26 Letters to Stephen: 5

Letter #5

September 14, 2013

Dear Stephen,

I’m trying not to panic, but something bad happened today.

About 7 or 7.5 miles into my run, my ankle started to hurt. At first I thought that it might just need to crack, but rotating it did nothing to stop the pain.

When I started running again, the pain stopped for a little while, but then started again and never stopped. I’ve been done with the run for a couple of hours, and despite icing and wrapping, my ankle is aching even though I’m just sitting here.

This could be bad.

It’s possible that it will feel better tomorrow or at least by next Sunday, but I’m scared. It’s also possible that I’m down for the count. The worst part is that all I can do is wait and see.

It hurts to walk right now, so having this continue more that 24 hours would be really bad.

I’m not sure what else to say. Any magic you’ve got, go ahead and work it, ok?

More soon.

26 letters to Stephen: 4

Letter # 4: September 11, 2013

It has been a long time, Stephen. Far, far too long, and I am sorry.

I'm in the middle of week 14 of marathon training. For 12 weeks, things were going absolutely beautifully. Last week, a sinus infection threw a wrench in everything. This week, there have not yet been any disasters -- but there have been warning signs, and I am worried.

I'm going to tell you all about it, and soon. I promise. This weekend, I am going to write you a letter that is worth 10 letters. I promise.

But for right now, I just need to ask a favor.

Stay with me through these next couple of runs, will you? I am feeling whispers from my hips and knees that remind me of past injuries, and all I can think about is how quickly everything went to hell last time. I finished a 12-mile taper run, and suddenly my knee hurt like hell. Just like that. And it continued to hurt like hell until approximately 2 weeks after the race.

I survived. I even made it to the finish line and recovered without so much as a doctor visit. But it was so hard and I was so scared. Scared of quitting. Scared of hurting myself. Scared of having limited mobility. Scared of always wondering if I did the right thing.

I don't want to be scared like that again, especially since I will also be scared of failing you.

So stay with me. Keep my knees, hips, and feet functioning the right way for just a few more weeks. Keep me healthy, and I promise I'll do the rest.

I know it seems trivial to talk of this stuff as such a big deal, especially today. But it is a big deal, to me. So I'm just looking for help where I can get it.

You were always willing to give it.

I miss you.

26 Letters to Stephen: 3

June 15, 2013

Dear Stephen,

Week one of marathon training complete. One down, 17 to go.

At the beginning of the week, I had settled on doing one 3-mile run, one speed workout, one bike commute, one long run, and two strength training sessions each week. After this week, though, I might be changing my mind.

It was raining on Monday morning, so I did the elliptical instead. Then I did strength training Tuesday morning and ran with the Scouts Tuesday night. Wednesday I did strength training again.

The trouble started on Thursday. I went to the track workout with the Scouts. In the middle of my 4^th or 5^th 400-meter repeat, I got some cramping in my hamstrings. One of them was really, really sore all day Friday and still not great this morning. I had that really horrible feeling of not knowing whether or not I should run.

It didn’t hurt that much, but would running make it worse? It wouldn’t be a big deal to miss a 6-miler, but how could I skip my very first run with the training group?

In the end, I decided to run. I feel ok right now. I’m sore, but not alarmingly so. I just hope I don’t regret it tomorrow.

An injured hamstring isn’t a devil I’ve handled before. I hate the unknown. This is exactly what I didn’t want to feel this time around. Perhaps I skip speed training next week.

The good news is that I think I am really going to like running with CARA. The group leader and all the women in my group are really nice.

I thought of you this morning when the pace groups were working themselves out. How fast did you run, anyway? I know it was a hell-of-a-lot faster than me. Maybe 8-minute miles? Sorry I’m slowing you down. But maybe you would like running with all women, anyway.

I miss you buddy.

26 Letters to Stephen: 2

Letter #2

June 3, 2013

Dear Stephen,

On Saturday, I went to a marathon clinic. It was the official kickoff of my training program. I was really excited about it beforehand. In the end, I was rather underwhelmed.

There were two tracks for the clinic: novice and advanced. I certainly don’t consider myself an advanced marathoner, so I chose novice. That may have been a mistake. The novice track was, understandably, geared toward first-time marathoners. I figured the clinic would cover some things I already knew, but I thought that it wouldn’t hurt me to hear it again. Plus, I made so, so many mistakes last time. Surely these experts would tell me some new things that would help me along the way.

Instead, the clinic felt like a regurgitation of everything I read on the Internet when I trained by myself last time.

You must follow the training plan! Really? I tried to follow the training plan last time, and I was always injured. In the end, I realized that standardized beginning training plans just doesn’t work for me. They cover too many miles. So why are these experts insisting that following this plan to the letter is going to work for every single person in the room?

You should be drinking Gatorade at every aid station, not water! Really? Gatorade has always made me feel sick while I am running. After extensive experimentation, I have found that water and energy chews every five miles are what work for me. I’ve never had an issue with dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, or sodium deficiency. I choose the fueling method that doesn’t make my stomach cramp, thank you very much. I found the best thing for me, and it isn’t the thing you’re insisting is best for everyone.

Be careful of your posture, arm swing, and footstrike! You should be foam rolling! By all means, continue throwing out jargon without any clear explanation of what any of it means. Definitely show videos of poor running form without saying anything about how to correct poor running form. Tell us all about the physiological effects of foam rolling without demonstrating how to use a foam roller. That’s very helpful.

I admit that I’m being more than a little snarky, but I was very frustrated by the end. Instead of feeling like training with a group is going to make it easier this time, I walked out feeling like I need to gear myself up for a fight.

It’s going to be a summer of standing my ground. I can’t take everything they say as gospel. I know better. I am sure their plan will help a lot of people across the finish line. It’s just not my way across the finish line.

It made me sort of sad to come to the realization that the experts don’t know all the answers. It would be comforting to believe that there is someone who will always have a definitive answer about what to do. But the truth is, everyone is just making the best guesses that they can.

That includes me. I decided a long time ago that I was going to run this marathon for you, but I don’t really know if this is something you would have wanted. I’m just making my best guess.

It’s a guess. An 18-week, 26.2-mile guess. A gesture. An attempt to make a tribute to you.  

I hope you like it.

26 Letters to Stephen: 1

Letter #1: May 27, 2013

Dear Stephen,

Saturday was the Soldier Field 10 Mile, my last race before marathon training starts. I ran fast. I ran strong. I ran pain-free. I think I am ready. I could not be any more ready. Right?

Ready or not, the truth is that I am a little bit scared. The last time I trained for a marathon, I spent most of the time injured or worried about becoming injured. Every day, I questioned whether I should be running and how far. Every day, I wondered if I would make it to that start line, let alone the finish line. I trained for 20 weeks, and the whole time I felt like I might lose it all at any moment.

I have so many reasons to believe that this time will be better. I learned a lot from my mistakes. I know my limits when it comes to the number of miles I can run in a week. Regular strength training has greatly reduced my injury rate. In fact, I haven’t had a major injury in more than two years.

Yet I am still scared. Even though the chances of dropping out of training are greatly reduced, I have so much more to lose this time. I want to finish the race, of course. But even more, I don’t want to let you down.

I’ve been struggling with what to do for you since the day you died. For the first few months, I spent a lot of time trying to find a way to bring you back to life. Unsurprisingly, I failed in this regard. I really, really tried to bring you back, but as you may have noticed, you’re still… well, not here.

Eventually, I got past the irrational need to raise you from the dead and started thinking about what I could do for you instead. I settled on running this marathon. 2010 was my marathon, but 2013 will be yours. This one is for you.

If I make it, that is. There are so many miles ahead, and I am really scared that I will fail you. But I promise that I’m going to try.

The funny thing is, there is so much about this that you would hate. Marathon training is a slog, and there is a lot of moaning and groaning involved. But there is also a lot of positivity. Teams and training groups, especially those associated with a charity, all cheer each other on with great enthusiasm. It’s all about “You can do it!” and “One more mile!” and “You’re so awesome!” You know, all the things that annoy you. You would absolutely hate marathon training.

It feels like the right thing to do, though. I’m scared, but deep down in my gut I feel that this is my way to honor you. I can’t bring you back, but I can do what you aren’t here to do. I can accomplish this feat that you never got to cross of your bucket list. I can honor your mother’s memory and give myself and others a reason to think of you now and again over the coming months. I can run. I can run, and I will.

Stick with me, though, will you? This is going to be often going to be awesome, yet it is also going to be awful. In that way, it is really a lot like you.

Love to you, Stephen. More letters to come.

One month later.

Today marks one month since I ran the marathon. It seems like an appropriate time to start writing in this blog again.

There isn't a lot to tell, running-wise. For the first week, I could barely move. By the second week, the soreness in my quads had gone away, but my foot and knee still hurt enough that I felt I shouldn't do any cardio. I did some yoga and strength training. Things stayed the same for the third week. My foot continued to bother me, and I noticed that I now have a bone spur on the top of my foot. Gross.

During the fourth, I took a couple of turns on the elliptical.

By last Sunday, I was finally feeling ok to try running. I set out for 3 miles, expecting to have to walk. I'm pleased to report that I ran 3 miles without stopping! It was slow, but I held out. My foot didn't hurt at all, but my knee twinged a little. It hurt a bit to walk for the rest of the day. That was discouraging.

I did some strength training on Monday. On Tuesday, I got back on my bike for the first time in 2 months. My tires were a little flat, but luckily my building's garage has a compressor I can use for free. It felt fantastic to ride again.

Then this morning, I went out for another 3 miler. It actually felt a little harder than Sunday, but I still did the whole 3 miles without stopping. And my knee didn't bother me during or after. One month later, I may finally back on my way up.

I have no plans to follow any kind of structured plans for a while. I'll probably run 3-4 times a week, never much more than 3 miles, and just for the fun of it. I find that I have a hard time thinking of training for anything just yet.

One question I have been asking myself all month is, was it worth it? I spent 20 weeks stressing over every ache and pain, going to bed at 9 every Friday, and arranging my entire schedule around training runs. Then I spent another 3 weeks limping around and sleeping poorly. I now have a permanent, ugly bump on the top of my foot. All for one day, when I spent 6 hours pushing through pain and nausea as covered a 26.2 mile course. Was it worth it?

Yes, I think it was. The training was every bit as hard as I expected, and the recovery was much harder than I expected, but it was still worth it. Not for the moment I crossed the finish line, either. That was actually rather anti-climatic for me. But there are certain moments that will stick with me. Slowly making my way forward in the start corral, wondering anxiously what those first miles would hold for me. Picking out my mom and sister the first time in the crowds. Starting up after a water stop, realizing my knee pain had gone away. Seeing my friend Meg hold up a sign and my friend Amy run alongside me briefly. Waving to the fans in the windows of the old folks home. Seeing all the kind strangers handing out ice. Passing mile 20 and realizing that somehow, some way, I was going to make it. Digging deep inside to find the energy to run past my friend Jessica at mile 23. Seeing my friend Shannon as I approached the finish, realizing she had been out there all day for me. And catching sight of my mom at runner reunite after I finished.

It was hard. It was so, so, hard. But it was an incredible experience. I find now that I don't care a bit that it took me 47 minutes longer than I had originally hoped. I care that I did it, and that I can look back on that day and revel in it.

I'm doubtful that I'll ever run a marathon again, but that makes 10/10/10 all the more incredible.

One month later. The pain has gone away, but I'm still proud.

Yesterday, I finished the marathon!

I did it. I am a marathoner!

The last two weeks of training didn't go like I hoped, and neither did race day. But, I crossed that finish line, and that it all I care. :-)

Later in the day after my 12-miler (two weeks ago), I started having some nasty pain on the inside of my right knee. It continued to intermittently hurt while I was walking and hurt consistently when I was running. Naturally, this threw me into a panic. I went to a physical therapist who told me it was ok if I wanted to try to run, but that it was going to hurt.

That visit heartened me a bit, but running even 3 miles was still difficult, so I was not feeling very good about my chances of finishing 26.2. I stopped running completely during my final week of training, and lined up in that start corral having no idea how far I would make it.

I crossed the start line with my two friends, Maryam and Maureen. I ran the first mile with them with no pain. However, around the first mile marker, the pain started in my knee. Maureen and Maryam started to pull ahead of me, and I let them go. I knew that my best shot at finishing was going at a pace that felt comfortable.

I was running 9 minutes and walking 1 minute, and I kept that up for quite a while. I passed my mom and sister the first time at mile 4, and I was feeling ok about my chances. The pain in my knee was consistent, but not getting worse.

The next thing I clearly remember is stopping at an aid station at mile 5. I paused for a second to refill one of my water bottles, then started running again.... and the pain was gone. THE PAIN WAS GONE! I apparently had loosened my sore tendons enough that they were working right again. This was a very exciting development. (As an aside, I'll mention that the other thing I remember about that aid station is that it was near Lincoln Park Zoo, and there were a lot of trees around, and most of the trees had a male runner next to them, peeing. I feel that this is one area where men have an unfair advantage. All the women were in line at the port-a-potties.)

I continued running at a 9:1 interval for quite some time, with little or no pain in my knee. I passed my co-worker Rebecca at mile 7.5, my friends Meg and Amy at mile 8.5, and my mom and sister again at mile 11. As I ran past my mom, I shouted, "The pain went away! The pain went away!" There were tons of cheering fans during this section of the race, and tons of spectacles to distract me... older folks waving from the windows at a nursing home, rifle twirlers in Boystown, DJs and live music, and more. I had my name on my shirt, and lots of spectators, volunteers, and even DJs were yelling "Go Katie!" It was a huge help.

I continued like this til about mile 15. Up until that point, I had been going pretty consistently at a 12-minute mile pace. However, somewhere around mile 15, the knee pain returned. It was also about 10am by this time, and the sun had started to get very hot. First, I tried to switch my intervals to 4:1, and was able to do that for a mile or two. But then my pattern kind of disintegrated. I was started to feel a little nauseous, so I had to extend my walk breaks. Unfortunately, this also allowed my knee to tighten up again, and the pain was back in full force, whether I was running or walking.

Near mile 18, I stopped to go to the bathroom and was lucky enough to only have a few people in front of me. The short break reinvigorated me for a while, and I ran pretty consistently at a run 3, walk 2 ratio. I passed my mom and sister again at mile 21, and that was a little boost. At about mile 22, though, I was so hot and my knee hurt so much that I stopped paying attention to my watch at all. I was just past 5 hours, and I knew that even if I had to walk the rest of the way, I would make it in under the 6:30 limit.

I just focused on moving forward any way that I could. I walked until I felt ready to run, then ran as long as I felt able. I just kept moving forward. I passed my friend Jessica at mile 23, and she was wearing a "Katie Rich Rocks" t-shirt. When I hit mile 24, there was an announcer of some kind saying "You have 2 miles to go. You WILL finish the Chicago Marathon. You may be walking, you may be running, and you may have to crawl, but YOU WILL FINISH!" And I'll never forget this... he said, "Isn't that right, Katie in green?" I pumped my fist in the air to tell him he was right. (I am SO glad I wrote my name on my shirt.)

Mile 25 came and went, and then I could see Roosevelt. I ran from 14th street to Roosevelt, then walked up the Roosevelt bridge to the 26 mile marker. I said all throughout my training that no matter how much I had to walk, I really wanted to run that last 0.2. And I'm proud to say that I did. I ran down the other side of the bridge and a block down Columbus, and crossed that finish line with a time of 5:47:43. (And my friend Shannon was there to take my picture.. though unfortunately someone else ran directly into the shot and completely blocked me out.) Tears were in my eyes as I got my medal.

I did it. I finished. I walked a LOT, I fought through a lot of pain, and I was in the slowest 20% to finish, but I don't care. I FINISHED.

Thank you so much to everyone who was out there on the course to cheer me on... those that I knew of course, but also all the kind strangers that called my name, sprayed me with a hose, and handed me ice. I truly, truly would not have finished without all that support.

I'll be nursing a finicky knee, a bruised foot, and some very sore quads for some time, but I'll have that finisher's medal forever. It's been a long, winding journey that I do not regret. I ran the Chicago Marathon on 10/10/10.

Now, if I EVER say I'm going to run another marathon... call me an idiot. :-)