The Unicorn Still Survives

5.30 am dawned and as usual I rolled over to check my cell phone to find 25 texts from the Team of Less on the East Coast.  The texts had started with a cheery picture of our first Boston, all four of us looking fresh and  snappy in the obnoxiously loud turquoise marathon jackets.  The Happy Patriots Day message soon switched to the usual banter, with the two tennis players daring each other to do running drills on court and keep headbands and wrist bands with the jacket to scare the other team off.  It was great to talk to them again; I had missed the inane chatter and abusive humour.

A little later I started streaming the Boston Marathon live on my computer, looked wistfully as the runners as they lined up, with a bit of a pang.  Of course this year the temperatures were the perfect 47f at the start that I had been hoping for, not the 89f broilerthon it was last year - I kept thinking 'I so should have deferred last year when the race organizers offered' instead of limping through 18 miles of heat haze and then ducking out of the race with an injury.  We kept in touch by cell phone during the race, rooting for Shalane and Kara, and enjoying the tactics of the worlds' best figuring out that tricky course.  The fact that Shalane could still throw a wave to the crowd just before the crossed the finish line, despite her desperate attempt to move from 4th place to a podium finish, was awe inspiring.  Shalane Flanagan had grown up in nearby Marblehead, and been inspired from an early age by that race and the crowd was behind her. The Boston crowd support is the best of any kind at a race and watching the hoards of locals and those who had travelled for miles brought back some really happy memories.  Boston locals will bring you fresh bottles of cold water, bring you inside to treat your blisters, and throw jelly beans at you at every corner if you need it - they love that race, and despite being invaded by 26,000 runners every year are always welcoming.

Coming out of the gym at lunch time I noticed another 25 texts from the girls.  This time I was shocked to see them talking about two explosions, blood and injuries....the grim reality of the bombings started to unfold through their horrified exchanges.  I got home and started watching news reports and the videos showed that the chaos wrought on that iconic race was enormous.  The disaster resonated strongly with me, as it would any runner.  These were people being attacked who had worked for months to try and do something truly worthwhile, many raising millions of dollars for charity in the process, and they were under siege for no apparent reason.   I was imagining what it would feel like to be that close to the finish line, to be feeling exhausted, slightly delirious and focused on the end, and how bewildering and confusing it must have been to see explosions, or bunches of runners holding up the road. The bomb location was very close to the church that we had all posed and met up that first year, 13 children with us marshalled by 3 slightly stressed Daddy's.  We had stayed at a hotel in Copley square for convenience, and shepherding 13 young kids at a major sporting event was already chaos;  all I could think was, imagine if they had been there amidst the carnage that was now the finish line.  Last year would also have seen baby Berkeley directly in harm's way.  The gut wrenching injustice of learning that an 8 year old was amongst the deaths, made me start to feel more strongly - he had come to support his father in the race and now his mother was having surgery for grievous injuries and his little sister had needed an amputation.  That family had been ripped apart on what should have been one of their proudest and happiest of days.

Whether the perpetrator turns out to be a lone individual or politically or religiously motivated, the purpose of the attack was clearly to spread terror.  With so many concentrated in one spot at such a landmark event the bombs were there to propagate unease and fear.  The reports that there were more undetonanted explosives must have made for mass panic, and a sense of not knowing where to go or how to get there.

The realization that we are no longer safe at such major events is the purpose of such terrorism.  I agreed with the first of my friends who said it perversely made her want to go back and race Boston again - as to stay away was to be intimidated and would serve the purpose of those who had destroyed so much.  In two weeks time I am heading for the Big Sur marathon, and I thought briefly about whether I would be flinching every time I heard a loud noise.  I had signed up both myself and Laurence for the other big San Francisco race, Bay to Breakers in May - previously I had only worried whether he would survive the drunken revellers, now I had other things to think about.  But I know as a runner you have to continue to support the events, you have to keep running and deny the terrorists.

To me Boston has always symbolized everything I like about running and the running community.  The unicorn is a symbol of the perfection of racing, a perfection that is rarely if ever attained, as a faultless race is something we all seek but rarely achieve.  The marathon was what started the modern day Olympic games, it unified countries in the search for athletic excellence and sportsmanship, and this was the most famous, prestigious and oldest of them all.  The race is loved by many, is still a challenge to attain, with runners spending their entire careers sometimes seeking that special BQ or Boston qualifying time.  It is a great celebration of life and intertwines many levels of runners from the international elites to the 80 year olds who have been running it for decades.  Those who had planted the bombs knew all of this about the race, and yet wanted to smash all of those qualities in front of the worlds' media.

Terrorists may have the attention of the media, but I believe that the running community will never stay away from Boston.  Next Sunday, when the gun goes off at the London Marathon, those who run it will be doing so with even more dedication and conviction after this horrific attack.

Running Rules

One of my most vivid memories of moving to America 11 years ago, was how staggeringly enormous the quantities of food were.  Wandering into a diner during our first few weeks of living in the US we naturally ordered that great American staple, the pancake, a short stack to be precise.  Like many tourists, we all thought my daughter's order was for the entire table, and when we realized our mistake, we photographed the steamy stack of carbs in awe!  We adjusted frighteningly fast, and for a while it didn't even register as a shock.  We also learnt to order more intelligently and do 'take out' bringing half the food home.  Now if we go for fondue at the Melting Pot on Christmas Eve, we know to resist the wait staff and recommendations and instead order the set meal for two as it feeds four of us really well.  The combination of Pennsyvlania's delicious cheap eats, vast portions of fries and cheeseteaks, and no pavements to walk anywher, made me realize a future of obesity lay ahead of me in this new land of plenty.  I had always done some running, for fun, enjoying the company of friends, jogging round the Heath in England, now it became more of a mission just to burn off the vast amounts of food that lay ahead and a more serious intent set in.

Running still keeps me on the straight and narrow in many ways, but it goes way beyond just food.  Giving up a career at a similar time also made me realize there was a gaping lack of structure to my day -  I could literally lie on the couch and eat bon bons all day if I felt like it.  I needed some rules and purpose to my routine, other than just making dinner, laundry and running kids around.

I have found that a good training plan makes me happy.  I know from the minute I get up what the work out is for the day.  Regardless of how many boring or exciting plans I have for the day, the run is foremost in my mind, whether it is the track, a trail or the road it is probably the most difficult and also fun thing I will do that day.  A weekend is not a weekend unless I have tackled my Friday long run, Tuesday is an excellent day for intervals as it is the hardest working day of the week and my favorite run, the tempo, is often on Sundays.

So finishing up my fall race and taking a three week hiatus in training has been interesting and challenging.  I know that mentally it is critical to take some time off, and my legs were about to drop off, so it was long over due.  Waking up and having to choose my workout for the day with no map or plan to buy into has been interesting to say the least.  Choice is stressful - should I rest, should I take a class, should I do a social run with people I don't get to spend time with normally, should I try a new destination - what do I feel like?  All of those thoughts require energy, and then you second guess them, which takes even more energy, and before you know it the day has ended leaving you dissatisfied with what you chose to make of it.

In addition to the tyranny of choice of work out, there is the rest of the 'plan' to worry about.  If I haven't decided what I am running the next day that means I can eat a super spicey curry and not worry about burping all through my run, I can have as many glasses of wine as I like and not suffer the consequences, and I can stay up past 9 pm and watch mind numbing tv if I really want to.  Truth is that is fun for a while, but then it gets old  - I haven't even made it to New Year's and being 'free of the plan' is losing its allure.

After three weeks I simply can't take it any more!  All this choice is unravelling me so when I signed up for the famous costume fest of Bay to Breakers, the electronic coaching plan that came free with registration simply called my name - whispering through the ether of the internet 'Ruthless, I need you like you need me".  Before I knew it I was unconsciously sucked into entering some basic parameters, previous race times, miles per week and there it was - in glorious black and white, the creation of a new week, a new life.  Now the race ain't until May, I really don't need to be training until mid February, but there is something about the structure of a week with its blend of long run, tempo and interval that I just can't resist - it feels normal and comforting and I find it makes me happy.

I have coached myself for the past year, written my own training plans, and not really shared with any runners due to moving house, different pace goals etc.  So when an email popped up today with my suggested 5k/10k maintenance plan for this week I realized that I was hooked and ready to do exactly as it said without dispute.  Finally being told what to do is perversely freeing, now I don't have to spend an hour arguing with myself about what to do.  I can grumble at the coach if I don't like it, but I know I will be a good girl and do as I am told and be happier for it.  If you can't afford a real coach, get an online friend, I promise you it is very soothing - already I am fast forwarding to the moment when I will fill in my training log on line and get that wonderful satisfaction of once again 'following the plan'.....

She's Behind You!

Coming off a long cross country season, number one son whimsically decided to join me for what would be  his half marathon debut.  More of an endurance than speed merchant he was curious to see how he would do. I tenderly explained to him the eve of the race,  that as I had trained religiously for the past three months, I had goals to achieve, and would not be derailed or lose focus by my favorite son joining the party late in the day.  I was not anticipating any feel good mother son experience on race day.  To further ampifly my point, I made it clear that even if both his legs were dropping off I would not be speaking or engaging with him during the race - motherhood is a strong bond, but racing was racing after all.....

The corner stone of distance training is of course the weekly long run that steadily builds in distance or pace.  The the boy hadn't done any ten milers since the start of the season, and he had certainly never made it beyond those easy ten.  For most of the season those long runs had instead been hilly 8 milers on the trails, but he had been frustrated at paying his dues running the Frosher 2 mile courses, spending most of the race playing catch up in these races due to his slower start so he was curious to see what a longer race was like.  The normal progression would be to sign up for a 10k to figure this out....but the race organizers had eliminated that option, just leaving either the 5k or half to choose between.

My only maternal advice took place earlier in the week, when I was feeling benevolent and caring.  I patiently told him to go out conservatively, then to run relatively easy on the hills as they would feel gentle compared to some of the courses he had run, but to pick it up and really start racing at the 10 mile mark as that was a 5k to the finish; a race he would understand and could run by feel.

The flavor of a major race in a very small city was interesting.  The Walnut Creek International (yes International I hear you say!) half marathon had all the trappings of sophisticated chip timing, umbrella arches to run through and pace corrals, and of course the aura of the famous Olympian Lopez Lomong to draw the crowds.  Except there were no crowds, it took us ten minutes to get there and I didn't have to visit one porta potty.

Lining up in the 7 minute pace corral felt different, as there were less than 2,000 runners in this race, unlike the 40,000 who run Broad Street or the big races in Philly.  I enjoyed the feeling of space and ran some strides with the boy, feeling surprisingly relaxed as a week of various aches, pains and incipient flu symptoms had done their usual job of evaporating as they often do at the dawn of a race.   Neither of us bothered to discussed strategy or expectations, we just enyoyed the buzz of the race atmosphere.

After a couple of strides I returned to the start and noticed the extremely impressive presence of Lomong, dressed as if for winter in full length tights despite the balmy 42f temperatures.  Standing surprisingly alone and unmolested by fans, he was due to be leading a pace group and as he was an 800m- 5k runner, and trained at a much faster pace, was bundled up in hat, gloves etc.  Like a giddy teenager I whipped out my sharpie and asked him to sign the back of my Running Housewives of Blue Bell vest which now I can not wash and is crisping up niceley, but surely a collectors item.  Lomong merrily obliged and was exceptionally charming when I also asked for a photo op.  The boy looked on somewhat long sufferingly but was nice enough not to mock me, I think he was somewhat in awe of Lomong himself, but was much too cool to show it.

Within minutes the starting line assembled and in such a small field we found ourselves relatively near the front.  Being careful to establish my pace from the outset I set off conservatively, at about 10 seconds faster than my goal race pace.  I watched in dismay as Laurence had his fastest start of the season, running alongside Lomong like a happy puppy, as he quickly disappeared into the light fog.  The boy had a chance to run alongside an Olympian in the face of which his mother's advice was of course total garbage!

I tried to focus on my pace, and not to think about what I was going to do when I found my progeny crumpled by the side of the road or limping on in pain at mile 10.  Going out too fast in a distance run is    not a winning strategy, for some reason that additional early effort draws on your reserves of energy much more than you think, and most runners prefer to attempt a negative split for such a long race.  One of the things I like about distance running is the strategy and I made sure that the first part of the race felt easy, my legs were feeling tapered and eager to turnover.  Then, just at the point in a race when normally I would have been in danger of going too fast, as it takes about 4 miles for the  middle age muscles to start activating,  the hills began. The looming presence of each hill was strangely muted, eroded as it was by a now blanket of heavy fog.  Being able to see only four feet ahead had its advantages, you didn't need to stare the hill down or worry about what was coming, you just worked at it.

Turning the corner onto Ygnacio saw yet another climb and it was a point at which I started to labor into the beginnings of a side stitch.  Attacking the hill hard enough so as to not lose too much time, but not so hard you were finished too early on in the race was a tricky balance, but that side stitch at the end reminded me to keep my breathing more even and the effort more relaxed.

The dramatic zig zag down the hills of Ygnacio was a hoot - I have always loved a good downhill, my quads are defnitely more up for it than the hamstrings and it was fun to pass all the people who had in turn passed me on the hill.  Every mile that passed, that I failed to see the boy, actually cheered me up, as I thought he was probably doing just fine if he was no where in sight.

At mile 7.5 I started to glimpse a familiar arm action and grey tee shirt up ahead; and there he was.  He was clearly slowing down, hitting that no mans land of getting tired but no hope of finishing soon; two thirds of the way done and he was running out of gas - he had clearly gone out way too fast!  I maintained pace and subtly drew alongside long enough to break my own rule and said 'hello' in the way only a mother can - loaded with meaning.  Without even a sideways glance the toe rag shot off and put 15 seconds of daylight between us.  He clearly did not want my company either, or was anticipating 'helpful' coaching tips about how he had probably mispaced his race.

At mile ten many runners seemed to be lagging, and I watched as the boy surged forward again,  passing a few of them, now totally lost in the fog and turns of the Heather Farm park section.  At mile eleven and a half I saw him again, slowing slightly and, again, came within 15 seconds of him, it cheered me up that he was at least hanging in there and wasn't by the side of the road whimpering.  It was also tantalizing as I realized I couldn't quite catch him after his fast start.

Miles 12 to 13 were more challenging, we hit a very muddy trail that slowed everyone down and made it hard to summon the energy for lifting the leg higher.  Running up the final short hill on the bridge crossing Ygnacio I could still see him and decided now was the best time to add any kind of kick, wouldn't it be fun to cross the finish line together just like when he ran me in for 5 miles at the Philadelphia Marathon.    Coming off the hill I powerlessly watched him disappear from view as my burst of speed proved to be somewhat flat,  and watched him cross the finish line as I tried to power towards it - still with that same 15 seconds ahead of me.  We finished 69th and 70th in the race.

A large placard with 'Run Like Your Mother is Behind You' will be waved in the air anytime I need my kid to go faster. The familiar thud of my foot fall and irritatingly heavy breathing was so well known to him that he didn't even need to see me, it had made him speed up with an almost pavlovian response, which no words of encouragement or advice could ever come close to replicating.  Even in his finish line pictures you can see my looming presence rounding the corner behind him, emerging from the thick blanket of fog to impinge and possibly photo bomb his moment of glory.

Texts and emails and phonecalls from running buddies congratulated me on a lovely mother son experience, how nice they said that you could enjoy it together, and how nice of you to let him beat you at the end!  If only they knew.....

Later that night he sidled up to me and said one thing 'guess that just leaves the marathon I haven't beaten you in yet then....'

What's it all about Alfie?

There is runnning.....and there is racing...the two are really not the same.  The zen runner goes out and just runs for the sheer joy of it, based on feel, only ever pushing the pace for periods of time that feel right, but mostly running in a comfortable zone.  When you run to race you learn to follow the master plan, to do speed work when your legs are not 'feeling it', to do long runs when the weather is disgusting or you have a cold and should probably be taking it easy.

Envious though I am of that zen runner, I don't think that could ever be me - without the pressure or the goal setting of a race I revert to the lazy marshmallow version of myself, and would be lying on the coach watching tv, filled with self loathing.  I really enjoy the preparation and rhythm of a build up to  a race, the 3 months of training, the base miles before training, the discipline of knowing day by day what the work out should be.  However, the week before a race I am never a very happy camper.

This week is no different.  On Saturday I am due to run the Walnut Creek International Half Marathon and should be excited.  But like all runners, neurosis is already setting in.  Firstly, my entire left leg feels like it might drop off, hence the need for a serious massage soon.  Secondly, I finally ran the course this weekend.  Not sure if that was a good idea.  Preparation is key, but it is supposed to build confidence not annihilate it.  Running what was supposed to be an 'easy 10 miler' on a wet and wild Saturday amidst heavy traffic, mounds of wet leaves and branches, I found the effort of ploughing up the two miles of hills on Treat and back down Ygnacio trying.  Looking at a colourful elevation chart when you register is one thing, running it is another.  It finally dawned on me that hitting such a long hill so early in the race was going to be a major challenge.  This was no flat and friendly local town race, I had been  deceiving myself, and I was going to have to run that long hill conservatively enough to survive the second half of the race, but not so slow I wiped out the benefit of all the hard training I had put in.

Still, on the plus side Lopez Lamong was due to be there - he had been one of the lost boys of Sudan, running for three days over the boarder to Kenya at the age of 6 to escape his attackers, and then surviving refugee camps before finally being adopted by Americans and becoming an inspiring olympic athlete.  One of my favourite running videos of all time was watching him turn out a 59 sec 400m final lap in the 5k when immediately prior, he had tragically miscounted and sprinted to what he thought was the finish;  he had virtually stopped when the camera man wildly gesticulated that he should probably do another lap, and he pulled it off, still winning the race substantially. L'il bitch was also going to run, exhausted by the end of a very long cross country season he was going to take it fairly easy, but bring a sharpie and try and get Lopez to autograph anything he could find, body parts included.

To avoid pre-race stress I keep reminding myself that I choose to race.  Indeed, I forked out 70 bucks for the treat, and should therefore be deliriously happy about it.  I could easily have saved the money and had a regular Saturday sleeping late and watching the kids at their sporting fixtures.  Starting to coach Cross Country had made me think about some of these things.  Watching girls from the best teams in California throwing up from sheer nerves at the start line of the States Cross Country meet focused my thinking.  One of the pieces of advice I had been giving the high school runners was not to worry about what you couldn't control.  For instance often your place in a race is to a large extent beyond your control - who knows what elite 45 year olds will be there on Saturday.  Even pace is not always something you can dictate.  I had chosen a fairly ambitious training pace and hit my goals about 70% of the time leading up to the race.  Throw in 2 miles of hills and the pace goal might well need to shuffle a little.  Increasingly, I have found that the more one gets consumed with pace goals or place goals the more stress sets in; you can feel every muscle in the body tighten, the stomach rebelling, rational thought disintegrating with panic and none of these side effects help you to run well. The longer I run the more I realize there is only one thing I can control.  That is running hard.  As long as I pay attention to my form, keep relaxed and tall, maintain a steady rhythm, manage my breath, the rest will take care of itself and I will be satisfied with the outcome regardless.

At the final XC banquet one of the seniors made a speech that was gratifying in its honesty and hilarious in the context.  It was not the usual back slapping, emotive celebration of the sport you see in the good ol US of A.  He described how as a freshman he had come out for Cross Country and found it very challenging and not much fun at all, but he had found himself coming back because he liked the people.  Now, as a Senior the running still 'sucked' a lot of the time, it was painful and difficult.  But what he liked about it was its difficulty, as every day he faced doing something that was a battle with self.  He casually added he also liked the way he felt about himself afterwards, and still enjoyed the people.

Choice is a beautiful thing and this week I choose not to be neurotic!

'Tough Times Don't Last, But Tough People Do'

Running friendships are pervasive - like comrades in arms, you share a unique and, what would otherwise be, lonely experience, with a few.  The intensity of the training together day in day and the extreme emotion that racing elicits creates special relationships.  Like the rings found within a tree, those experiences and friendships become part of you.

Training with Merciless for the Philadelphia Marathon we discovered late into the training plan that her life was inexpicably diverting from 'the plan' and she was pregnant with her 5th child, the lovely Berkeley. Despite having already put in the gruelling 20 milers, brief soul searching brought her to the view that she must understandably stand down from the race in the interests of as safe a pregnancy as possible.  Running Boston with Q-Less this year, we had both felt the loss of our other two team members.  Giving birth meant no prospect of a Boston qualifying time.  The fact that the two missing team members came out anyway to support was huge. Nonetheless hadn't been able to requalify due to her knee injury, and Merciless, even brought baby Berkeley along to help with the cheer section, eat the occasional deep fried pickle with her lobster roll, and down some Sam Adams along the way.

In the midst of some post pregnancy blues about the challenges of getting out running again, I  had had a moment of genius and suggested Merciless and I register for NYC as I had found out you only needed a half marathon qualifying time, so we both signed up.  I knew the timing was very ambitious, six months after giving birth but it could be deferred, thus preserving that precious half marathon time until she could get back in shape again.  When registration came for this November I had to sadly decline, I had known we were moving cross coast and it would no longer work out, but was thrilled Merciless was re-entered.  A race was a sure fired way to get her out from the diapers and back to her usual running mojo.  

Now with 5 kids ranging in age from 16 - 18 months running was not easy - just finding the energy, one hour a day can be a huge challenge and she was having to get major miles in.  Many of them were with Berkeley, a long slog with a really heavy stroller, and an occasionally vociferous companion.  Being a Mom to that many kids was no doubt rewarding, there she was cheering on all of her kids at their cross country races day in day out, coming up with the 'running healthy' meal plans, washing the muddy uniforms, it was only right that one day out of the year the kids should be cheering her on and I was excited to hear the whole family was making the trek to the marathon to do just that.

As the many miles away as I am from Blue Bell I was strangely starting to have sympathetic marathon pains, every day she tapered I was wondering how she felt.  That feeling of your legs returning to life, the unexplained energy reentering the veins, the slight itch you feel as a race approaches.  They were such visceral sensations I could almost feel them for her, even if I didn't get to run the marathon with her, I was already set up to enjoy her progress and cheer her on through the internet.

I found myself scanning weather channels just as I do before any of my own races and was alarmed when I heard about the approaching storm.  Seeing the scenes of awful devastation in New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York was painful.  New York had been hit really hard, and back in Blue Bell many of our friends were without power, the fun hurricane parties were over, and still Merciless who lives in an old farmhouse was struggling in a hotel some miles away as they were on their 6th or 7th day with no power.  Then the debate about whether Bloomberg should give the go ahead to the marathon or not became heated.  Across Facebook and the internet runners were being villified as selfish individuals littering streets with their gels and drinks, taking upscale hotel rooms and diverting vital services from the New Yorkers in their hour of need.  Views were polarized as to whether the race should go ahead.  Hearing the rants I couldn't help agree that of course police and sanitation should be focusing on those in need instead of a race.  But I could also see Bloomberg's perspective.  A marathon is a celebration of honest hard work and a hugely inspirational symbol  of the resilience of the human spirit to anything that life or the throws hurls at it.   Added to that the $34 million raised for charities and the hundreds of lost revenue to the city and you could see his dilemma.

In the case of high profile decisions affecting millions usually the best course of action is to take views, weigh the evidence, but make a decision relatively quickly, and then STICK to it.  By changing course at the last minute he had inadvertently created another population of distressed and displaced people.  Now you had Texans, the Dutch, South Africans, the world and his wife descending on a city awry with so many suffering natives.

Not knowing a race is going ahead when you have trained religiously for four months is excruciating - some had raised thousands for charities or were running to commemorate loved ones, they had hopefully boarded planes and even gone to the expo before they heard the change of heart.  Hearing the news in the middle of our local cross country championships that the race had cancelled and Merciless was on her second martini was like getting a kick in the stomach.  Right now she had no house to go to,  and now no race to look forward to and that empty feeling you get when you realize something you have worked so hard towards has become pointless.

Despite the backlash of the media, runners are not selfish folk preoccupied solely with personal goals; their training is often internalized but but not their spirit.  Hearing all the stories of runners stranded in New York with tins of food to give out as they run the streets solo without the famously warm welcome of the New York crowd did not surprise me, nor did the donation of hotel rooms to those without power, freezing in their homes.  Today's newsfeed was filled with pictures of runners showing up to help the relief effort, rather than run their race.

There are many who think the Mayor made the right decision but at the wrong time and I think that is a pretty fair assessment.  There are marathons in cities every week around the US - wouldn't it be a wonderful thing if the marathon refunded the costly registrations and race organizers around the US came together to try and offer places in all of the other races organized in states where there is no storm damage. In distance running resiliance and flexibility are two of the most important qualities and I know those marathon runners will use their training to purpose and get out and run another race and probably raise a huge amount of funding for the emergency effort in New York and New Jersey and those suffering the aftermath of the storm.  Just like life, the race goes on......

Racing Californian Style

Runners are blessed individuals for many reasons; only this strange breed get excited at 'yet another' birthday.  In running land, birthdays bring you closer, or actually catapult you, into an upper age group.   As our bodies slow down, the flesh weakens and our race times slide we can comfort ourselves that we are not alone, and take solace in being the 'baby' of a new division.

Hubby turned 50 and ofcourse I signed him up for a Birthday 5k - what better way to start such an auspicious day!  He looked rather quizzical about the lack of breakfast in bed, but I could tell this would make him happier than snuggling in bed with a tray of bacon. This was a new racing experience, the first time we had raced Californian style and we were excited to see the local scene.

The day began filled with the promise of gorgeous weather; sun rise bringing that soft lambent glow that infuses the ridges and golden hills cradling Walnut Creek with a well meaning warmth.  The race was a mere five minute drive so no waking at dawn and downing oatmeal in the dark, it was utterly civilized.  We met groups of East Bay runners outside LuluLemon where balloons and music were starting to signal the race preparations were afoot.  That wonderful pre-race buzz of adrenaline and excitement were in the air.

Studying the course on a map; I could see it was a fairly simple downtown route, run as one loop for the 5k and as a double loop for the 10K.  I was not much cop at shorter faster races so naturally picked the 10k, and despite having run many marathons, 10 milers etc, was interested to see what my time would be as it would actually be my first 10k.

After much hoopla and anthems the gun went off and the crowd hurtled down Walnut Creek's Main Street.  As usual in a 5k, I lined up near the front, fully knowing I would be passed by 50% of the people behind me within minutes.  With that out of the way I concentrated on running a nice even pace.  The beauty of a double loop is that you can be accurate in your splits, and I decided to run a 21 minute 5k and see if I could hold on to it for the second lap.  The first go around was fun, lots of spirited kids  as it was a race for education, and some terribly jolly cheerleaders 'giving it everything' who were stationed at the turn around mark.  As the 5k racers sprinted for the finish line I turned and followed the signs for the 10k and headed off into the lonely second lap where I could see maybe 3 or 4 men up ahead and no one else near me.  The second time around the cheer leaders were just as great, but there cries echoed hollowly now as very few people were running or spectating. I was definitely getting tired and it was no longer the fun filled scene it had been; however running a time is running a time and, lack of atmosphere was not going to daunt me.  At about 4.5 miles things started to get more challenging, so I decided to just keep holding pace and not attempt any increase or sense of speed.  My strategy was to not pick it up until about 5.5 miles then to see what I had left.

As usual I was wearing my hand dandy garmin and had noticed that the 5k mark was a little way into the second loop, which surprised me, but lets face it GPS is at best only 90% reliable.  Running alongside a chap of about 30 we headed into the last mile or so of the race.  Suddenly I saw the same 5k finish line, and next to it the 10k sign showing where the second loop began.  In my running induced delirium it seemed to make no sense.  I glanced at my watch and it read 5.1 miles, this couldn't be the finish line, it was a mile too early?  I headed straight rather than turning and an official screamed at me to go to the finish line sign.  Ofcourse I argued and said 'we have only run 5.1 miles".  He shrugged and said 'course might be a bit short'.  My kids were watching and yelling out 'sprint Mummy', they know I have no kick and stopping to argue with a volunteer about where to go hadn't really helped my stride.  Within seconds the race was over and I felt curiously robbed.  This had been no 10k, my time was really impressive - but for one reason and one reason only, it was a 5.2 mile race.  I still had no 10k time.

There was a generally jubilant air as runners seemed euphoric with the day - for many they had run a huge personal best, as the 5k was half a mile short too.  At the awards ceremony every age group was celebrated, kids up to 19 were in one year age groups, then there were 5 year brackets.  There were an enormous number of medals for everyone.  I had scooped the third prize award in my age group but as the crowd thinned and all the kids piled off with their medals it became increasingly embarrassing and I was hoping just to slink off.  The kids had gone home to make a birthday brunch, but hubby insisted I get my medal with the picture of a walnut on it. Standing on my olympic size podium next to another runner I felt silly, we hadn't even celebrated the runners who had won the race.  Instead of having overall winners and then age groups they had given virtually everyone a medal and yet none of us had run either a 5k or a 10k that day.

It later transpired the course was so short because the cheerleaders didn't go out far enough at the turn around point.  Perhaps in their kindness the sweeties had wanted to save runners pain so set up camp a little closer than they should.  Of course it wasn't the cheerleaders fault, they did a fabulous job of adding glitz and glam - but someone should have supervised and checked their placement.

Yes it was a good fundraiser, yes it was a fun event, but for runners a time is everything, so don't mess with the measurements and don't throw the cheerleaders under the bus!  Running Californian style was certainly different.......and it had won that age old battle of style over substance.

Chasing the Unicorn to the Wild West

Our lives seem to turn in ten year cyles.  When my hubby turned 40 we had turned our world upside down and moved from England to America - a boozy leaving party at the golf course and we were off into the wild blue yonder of another country. Of course his 50th coincided with us doing a similar move, moving from one side of America and leaving the suburbs of Pennsylvania for the East Bay in California.  My parents and sister wondered if we were just going to keep going and drop off the edge when he turned 60 - what was with all the moving?

When we had moved to Pennsylvania our kids were young and I met people instantly over play dates, PTA and school activities. Our ten years in Pennsylvania had been laced with some wonderful friendships - not least the running housewives of Blue Bell, who were irreplaceable.  Every time I said goodbye to one of them I couldn't help but cry, then I vacuumed some more, then cried some more.  Needless to say our empty house was very clean by the time we drove to the airport.

New starts mean new efforts - the kids grumbled when the first day of school loomed about how hard it was going to be when everyone had already brought their middle school friends with them to their first Freshman day in High School; the Senior was dreading knowing no one and could not decide what to wear. My usual style of sympathetic motherly advice was 'don't start bleating to me - you are going to arrive at a great school, where some body has hand picked other kids who are the same age as you, many will have the same interests as you.  Making new friends will never be as easy again as it is for you today'.

I of course was feeling much more sorry for myself.  Walnut Creek was gorgeous, stunning in all its natural beauty of trails and mountains, and was bathed in an eternal golden glow of unbelievable California weather - but what was paradise without company?  We had some fabulous family friends who lived here too, they had moved from Blue Bell a few years earlier and we were excited to be close to them, but really, we couldn't completely monopolize them, they had their own friends and their own life and I would have to find one of my own.

The kids had gone off for their exciting adventure, hubby was busy innovating - that left me, the dog and the dishes!  It was much harder to meet people now, the kids didn't want me anywhere near 'their play dates' or their school.  The answer to a funk is always the same for me - lace up the shoes and make yourself feel better.  I took to one of the many charming canal trails outside my door - shady, quiet and impossible to get lost on, they were such an easy way to get miles in.

After about twenty minutes I saw two ladies running up ahead - they seemed to be about my age and looked like sprightly runners.  My desire for new friends was such I bounded up to them like a golden retriever and engaged them in lots of conversation.  They were plugged into i-pods and reluctantly unglued their ear pieces and graciously answered by insane babble about how I was new to the area and wondered what the running scene was like....blah dee blah blah.  After some time they were branching off to home and one of the ladies suggested I get in touch with her through her office web site as she was an orthodontist.  Elated at my new friendship I dropped her a line and suggested making a time to run again.  I was so proud of myself!  Well a week or so went by and I realized she wasn't going to answer....ever ...she clearly thought I was totally insane, had a good running partner already and frankly didn't want her ear chewed off by an over excited English runner.

I listened to the kids tell me about their days at school and they were doing a terrific job of navigating all the new groups and figuring out who they wanted to hang with.  I on the other hand was making baby steps and figured it would be about ten years until I had found half the friendships they were making.  Then a week or so later I was runnning on the same canal path and distracting myself from my solitary running, by finally getting on with some speed work.  Half way through a mile repeat I spotted a lady up ahead with a border collie off leash.  Usually I ignore dogs;  at most they want to say hi or just play, or they ignore you.  So I carried on running at full tilt towards him - then I realized at the last minute that he wasn't going to move out of the way.  He didn't seem to care I was wearing my pink distance newtons and I was half way through my mile repeats - he definitely had other intentions, and they didn't look good. I braked suddenly and swerved wildly towards the canal as he seemed to be leaping right at me - then he did just, that jumped up with a maniacal gleam in his eyes and sank his choppers right into my bum!

Needless to say I reacted in my usual fashion I screamed at its owner to 'get it on a bloody leash'; she called the dog over to her, but didn't leash him.  Then in a quavering tone the heavyset lady with shockingly bad highlights turned on me too; "my dog has just witnessed my father die, he is deeply upset, as am I, and I needed to let him 'romp' to get over it!, and that is why he is off leash' .  A tirade of self pity from the owner ensued, about how none of it was her fault; she never once asked if I was OK, she never asked if she could pay to replace the brand new shorts the dog had ripped through.  When she seemed to run out of steam I asked her to leash her dog, she vented some more, I asked her to leash her dog, she vented again - finally on the third request the leash reluctantly went on.  After an incident like that, you can always think of smart things to respond with. Hearing someone's Dad has just died does knock out all of your anger, and you have to assume that no reasonable person would even think to lie about such a thing.  So all I came up with in an aggrieved and injured tone was 'I am truly sorry your Dad died, but you seem to be entering a spiral of descent, because if I have to call the police and report the fact that your unleashed dog bit me today, he could then be put down if he has bitten before....and will any of this honor the memory of your Dad?'  She stomped off, taking her attitude and bad highlights with her leaving me deflated and off beam.

I ran on slowly, all the steam taken out of me, the dog had only bruised the skin, hadn't broken it, so no real need to be worried, but I was shaken up.  It had spoilt my run and my day. Ahead of me was a group of other women running - dang if it wasn't a chance to turn a bad day into a good one and make new friends after all.  This time I limped up, rather than bounding up, and asked if they had by any chance seen an off leash border collie - and had any of them ever been bitten on this trail before?  This time there were no ear buds - but a bunch of very welcoming, sympathetic ladies.  They weren't quite the housewives, for a start they all had impressive careers - a vet, obstetrician, radiologist, photographer and jewelry designer - but they were chatty, fun and kind.  Guess what, next day they emailed me for another run.  That night at dinner it wasn't just the kids who had interesting stories to tell - I had found running company at last.....