So, when you ask your friends to go hang out you usually have a fun-filled plan of activities in mind.  It typically might be a 4-hour event.  That seems like a reasonable amount of time to have lunch and go shopping or to enjoy dinner and movie.  That time frame would even work for a pedicure and cocktails or an evening of dancing at the club.

Well, I spent 4 hours hanging out with a good friend this morning.  No, we didn’t have breakfast and mimosas and share our gossip.  And no, we didn’t even take up a short one hour spin class and enjoy some coffee afterwards.  What did we do instead?  We ran for 4 hours.  That’s right, it was all running… 4 long hours of running.  The funny thing was that we even ran right past a movie theater and I happened to mention the fact that we were running instead of sitting through 2 movies (including the previews).

Usually when friends get together they chat about the current events in their lives, their husbands, their dogs, their kids… whatever comes to mind.  There might be a complaint here or there about something that has recently gone awry.  If one friend has a problem, the other friend will usually provide moral support and possibly offer some solutions.  Afterall, that’s what friends are for.

So, my 4 hour excursion with my friend started off pleasant.  We did have that conversation about recent happenings and the “what are your plans for the holidays” discussion.  Then it turned toward a whole different direction.  It pretty much got quiet.  It wasn’t the awkward silence either.  It was the “I am in a little bit of pain and I am trying to stay focused” silence.  Then it wasn’t quiet anymore.  The complaints started coming and these weren’t complaints about friends, husbands, kids or pets (well, maybe we did throw one in there about the friend who suggested a bridge at mile 18 or the other friend who talked us into this race we are training for).  No, these complaints were about the pain in our legs, back, knees and feet.  They were complaints about the hot sun beaming down on us.  They were complaints about every little curb and hill.  Let’s not forget to mention the bridge.  That was a very long stretch of complaints.

Yet, we did have that drink afterwards.  We managed to hobble to our cars and grab some cash before heading into the nearby grocery store.  We poured ourselves a hefty cup of sugary soda from the fountain and walked very slowly to the cash register.  I felt like I was going to scream at the person in front of me in line because she was taking way to long to purchase her cards and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand there.  We hobbled back to our cars as people stared at us like we were crazy.  They also made sure to keep their distance.  You know how most girls get all clean, dressed up and wear the nice smelling perfume to go out with their friends?  Well, I guess we were the opposite of that.

And guess what?  After all of that torture we are still friends.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  I hope some of you were able to get out and get moving before stuffing your faces 🙂  This whole idea of running a half-marathon on Thanksgiving morning is relatively new to me, but I don’t see myself doing it any differently in the years to come.  It just takes a few hours of my time and my husband and I still manage to get a delicious dinner on the table.  I definitely like the idea of being able to eat what I want with little worry.

As I reflect back on my childhood holidays, I have difficulty remembering my mother ever cooking a turkey.  It wouldn’t surprise me if she never took on the challenge.  She was far from domestic.  I know that she would rather have been running than cooking.  As I find myself in the kitchen, I realize that I am really not that great at whipping up these holiday feasts.  My mother did not teach me how to bake an apple pie.  I learned that when I lived for 4 months in the Bahamas while studying sharks (sounds silly, I know).  If it weren’t for my step-mother, my poor husband would be forced to eat frozen dinners and take on a majority of the housework.  My step-mother is the queen of domestic.  She actually thrives on cooking and cleaning.  She can’t go a day without grabbing the bottle of bleach.  So, I guess I managed to get the best of both worlds.

Therefore, when it comes to family traditions, nothing really stands out pre-step-mother era.  I am not one of those daughters who whips out the recipe passed down to her from her mother who acquired it from her mother.  I don’t have those memories of smelling my mother’s apple pie as it bakes in the oven or helping her frost the cookies.  Yeah, sometimes I get a tad jealous when I hear of my friends talking about their mothers in this way.  I hope they are thankful that they still get to spend holidays with their mothers.

Yet, what I do have that most don’t, is the passion to run.  That is what my mother passed on to me.  It makes these Thanksgiving 1/2 marathons all the more special… similar to the feeling of nostalgia you get when baking that apple pie from your mother’s recipe.   Not only that, but I have my own daughters now and I can pass along the family traditions that I think are worthy.  Just yesterday, my oldest helped me make a pumpkin pie.  Next year I will show her how to make “my” awesome apple pie.  And why not get in a good turkey trot?

Right at this moment, my husband is participating in his first Ironman Triathlon.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with those, it basically involves swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112 miles and then running 26.2 miles.  Sounds crazy, right?  I used to think so, but now I am not so sure.  Would I be willing to do it?  Definitely not right now, but who knows what the future holds.  Until this moment, I didn’t realize how much dedication it takes to endure a full day of strenuous activity.  As I repeatedly search online for status updates regarding my husband, I can’t help but think “this is taking all day” and I don’t mean that in a negative way but in the “wow, incredible” way.   It takes a lot of passion for someone to have that type of self-discipline.  Today I ran 12 miles and that only took 1/8 of the time it is taking my husband to complete this race.  He is covering 140.6 miles!

I always knew that my husband was the athletic type.  If you have been reading my blogs, then you know that I have been the inconsistent athlete.  When I met my husband he actually received the “most athletic” award for our group in the military.  He often talked about the workouts he endured during his college years.  I can’t believe that I even attempted to run with him when I “liked” him back in the day.  I had issues when I was in the military because I couldn’t do the stupid sit and reach portion of the fitness test.  Seriously, a runner doesn’t need to be flexible… thank goodness I know that now.

After we got married, my husband was kind of like me when it came to fitness… up and down.  I think he liked to blame the kids even though he wasn’t the one who had to get pregnant, gain weight and then lose it!  He would often commit to a race of some sort and then complain that he wasn’t ready… yet, he would easily overcome the challenge.  It actually made me sick.  He would barely train while I would attempt consistency and fail miserably.  Now I can FINALLY say that I am able to WHOOP him when it comes to running.  However, he TOTALLY has me beat with this Ironman stuff.  Get me on a bike and I will show you the best way to fall off.

Anyway, even though he doesn’t always think so, he has that passion within and I know that it will always be there.  I admire him for that and I am so thankful I married someone who could motivate me.  I did kind of inherit that competitive nature from him (okay, some of that was already in there… but it has definitely been compounded by my intent to beat my husband at every race).  Now I have all of this passion brimming at my fingertips and I am wondering how I can best use it to help others.  Even though I am usually cursing at myself by mile 8, it just feels so good to be running.  And I am so PROUD of my husband for doing something that I can’t even imagine doing right now!

When you are used to doing things a certain way, it is often difficult to change.  Throughout my coaching experience over the past 5 months, I have learned that being able to adapt is a necessary characteristic of being a coach.  It took a bit of time for me to realize that the run was not about me and my goals.  It was about someone else and their goals.  You would think that a teacher should have realized that from the beginning, but it took some time for the realization to hit.  Even up until the end, it was still difficult to make the transition.  I would often increase my pace without thinking, forget about the constant hydration reminders or continue past the bathrooms without allowing for a pit stop.  Maybe I just liked dispelling cruel and unusual punishment… but most likely it was because I would fall back into “my” zone.

I must admit, that even when it came to event day, I was kind of disappointed that I would not be running the 13.1 mile course just like everyone else.  I was assigned to reside in between mile 9 and mile 12.5.  As we walked to mile 9 and placed ourselves along the course, it seemed very odd to be standing there wearing a race bib as the elite runners whizzed past.  As the course grew thick with runners, I felt a sudden urge to jump into the crowd.  Yet, I stood my ground.  I was waiting for our first team member.  I knew he would be there soon because he was our fastest runner.  It didn’t take long before I spotted him in the crowd.  That was my chance, so I jumped in and started asking all of the coach-like questions.  “How are you doing?”  “Have you been staying hydrated?”  “Did you take some nutrition?”  “How is that leg feeling right now?.”  I wasn’t sure what else to do after I asked all of the questions, so I just stayed by his side and every now and then I would offer some words of encouragement.  Then it was time for me to let him go and run back to find our next team member.  At that point, I was feeling good and I just ignored the people who tried to tell me I was going the wrong way.  Not like the large letters on my shirt spelling out the word “COACH” had anything to do with my unusual running behavior.

Then I spotted our next runner who was running with the other coach.  I joined them for a bit until I decided to jump back out onto the sidelines and run back for the next participant.  He wasn’t too much farther back.  He seemed so peppy and cheery that I wondered if he had really just run 11 miles.  I asked my usual questions, but felt no wave of concern.  He was motivated to get it done.  He had a personal connection to cancer and it was his motivation to make it to the end.  I had no doubts when I left him on his own at mile 12.5.  He was strong and determined.

I went backwards, yet again, and was once again told that I was going the wrong way.  That only motivated me to run faster in the “wrong” direction.  And that wasn’t easy because the wrong direction usually involved running through the grass and over slopes and rocks (since I obviously wasn’t about to run head on into a crowd of determined runners).  Fortunately, it didn’t take long before I saw her.  Another team member who had come so far over the past 5 months.  She was one of our most dedicated trainees.  As I ran alongside her, it appeared she was her usual cheerful self.  It didn’t even appear as though she was breaking a sweat!

Once again, I turned around at the mile 12.5 mark and ran back.  As I ran through the grass along the course I noticed a participant who looked tired and worn out.  She was not a member of our Jax team, but I called out her name (written right on her shirt) and ran alongside of her.  When I asked her how she was doing she started crying.  I asked her why she was running the race tonight and she told me it was for her grandmother.  All I could do was tell her that her grandmother was watching over her and that she must be so proud to see her granddaughter finishing her first half marathon.  Then she stopped crying and started smiling as I offered up some more encouragement and cracked a few jokes to lighten the mood.  By the time I left her at mile 12.5 she was stronger than ever.  At that moment, I finally realized why I was there.  I got back to work right away.

Before I knew it, the sweeper was in sight and it was time for the coaches to head to the finish line.  Even though we had been on our feet for over 5 hours, we were so full of life as we finally danced our way across the finish line.  I never thought that I could be so happy to come in last place.   I think I accomplished something great that night.  I finally learned to run like a coach.