you! You've spent six months training for a marathon! Now you just have to run 26.2 miles, in a row, and you can really celebrate."

"Congratulations! You qualified for Boston! Now run 21 miles, climbing three hills, and then take on Heartbreak. Oh yea, and then 5 more miles."

The end is near, but no celebrations yet.

As the morning of the defense neared, I took all pre-race precautions. I tried to get my sleep, eat well, and eliminate any possible last minute mishaps. When the day came there was nothing else I could do. Time to pray for a favorable tailwind and no mid-race nausea.

The defense was terrible and awful. Like the final miles of any marathon, as soon as it got tough, I ached and mentally pleaded for it to end. And yes, there were moments when I wanted to throw up.

But by midday, it was over. I had done it. It is taking a while to set in, that this Huge Life Moment I ruminated about almost constantly for more than 5 years has finally come and I can stop stressing about it. There were so many moments when I thought I might not make it. But no, I did not DNF. I finished.

Nearly two decades later, explaining something
slightly more complicated on a slightly bigger scale.

And now for the sappy part, to justify a post complaining about graduate school on a blog dedicated to running:

Everything worth doing has a 20-miles-in-and-I-want-to-drop-out-and-curl-up-in-the-fetal-position Moment. (Or many moments, because it doesn't magically get easier at mile 21.) Moments of doubt, of panic, of hating your previous self for signing up for this torture. Find the person/people that will push you, that will hold you up when you want to sit down/pass out/give up. Keep going. Keep fighting. Up the hill and over the other side. Through the finish line. You'll get there.

And then you can really celebrate.

Dream big, 

Teal, PhD

Motivation

You pretended the snooze button didn't exist. You dragged your butt out of bed while others slept. While others ate their pancakes. You had a feast of protein, glucose, and electrolytes. You double-knotted. You left the porch light on and locked the door behind you. You ran. 5Ks, 10Ks, 26.2 miles. Some days more, some days less. You rewarded a long run with a short run. And a short run with a long run. Rain tried to slow you. Sun tried to microwave you. Snow made you feel like a warrior. You cramped. You bonked. You paid no mind to comfort. On weekends. On holidays. You made excuses to keep going. Questioned yourself. Played mind games. Put your heart before your knees. Listened to your breathing. Sweat sunscreen into your eyes. Worked on your farmer's tan. You hit the wall. You went through it. You decided to be a man about it. You decided to be a woman about it. Finished what you started. Proved what you were made of. Just keep putting mile after mile on your internal odometer. 

-Nike ad

That's an old ad, but I cherish it among my pile of saved running ads. Sometimes before races I leaf through them to get the motivational juices flowing. Just reading them reminds me of all the work I've put in, all the miles, sacrificed sleep, weather woes, endless bagels. My pile of ads reminds me not to shy away from the pain, that it will be hard, and leave you gassed. That the best workouts and races take the most from you, but they give the most back. 

People always ask me what I think about when I'm running. On any given run, that varies a lot. But in a race, I think exclusively about the race. About the pace, the people around me, the scenery, the next water stop/GU stop/place I'll see Team Teal. And when the inevitable "going gets tough" I leaf through my internal store of motivational tidbits. Songs can be incredible distracters and motivators. And in my opinion, hands down, the best running song is Eminem's "Lose Yourself." Just look at the lyrics:

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy

There's vomit on his sweater already, Mom's spaghetti.

If that doesn't sound like carbo-loading gone terribly wrong, I don't know what it is. 

Just kidding. Seriously, the relevant lyrics:

If you had one shot, or one opportunity

To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment

Would you capture it or just let it slip?

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment

You own it, you better never let it go

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow 

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime

If you focus on those words (and the beat) while struggling running, you are almost guaranteed to get back into it. I remember singing those lyrics to myself while running my first Boston. I had just crested Heartbreak and was struggling. Then those lyrics came in my mind. One shot, one opportunity. The excitement of Boston wasn't lost on me, this was my one opportunity. Yea, maybe I run a marathon every six months so this may be a little overstated, but with all the time and energy I invest, I don't want to let it slip at the critical moment. And the thought "this is the last time I ever do this to myself" (insert curse words as needed) is at the forefront of your mind in the middle of a marathon, so this being the last opportunity seems relevant. It's your last one, better go out with a bang. (Don't worry, shortly after you finish you'll change your mind. Another favorite Nike ad that ran the day after the NYC Marathon: "Today you feel like you'll never run a marathon again. See you next year.")

Besides Eminem, my other running mantra is "this is for the record books." I realize, obviously, that my name will never be in any real record book. But what I mean is that whatever I do on that day will be written forever in my log book, online results, runnerteal.com, etc. I won't be able to go back and fix it. I can try to qualify a poor performance, add an asterisk to explain wind or hills or stomach issues, but really the time is all that matters. I think "this is for the record books" in all my tough workouts when my pace is slipping or I feel like throwing in the towel. Whatever happens, I'll have to write that down, set it in stone, and look at it for years to come. When I think about this, it makes me want to stop making excuses and make sure that I give everything I have, so that whatever is written is the best exemplar of my performance on that day. No asterisks. No excuses. 

I know that mantra may not make sense or work for you. But I urge you to find your own, something that inspires, hits home, and is easy to remember and repeat. Obviously not something as long as the opening Nike ad, but something that resonates just the same. Maybe Eminem. 

Dream big, 

Teal