I keep reading about people’s running: someone’s training for Boston, or an ultra, or an Ironman, and I think “I want to do all those things, but here I am signed up for a puny little Half Marathon again this spring.”

I can’t get excited training for it. I haven’t been interested in training since my SI joint injury just after the marathon last May. It still doesn’t feel quite right, and I can’t even get excited about running most of the time. I haven’t adjusted to running life in Vancouver very well.

I miss running in Victoria. I miss having kilometres of beautiful coastline within minutes of my home.

I miss having trails an easy 20 minute drive (or less) away.

I miss having a challenging tree-lined hill workout in my own neighbourhood.

I miss having training buddies who run at my training pace.

I miss daylight. Maybe it will get better in spring. Maybe I should bring running gear to work and run the seawall at lunchtime.

I know I need to exercise every day, and I manage to get a few workouts in per week. Maybe that’s enough for now. After all, I just moved. Chris just moved in with me. I just want to sit in my cosy apartment with my fireplace going and have a glass of wine with my new neghbours and friends.

Maybe I should just give myself a break. Lean into it, and see what happens.

This too shall pass.

Photo by robswatski used under Creative Commons license

But then things just kind of went to hell.

I stopped doing my bootcamp class, I went on vacation for a month. I started to get weak. My injuries just don’t heal like they used to. In October, I put in my worst Half Marathon performance ever. Then I moved to Vancouver,

I’ve seen a PT here, but my last “treatment” consisted of showing me exercises that I won’t do every day like I’m supposed to. I can’t pay $70 per session for that.

I’m starting to wonder if my goal of putting in a sub 2-hour half marathon this year is doable. Getting faster means putting in some consistent fast mileage. Consistent fast mileage means injury. Injury means more time and money to PT and massage, neither of which I can afford right now.

So why can’t I be satisfied with a modest 25-30k of running per week at a moderate pace? Why do I have to set an ambitious goal? (Hey – I KNOW I’m slow. For me, 2 hours is an ambitious goal. I’m not you. Deal with it.) Why can’t I sign up for a race without a goal in mind? Why sign up for a race at all?

Well, because the best part about racing is the experience of the day itself: lining up with hundreds, if not thousands, of other runners excited about their performance. Race day is a victory lap, a reward for training, for putting in the miles no one sees. Half the fun is cheering for the other runners on the course, especially team mates you’ve been training with for months.

In racing, my time does not count. I’m just another mid-to-back-of-the-pack runner in a sea of spandex. I’m not even going to place in my age group. Ever.

It’s the journey, not the tape. Hell I won’t even see the tape.

Training hard also takes away from other things I want to do: writing, cooking spending time with my man (who just moved in), maybe even performing slam poetry again.

Someone with ultra-stamina could probably do all that and more. Not me, not any more. I know my energy levels and my priorities.

So, just as I’m reflecting on my priorities for 2012, I’m taking a good hard look at what I really want to accomplish this year, and I’m adjusting accordingly.

I am just fine with that – it was my goal in fact, because I am feeling uninjured and wonderful and I have a medal to mark another accomplishment. I know I can go out there undertrained and in the midst of a major life change and finish a challenging distance race with a smile on my face.

That’s huge.

I know my limits and my abilities and I’m so damn thankful that I have my health. Any day above ground is a supreme gift.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

1. I had the time. It took 2 hours for my first one, an hour for my second and 7 hours to get my half-sleeve done. Sure, I could have been doing something different on a weekend afternoon: read a book, written something. I also could have wasted it watching TV – I hear that happens sometimes, even to me. But I wanted a tattoo and I put in the time to get one. Just like I put in the time to train for and run two marathons, or write poetry. You always have time to do something that’s important to you.
2. I can afford it. Indeed, I spent some coin on my tats. It was worth every penny. Some people collect old cars and fix them up. Some people have lots of pets, or gardens. Some people collect art. Some people travel a lot. I do none of those things, but I saved up to spend some money on my body art. It’s like the time thing: if it’s important, you’ll find the resources to do it.
3. I’m just being me. I am not a role model, however unlikely and unworthy. People can choose to like or comment on my tats if they so wish. If they don’t like them, I trust they will keep their opinions to themselves. My tats have a story to tell and I am happy to elaborate. Or not. You can just admire them silently, that’s ok too. You probably won’t see them if I’m at work though, they are mostly covered up while I’m in the office.
4. I am my own canvas. I got ink to express fundamental stories about myself graphically. I’m a writer, so stepping into the world of visual representation was a liberating experience for me.
5. I want to be philosophically grounded. I do change my mind about many things, but some things ground me. Those are represented in my tattoos. They represent aspect of myself that no one can take away: my achievements in climbing (Devil’s Tower), my children (each of 4 represented in the half sleeve*), and my skeptical, rational philosophical outlook (the analemma**). My next one will probably mark my marathon running.
6. My tattoos are unique to me as an individual. I don’t need to stand out in the crowd (these days I don’t, because tattoos are so popular) but I wanted them to distinguish my story from everyone else’s.
7. I control my own body. I speak for myself. That wasn’t always the case. I was sexually and psychologically abused as a child. My tattoos are my way of staking claim on this body as mine to do with what I will.
8. My skin is now really interesting. My tats are conversation starters. Even before I got mine I always asked people how they got theirs. Now I am happy to share what mine mean to me.
9. Self-modification is a time-honoured practice spanning many cultures. It’s been going on for millenia. There may even be some genetic basis to our propensity for self-decoration.
10. My skin art will always be with me. Clothes wear out and get faded and dirty. Jewellery gets lost. Paintings are a pain to move. And don’t even ask me about my mess of digital photos.
11. Indelible actions require long-term perspective. That’s why I waited until I was in my 40s to get the first, a tattoo I’d wanted for over 10 years. That’s why I chose the images I did. I realize they will be with me for the rest of my life.
12. I wanted to do it. Of course there is a big difference between I can do it and I should do it. I chose to do it.
13. I’ve always admired well-inked tattoos. So many people have told me they never regretted getting a tattoo, though I realize some people do regret it. Still and all, I waited until I was absolutely sure. It is indeed an easily avoidable potential regret.
14. I’m confident in my ink. I know I’m going to know something tomorrow that I didn’t know today. Even if I do learn tomorrow these tats were somehow ill-advised, it will have been the only way for me to learn.
15. I researched my tattoo artist. And I can’t give blood anyway. I have such low blood pressure/viscous blood that I can’t even though I’ve tried twice. Besides, you’re exposed to the same risk of infection each time you get blood drawn or get a vaccination. Watch the artist’s cleanliness practices before you put yourself under the needle. The risks are minimal if you consult a professional.
16. The time had come to do it. In my case, procrastination worked. I waited years before getting my first one, and I was content to take all the time I needed with my tattoo artist before making the first lines. (He says he gets a lot of business covering up youthful ill-advised tattoos by the way.) Like marriage or parenthood, it’s not something you want to rush into.

* I haven’t got a good picture of the half-sleeve yet. Stay tuned.

** Look it up. It’s an astronomical term, used in the Neal Stephanson novel Anathem as a wonderful example of how math is truly a universal – nay – multi-universal language.

My first marathon was a triumphant 4:42:24 finish. My second attempt ended at the 15k mark with an injury to one of my upper calf muscles.

I’ve been ambivalent about running this marathon. Training is hard, it takes over your life. I haven’t been out in the evening in weeks. My friends are starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Not only that, but I signed up to be a run leader for a spring marathon, not realizing my group would consist of exactly four people: me, two fellow run leaders, one of whom is not signed up for a race and who hasn’t completed a run more than 2 hours, another who injured her ankle hiking and had to drop out of marathon training, and our sole clinic participant who was in Hawaii for all of February and missed several crucial build-up runs.

But still, I slogged through my training, being sidelined by nagging injuries (that were caught early and treatable) only a couple of times. The whole time I’ve been plagued by doubt: do I really WANT to do this? Previously, the training was the most fun part of marathon training. Not so this time.

Of course, yes I do want to finish this marathon. I’ve worked so hard for this. I know the feeling of accomplishment after crossing that finish line and getting a medal is incomparable.

I think my problem is: I’m no longer a newbie. I know how hard it is. I’m under no illusions as to how much work it takes to cross the finish line after 42.2k. I’m under no illusions that race day might not be my day to have a good run. After last fall’s sudden, unexpected injury (it happened in the last week before the race) I know that any-freaking-thing can happen to derail my race plan.

I finished Saturday’s 3:30 run confident that I am ready to run Vancouver. Now taper starts. I’ve been doing everything I can to get into the right headspace to finish strong. I visualize the race each morning, including my triumphant finish. I listen to my marathon music mix, including Phoenix’s “Love Like a Sunset.” I imagine Chris (who’s flying in from New Brunswick the week before) waiting for me in the family area with his camera, a big hug and kiss to my sweaty, salty face.

I know that no matter what happens in the next 20 days, I will take whatever comes, knowing that life happens, the running gods sometimes have a sick sense of humour and I’ve done all I can to get me that medal.

If it’s true that the race is simply the victory lap after all the training, then I’m prepared to just enjoy the day.

• BMO Vancouver Marathon

I’ve signed up to be a volunteer pace group leader at a Frontrunners marathon running clinic, starting January 12 and leading up to the 40th BMO Vancouver Marathon May 1, 2011.

I already know from leading indoor spin-type classes at the YMCA that it’s not about me so much as the participants. Certainly it’s a good way to keep on track with my own fitness and to get in the training to complete the race, but at a certain point a fitness leader has to put aside her own goals and tune in to the needs of the group members.

• You have to show up even when you don’t feel like going that day.
• You have to know where the heck your run route is, because you’re out in front.
• You’re out there for 2, 2.5, 3, 3.5 hours, you better make that route interesting, preferably a loop that is do-able in the time frame allowed.
• You have to adjust on the fly, make sure everyone gets back to the start line, sweep the stragglers if someone’s having a bad day, and be prepared for anything.

As our clinic leader put it this morning, if you’re hell bent on getting a Personal Best this time, don’t be a run leader, be a participant. Runners will sense a pressure to perform, and that leads to overdoing it, overtraining, overuse — injury — and failure to cross the finish line. Maybe not for you, but for them. And the whole idea of these clinics is to get people to the finish line injury-free.

The good news is – helping people achieve their fitness goals is a passion of mine, it keeps me going. It’s why I volunteer at the Y. It’s why I join clinics – because a shared victory is sweeter than a personal one.

Besides, I live to run and I don’t like to run alone all the time.

So if you’re making a resolution to run a marathon in 2011 — sign up for the race, sign up for the clinic. We’ll get you there!

As you know I run for my health and fitness (although running marathons goes way beyond just keeping healthy, but that’s a topic for another day), but I don’t want it to be all about me. One of my run leaders, Mandy, works at the Mount St. Mary’s foundation and she is passionate about her work and about Mount St. Mary’s.

I know your donation will stay right here in Victoria providing long term care for those who need it most. It will also help me take my running outside myself and into helping my community – that way we all benefit!

Please take a moment right now to pledge me online, then come out and cheer on the Marythoners!

I’m excited to finally be running the full 42.2 km marathon in my *hometown. It will be great to see friends and family on the course to cheer me on – but I have a need for some extra race support. I’m hoping I gather a crew for that day:

1.     Gear/layer shedding.

• It’s always chilly at the start of the race and I bundle up. At the start line and at the 3 – 4 km mark it would be great to have someone on hand to whom I can hand off my extra layers. Running gear gets expensive and I don’t want to lose it!
• Likewise – if the weather turns bad – it would be nice to have someone at the 25k mark or so to hand me a dry, warm layer if needed.

2.    Water bottles/gels.

I carry my own water usually, that way I can carry my own electrolyte concoction, plus I can avoid the bottlenecks at the aid stations (I haven’t mastered the art of drinking enough liquid out of those paper cups.) I have four bottle holders on my fuel belt plus a spare set of four. If I can trade empties for full ones with someone at about the 20 km point, have them refilled, and then pick them up again at the 35 km point, that would be ever so wonderful. (Neil Balkwill Centre – 2420 Elphinstone Street is Kilometer 20 and 35 I believe.)

3. Finish Line!

• Chocolate Milk 500 ml — I think my daughter Pocketbuddha has offered, but she will have Oliver with her, so perhaps some help for the mama of a 1-year old is in order? (PS I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW STOKED I AM THAT MY SON, MY DAUGHTER AND MY GRANDSON WILL BE AT THE FINISH LINE CHEERING ME ON!)
• Red Breast 12-year old Irish Whisky in a flask. My son Aidan has this one taken care of I think – it has become somewhat of a tradition for me to swill some whisky after Halfs and Full Marathons, thanks to my Victoria drinking buddy Tim (@Howlabit on Twitter). By the way – if anyone has any 15-yo Red Breast – talk to me. I’m sure we can work something out
• A warm blanket – those plastic ones they hand out to all racers are OK – but they just don’t do the trick.

4. Après-Finish

I’m getting a really big meal that day, thanks to Margaret Levett who is going to stuff me full of jug-jug, rice ‘n peas, and other Caribbean and British delicacies (including the sorrel. Mmmm the sorrel!).

Of course if people just want to come out and cheer, make me a sign that says “Go Tori” or just yell and scream when I run by, I’m up for that too. It will be a huge help. Did I mention running a marathon is freaking hard? Every little bit of encouragement helps — except don’t say “you’re almost there” until I’ve hit the 39 km mark.

The race web site (http://runqcm.com/marathon/course/maps_narratives_startfinish) has a handy “Spectator Zone” guide for spectators and includes information on the best spots from which to watch (that are easier to get to given the traffic restrictions that day).

—

*Swift Current, SK is technically my hometown, but I lived in Regina for most of my adult life: 18 years.

This race is so much different from my first marathon. I’m still deeply committed, training is going well this year (dare I say better than last year?) – but that added sense of excitement and pressure is gone. I already know I can run a marathon – I’ve already achieved 42.2 kms.

This race is about seeing how strong I can be and running 42.2 faster than last time. It’s about having fun on a course in my hometown. For me, marathon running is like golf: if you hit a sweet drive 20% of the time, that one sweet shot after four duds is enough to keep you going back for more.

Looking at all my Halfs and Full marathons the past two years, I only felt really good during the Vancouver Half in 2009 – the Victoria Marathon hurt like hell from the 25km mark and the Oak Bay Half this year was a slog, despite my PB time.

Searching for that perfect race day just keeps me running.

Training is fun too – when I get a day (and it happens more frequently than a nice golf swing actually) where the weather, the company of my running buddies, my mood and my energy levels are optimum I think I’m the luckiest girl on earth. And I couldn’t get those days if I wasn’t training for another marathon.

So I’ll take them as they come!

—

Training this week: recovery week, only 16k long run Saturday.

Next week: 32k long run (about 3.5 hours). After that, the taper starts!

Take a little from column A, a lot from column B and you have the reason I wake up in an exhausted fog some mornings. This training schedule is like a second job. For instance, here’s this week’s schedule:

• Monday: morning tempo run 10-11k; evening “recovery” run with the Running for the Truly Terrified group I started.
• Tuesday: morning spin class at the YMCA where I’m a volunteer; evening boot camp.
• Wednesday: evening speed workout with Frontrunners marathon clinic.
• Thursday: evening boot camp.
• Friday: one-hour hot yoga at noon because lord knows I need to stretch!
• Saturday: 19k run (long slow distance: pace 6:50/k, a little over 2 hours)
• Sunday: hike Witty’s lagoon! (I’m really looking forward to that one!)

As luck would have it, my real job is busy but not crazy-busy, and during the summer I haven’t (yet) needed to put in any overtime hours or travel too much. If that were the case though I’d have to give up something – probably a boot camp session.

As a matter of fact, come August (when my mileage starts climbing again) I will drop one of the boot camps per week, and during taper I won’t weight train at all.

The perennial question for runners is: what are you running from?

Good question. The harder answer (given the fact that marathon training is actually hard on the body) is I have no idea. I can’t think of what I’m avoiding in life by working out so much, I can’t think of anything “chasing” me that would cause me to run away.

The easy answer is: I simply love this, I love running, working out, getting strong, staying youthful, staying healthy; and I love doing it with other people, helping them achieve their fitness goals at the same time I’m achieving mine.

What other possible answer could there be?

Photo: Tori running the Royal Victoria Marathon October 2009 by Bill Broughton