A Mammoth undertaking

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It’s frankly been quite awhile since I’ve really physically challenged myself (or posted here!), but I made up for it last weekend with a lengthy, strenuous hike.

Gram backpacking in her 60s

My Gram, who was my inspiration for my past marathoning, died late last year at 100 + 1 month. My friend Sue proposed doing the 20-mile option of the Mammoth March NJ in her honor/memory, as Gram was an avid hiker (and skier, backpacker, biker, camper). I immediately said yes. The route followed trails in parks that I know she had hiked on.

What a great way to honor her! She would be with me on the course in more ways than one.

The Mammoth March is not a race but does have a time limit of sorts (8 hours for the 20-mile option, which works out to less than a 3 mph pace). I haven’t done any races since 2018. We signed up for the March at the turn of the year, so I certainly had time to train and prepare.

A few miles in, the climb begins

I felt confident that I could complete the mileage and persevere, but I was nervous about the terrain/elevation — all my marathon walking over the past many years has been very flat and very paved. And that said, I didn’t train as I should have, other than doing several lengthy (flat) walks and some last-minute treadmill incline work. (Sue, conversely, was concerned about the distance but not the elevation as she is a very frequent hiker.)

We did a test hike a few weeks before the event, 13 miles on part of the actual course. We found that our pace was compatible and we were a good team, but the trek took us … well, let’s just say an unusually long time. So we had concerns that we’d finish the 20 miles in the allotted 8-ish hours, especially this time of year when the days are shorter.

On the day of, I broke a cardinal rule of distance events (don’t wear/try anything new!). Weather conditions prompted me to make a game-day decision to start the hike in a pair of not-really-hiking-boots instead of the sneakers I’d worn for the test hike.

Three-quarters of the way!

I paid the price for my rule-breaking. I started feeling a hot spot on my heel about 4 miles in, and even with switching to sneakers (which I’d smartly stashed in my backpack) at mile 5, the damage was done and I had a quarter-size blister, already popped and the skin rubbed away. Amen for some awesomely effective blister patches available at the aid station, which got me through to the finish without debilitating pain (but which didn’t stop the doubling in size of the blister).

The many fellow hikers on the March were all so friendly and helped us keep our pace and our spirits up! The course was well marked and varied, and the aid stations had the right combo of refreshments (hot soup at mile 16 was so welcome on a dreary, trying-to-rain autumn day).

In the first half of the mileage, my hamstrings started feeling tight and stressed. In the second half of the route, that faded as my knees — due to some of the downhills that required careful maneuvering — started to ache. Throw in the heel blister threatening to derail things and I was really watching for the mile markers. We were so grateful to have a wide, flat, fine-graveled road for a stretch of a few miles on the back end. However, a detour back into the woods on narrow trails came along between miles 17 and 18, and with it the hardest part of the course — a tricky long downhill, during which my knees started to scream and each step was fairly unpleasant. Talk about moving gingerly!

I knew I wouldn’t give up. I knew I had it in me. But I knew this was asking more of my body than I have in quite a long time.

As the sign says: CHALLENGE COMPLETED!

As we neared the last mile or so, Sue got a second wind and was energized by the approaching finish line. I, on the other hand, seem to start to fade when I know the end is near, and so the last mile felt like it went on forever. But I was so very glad that the last mile was flat, soft, and rock-free!

We finished the course in less than 8 and a half hours (not counting stops), with a total elevation gain of 2,352 feet, and proudly and joyfully accepted our medals.

So… back to Gram. I called on her at several points during the day, both for stamina to keep going and in wanting her to appreciate the trail, the scenery, the event. And I carried her with me, literally, and left her behind as well, to be forever a part of trails she loved.

I can’t thank Sue enough for suggesting this as a way to honor my beloved, inspirational grandmother, and I can’t thank Gram enough for instilling her put-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other attitude in me. (And for keeping the course under an umbrella, while it apparently rained all day pretty much everywhere around us.) I just wish we’d done more hiking together and that I shared her outdoors spirit earlier in life.

Hiking bling!

Time to start anew

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Since I started doing races for myself in 2010, I’ve done two half marathons a year (three in 2017).

Not this year. I did only one.

And that one was hard-fought — I had the trifecta of cold, rain and battering wind. It was the first time that I honestly felt like not finishing a race. I likely would have, if I wasn’t already headed in the direction of shelter and a hot shower for the remaining distance of the course.

For 2018 race number two, I looked to find one that would coincide with a trip to northern California, eager to add another state to my race list. While sorting out details of finding a viable event, I held off ramping up my training, and in the end neither happened.

Somewhere, deep down, my motivation switch had been flicked to “off.”

The year had started on a down note and, as I came out of that fog (and the fog that was much of 2017), I was barely going through the motions of regular physical activity and healthy eating.

Sometimes we need a break … although it seems silly to say we need a break from healthful habits. But sometimes we I need to feel gross about ourselves myself to snap us me back into the desire to not feel gross. Rock bottom, as it were.

I think I’ve reached that point.

I don’t know if it’s good or bad that the timing coincides with New Year’s — a.k.a., time for resolutions. At the very least, I can remind myself of how to have better chances of keeping a resolution.

Resolutions — or goals — should be SMART. That is:

Specific: The more specific, the better. Break it down into smaller pieces.

Measurable: Figure out how you will measure whether you’ve reached a goal. Keep a tracker or journal, for instance?

Attainable: This is similar to the first step above: Keep it specific and concrete. Lose 50 pounds is a great goal. But Lose 10 pounds is more doable as an initial aim, which fosters a feeling of accomplishment when you reach it (and then set your next 10-pound goal).

Realistic: Is your goal something you can achieve with current resources and/or knowledge? If not, can you easily obtain the resources needed? Again, break it down into specific pieces.

Timely: The goal should include a time frame in which the goal will/can be achieved.

As 2019 begins, be easy on yourself.

I plan to shoot for very small goals, even day-by-day, to get back into a regular exercise habit, make better food choices, and rediscover my inner motivation. Here’s hoping.

 

Take this word out of your vocabulary

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First off, I know this blog has been idle for quite some time, so I appreciate if you’re still with me.

Second, although the primary topic of this post is not a happy one, I hope that the message has an impact.

My circle of marathoning/walking friends has sadly suffered another loss. Our friend Beth K. died after an accident late last year. Beth was with the Team Prevention program from very early on. (In this program, run by Prevention magazine from 2005 to 2009, the magazine helped readers train to walk half and full marathons, with many measures of support and information.)

One of the best facets of the program was our group of mentors. These were women who were pretty new to the walk-a-marathon thing, too. They shared their learnings and advice on online message boards for our participants, and they came to our races to inspire, coach, and meet participants.

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I last raced with (and saw) Beth (left) in Pittsburgh in 2015. It was a Team Prevention mentor reunion of sorts, as two of the other women in this photo (and another with whom we gathered that weekend) were mentors as well.

Beth was one of those mentors.

We’d have a team dinner the night before a given race, at which our mentors usually said a few words to the group. The messages differed — some mentors would explain why they chose to walk races, some would offer words of wisdom for first-timers, and so on.

Beth had a particular message she’d share. I’m sure I won’t do it justice, and I’m sure it won’t be as motivating as it would be if she were the one giving it, but the message was strong and simple.

“You’re not just walking,” she’d declare.

Our group of participants were mostly first-time racers. They were not usually the most athletic bunch of folks. Maybe once upon a time they ran, but age or joint problems or other factors ended their time as a runner. And here they were, about to embark on a pretty big and, for many, daunting goal — to do a full or half marathon. When people would learn they were doing a race, many of them would tend to say, “Well, I’m just walking,” in an almost apologetic tone.

“You’re not just walking,” Beth would emphasize. “You’ve trained for several months and you are doing a marathon.”

She made it clear that no one who embarked on the goal to complete a half or full marathon was just doing anything.

Own it, she was saying.

With one sentence, one correction to a statement, she motivated participants to feel even stronger, to feel even more motivated, to feel even more proud.

We all cross the same finish line, whether it’s with a pace of 7-minute miles or 15-minute miles. Don’t apologize for how you got there.

Thanks, Beth.

A solemn walk

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Tomorrow, I’ll be doing the Outer Banks Half Marathon in, well, the Outer Banks, NC, with a group of friends. This will be my second time doing this race and my 17th half marathon overall. (Whew!)

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Most of our gang after the OBX race in 2012

Generally I don’t make a habit of returning to races. I’ve only done so for certain reasons: to revisit the site of my first race or to help support other walkers. There are far too many races out there and new places to explore via their courses to want to repeat any.

But this weekend marks my second trip to the OBX race, and it’s in honor of a friend. About a year ago, I wrote about Lana, how her determination helped her tackle a race course and how she motivated so many people.

When our group gathered in NC in 2012 to do the race together the first time, North Carolina native Lana signed up too, doing the 8K. I spent some time with her on the course (the two routes merged at one point). I remember feeling happy to spot her ahead of me and know that I’d be able to cheer her on — and get energy from her as well.

After Lana died late last year, our group decided to return to the race this fall and participate in her honor. That purpose is definitely worth a repeat trip to a race, in my book. We’ll celebrate Lana and remember her with love.

In the past few weeks, though, our mission has grown. Among those planning to join us were our dear friends J and G. To our heartbreak, G has recently and suddenly been diagnosed with a very serious illness, preventing the couple from joining us while they fight this medical battle.

Like Lana, both J and G are incredible sources of inspiration; two people more full of life and light you would be hard-pressed to find. I walked alongside them for most of the course in 2012, in fact (and have shared other race course with them, too).

So we will fondly remember Lana as we walk those 13.1 miles on Sunday. And now, we will send healing wishes and love to G (and J) with each step along the way, emphasizing our good hopes for them in every footfall and our wishes that they’ll be striding alongside us again soon.