When I was five years old, my entire family got the chicken pox. A Polaroid picture shows me with lop-sided pony tails, red spots covering every inch, drowning in a big Mickey Mouse T-shirt. I’m smiling gallantly like “wow. What an adventure.”
My mom warned me if I itched, I would have scars for life.
She was right. I do.
But you remember what it was like: you tried to ignore it, cover it in pink calamine lotion, and freeze it with ice cubes. But in the end, I itched. That’s just the kind of gal I am. It’s the kind of runner I am.
Marathoners fall into two categories.
Those that cross the finish line and vow to NEVER do it again. Every painful step reminds them they were crazy. They heard about black toenails, bleeding chaffing spots, and screaming hamstrings. But the difference between hearing and FEELING pushed them to cross it off their bucket list and move onto Skydiving and belly dancing.
Then there are the ones that get “the itch”. The itch might start before you cross the finish line of your first marathon when you realize you’ll have to run another one to meet your goal. It might be the weight of that medal hanging from your neck. But most often in comes in the post-race celebration. As you’re drinking a beer (you earned those carbs!) and re-hashing the race with fellow runners, the question pops up: what’s next? And in the post-race glow you make big plans to run another marathon. A better marathon. A faster marathon.
And you do.
OK, so it’s not always better and it’s not always faster. In fact, the best you can say is that it’s another one. But once you get the itch, it’s there. You try to take some time off. But it drives you crazy until you JUST DO IT.
Spending time with a group of runners with the itch is humorous. Sure, they’re limping, they’re icing, they’re barley walking. And already, they’re asking: “What’s next?” They can’t help it. The thought is there. And it’s driving them crazy.
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I think the world can be divided into two kinds of people: those that make New Year’s resolutions (Type A personalities—we all know what the “A” stands for) and those that do not (I think the B in Type B personalities stands for “beer-appreciators”).
I don’t always keep mine, but I always make them (while sipping a beer). One of my 2011 resolutions is to start blogging again. My blog participation started with a bang, encouraged (perhaps demanded) by news management, then dwindled, then stopped. I blame the game of 140 characters.
Twitter killed the blog.
If I am constantly feeding anyone who gives a damn my witty thoughts, I have nothing left to say in a blog. .. Right?
Guess I need to turn up the witty.
That just sounds exhausting.
It’s made me re-think what I want to say, how I want to say it, and who I’m reaching. As I train for the Alaska marathon, I want to make you laugh, cheer, and come along for the ride. I’ll be posting pictures, video, and (of course) my random thoughts. One time, I compared blogging to standing in a closet and talking to myself. A very talented 11Alive photographer once said, “It used to be that boring people kept it to themselves.”
I’d make an eloquent argument to say that can’t possibly apply to me since I’m oh-so-exciting, but I can’t. There’s no outlet in this closet and my laptop is running out of power.
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Nothing makes you want to chop off your hair like ten days in a row of 90-plus temperatures. With nine days left in The Great Hair Cut Challenge, I’m itching to grab a pair of scissors (which would be disastrous, so I’ll leave it to the professionals).
I’d like to dedicate the final push of this fundraiser to one of my Chicago team mates, Kim Rhame. She’s part of the Pixie Club, but not by choice. Kim was diagnosed with Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma on October 15, 2008. For six months, she traveled back and forth to Houston, Texas for treatment.
This week, she’ll pack her four kids into the car for a road trip back to Texas. While her husband and kids are hitting up the tourist locations, she’ll be getting a new scan. She shared her story with our fall Team in Training runners Saturday with a smile and a shrug. “It could be you. It could be anybody,” she said.
After our four mile run in the sticky heat last Saturday, I was lusting after Kim’s pixie cut. She’s a beautiful woman who can pull it off flawlessly. When I told her so, she shrugged and remembered her long, blonde, pre-cancer hair without an ounce of anger or wistfulness. She never planned to be a Pixie, but if she’s a member of the club, I want in.
The Great Haircut Challenge Ends June 30th at midnight. The fundraising tally is $550 for “Ponytails” (keep the hair); $350 for “Pixies” (cut it off). To donate on my TNT webpage, click here.
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I’ve known 11Alive Meteorologist Chesley McNeil for a long time. We were both new at WGRZ-TV in Buffalo, New York six years ago. In a reunion of sorts, we now both work for the morning show at WXIA-TV. He is a great Meteorologist, an enthusiastic co-worker, and –most importantly–a really good guy. But I know he can’t cut hair. So, how did I end up agreeing to let him cut my mine?
“The Great Hair Cut Challenge” made it onto TV today. In case you weren’t watching 11Alive at 5:55 AM (and shame on you!), here’s the background: to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training, people are deciding what I should do with my hair: chop it all off or keep it long. This wasn’t my idea, but I like it. We’ve already raised more than $700 for a cause close to my heart, so I say bring it on!
One of our producers heard about The Great Hair Cut Challenge on Facebook and suggested we talk about it on the morning show. So, in between my 5:30 and 6:00 live hits, Chesley, Jill, Karyn, and I sat on the anchor desk and talked about it on live TV.
Chesley threw out an absurd suggestion: “How about you let me cut it?” And I said yes. Everyone on set, perhaps especially Chesley, was shocked.
He can chop off my ponytail, and then I’ll have my hairdresser clean it up. That’s *IF* the donations swing that way. Right now, the “Keep It” campaign has raised twice as much as the “Chop It”. BUT, we have 21 days left. As we gear up for election season, I’m reminded: anything can happen. Donate and Vote Here.
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I like having a plan. Even if it is a plan B.
Training for a marathon is like a high-wire act. It’s all about balance. Train enough to get strong, but not so much to get injured. It’s also about timing and trying to peak at the right time: race day. That’s why training schedules are specific. They don’t say go take a run today; it’s run 10 miles at 60-70%.
My timing and balance are WAYYY off, and I’m not sure what to expect. I had to pull out of the ING Marathon at the last minute, so now I’m planning for the Country Music Marathon in Nashville on April 24th. I’m excited about running a great race in a new city, but first, I have to get there.
I peaked back at the beginning of March, then tapered. Instead of running the ING marathon, I didn’t run at all for a week and a half. My first run back, I had to walk part of it, because I was so weak and exhausted. The Team in Training coaches helped me come up with a plan B, and I’m happy to report my runs this week have been awesome. My strength is back and I’m feeling great! I’ll feel even better if I have a good run this Saturday. It’s 12 miles this week, 16 next week, then 8 taper, and the race.
It wasn’t the original plan, but it’s a good one. . . hopefully.
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Marathoners are full funny little sayings. The two I quote most often come from my dad:
Run your race.
Run to run another day.
I kept repeating those quotes over and over again in my head over the last week like a mantra. By now, I was supposed to be basking in the post-marathon glow, instead I’m scrambling to find another marathon. Instead of trying to break four hours, I’m just hoping to finish. It’s funny how one night in the ER can change your running plans.
I’ll gloss over all the details and sum it up like this: I’m OK, it’s no big deal. But for a while, I was totally sidelined. And for just a while, I didn’t even care about missing the ING Georgia Marathon. It was always there, hanging around in the back of my mind. But it wasn’t until days later, when I came out of a pain-medication-induced haze that I realized the last six months of training was building to a crescendo that would never happen.
Saturday night, I went to the Team in Training celebration dinner. I admit there was a part of me that didn’t want to go. That didn’t want to hear everyone talk about their successful marathons while I just nodded and smiled. But I’m so glad I went.
I was so proud of everyone. While runners relived the race, water stop by water stop, the non-runner spouses and friends got a glazed look. I could almost hear their brains working: who cares how many goo gels you ate? And whether you ate them at mile 9 or 12? It’s almost like this secret language only endurance runners can speak. Yes, it’s awesome.
Run to run another day. It looks like that day will be April 24th. I’m planning to run the Country Music Marathon in Nashville next month. So, I’ll get my big event. Just a month late.
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The score was Johnson Ferry: 1, Me: 0.
Some hills are just hills, but some are Hills (with a capital “H”). Johnson Ferry at Columns Drive is definitely a Hill. 
I ran it during my 12 miler, and I was set to face it again for an 18 miler. Leading up to Saturday’s run, I’d been living on a solid diet of Olympics. I love the Winter Olympics: bob sledding, biathlon, cross-country skiing, snowboard cross, even curling. My television never strayed from NBC for those ten days (given NBC’s usual programming line-up, this was a huge change despite my obvious 11Alive loyalties). So, I entered Saturday inspired and ready to treat Johnson Ferry like that cocky ice skater from Russia—Take that!
By now, you’re thinking: it’s a hill, what’s the big deal? So it’s time to admit I have a thing about Hills (not the little hills, just the Hills).
I’m not nervously uncomfortable of them the way I am of revolving doors and garbage disposals. They just keep beating me. I can’t run them at the pace I should be. I fall behind on the hills and catch up with my runner partners at the top, but as the runs get longer it’s getting tougher. There are lots of things I can do to improve my hill performance next time, but right now, I’m about to start ramping down on my running: no time to start a new strength training plan.
So I just have to gut it out.
And you know what? I did. Maybe it was the pocket full of jelly beans I nibbled at the later water stops. Maybe it was the extra hours of sleep I squeezed into my week. I’m not saying it was super-fast or that I didn’t fall behind. But I did it, and I felt good. So, in my book, that makes it 1-1.
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This week, I had a chance to spend some time with 11 year old Lindsay Simmons. She just celebrated her first post-chemo birthday. She’s the honored hero for the ING Team in Training. I could write a whole blog about how listening to her talk about cancer was both heartbreaking and inspiring. But, at heart, I’m a photographer. I tell better stories with pictures and sound, so you can watch the story here. It has me excited to go run 16 miles this weekend.
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I was in the car at a red light with a friend last summer when a runner passed us. You know the type: not an ounce of fat, muscles glistening in sweat, running at a speed I only achieve in my dreams. “Now, he’s a REAL runner,” my friend said.
I thought, “I’ve run half-a-dozen marathons, who knows how many halves, 5Ks, 10Ks. I know the lingo. I wear the gear. Who are you to say I’M not a REAL runner?” Instead what came out of my mouth was, “Are you saying I have a big ass?”
What happened next was the smartest thing (and the only thing) a man can say in that moment: “No, dear, not at all,” in a voice with just a touch of fear.
Here’s the ugly truth about running: I doesn’t make you lose weight. Let me alter that slightly: It doesn’t make ME lose weight. It seems so unfair that even when I run 12, 16, 18 miles; I don’t lose a single pound. My pants DO fit better. My legs LOOK better, but that’s about it. Everyone I convince to run usually does lose weight, which allows me to practice my evil-eye.
So, what’s the deal?
A recent Runner’s World magazine article titled “What’s Your Ideal Weight?” said:
“There’s no denying healthy runners will race about 2 seconds per mile faster for every pound they lose. . . the less weight you carry around, the more miles per gallon you get from oxygen.” This applies to runners with a healthy BMI, between 18.5 and 24.9. If you drop below 18.5, you’re at risk for becoming weaker and slower.
As with all things running these days, I turned to Team in Training coach Barb for some information. She passed along an article from nutritionist, Nancy Clark (Board Certified Specialist in Sports Dietetics). An excerpt:
“Why “quick weight loss” is a fantasy
While the promise of quick weight loss is enticing, runners who lose weight quickly on a severe diet inevitably regain the weight, if not more. That’s because the body overcompensates for extreme dieting with overeating. You will never win the war against hunger…
Hunger is physiological. Just as your body needs to breathe, urinate and sleep, your body also needs to eat. Urges to overeat (that is, blow your diet) often have less to do with will power and more to do with the physiology of hunger. Just as you will gasp for air after having been trapped under-water without oxygen, you will devour food after having been denied calories during a crash diet (or after a long run, for that matter). Yes, you can white-knuckle yourself to stick to your crash diet, but your well-meaning plan to quickly shed some pounds has a high likelihood of exploding into a demoralizing pattern of binge eating followed by yet-another attempt to crash-diet. Don’t go there…. it’s depressing.”
Well, darn. Then…
The better plan is to chip away at slow but steady weight loss, targeting 0.5 to 2 pounds a week. Why, by just knocking off 100 calories at the end of the day (one cookie, one heaping spoonful of ice cream), you can theoretically lose 10 pounds a year. Knock off 200 calories at the end of the day (16 ounces of cola, 4 Oreos), and you’ve lost 20 pounds a year.
Well, I can do 100 calories less a day. Until then, I guess I’ll just be that chubby runner. Recently, the Cooper Aerobics Center (fitness and BMI gurus) released a report that said aerobics fitness (not weight) is a predictor of longevity. It’s better to be fat but fit rather than lean and out of shape. And anyone that runs 26.2 miles is definately, without question, in shape.
Make no mistake; I am a “real runner”. So are you. In my book, that has nothing to do with your size, your weight, or your speed. To be a runner, you just need to put one foot in front of the other and cross the finish line. See you there.
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Com-mit-ment: noun (1) an act of committing to a charge or cause (2) an agreement or a pledge to do something
Reading this definition started me pondering about commitment in our world today. In my head, it started sounding a lot like my dad’s stories: “when I was your age, I had to walk to school. Up Hill. In the snow.”
I’m too young to talk about the past that way, but here I am thinking it. Are we ever really committed to anything? I mean REALLY committed?
For me, commitment must come with consequence. If you break your commitment, whatever role you were supposed to play, whatever job you were supposed to do: it won’t get done. When you’re fundraising for cancer, those consequences are significant. Families that need help won’t get it. Research won’t happen. Cures won’t be found.
We had recommitment night for the ING Georgia Marathon last night. For Team in Training, this means two things: (1) You must have 25% of your fundraising done, and (2) you should be on target in your running schedule.
This is it. There’s no turning back. I signed my name on the line. From here on out, it’s full force ahead. In a wishy-washy, gray-area world, the solid commitment feels good. It stretches out before me like a long road just begging for a run.
Speaking of fundraising, I still have $1,000 to go. You can donate here: http://pages.teamintraining.org/ga/Georgia10/jwolfe
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Tuesday night, I stepped onto a track for the first time since high school. The squishy rubber and bright lights started giving me flashbacks:
-Our track at McEachern High School backed up to a pasture. For some reason, instead of being afraid of the starting gun, the cows were attracted by the sound. Every track meet, they would line the fence like a mooing cheering squad.
-One time, I took so long getting into my blocks, the other team’s track coach yelled at me. It flustered me so much I had a false start. He yelled at me more. Since then, getting into starting blocks makes me break into a sweat.
-It was team picture day and my uniform was rumpled on the floor. I ironed it. It melted. There was a big hole in my shorts. Funny thing is, I can’t remember what happened. Certainly, I didn’t stand in the back row with my hiney hanging out. Or maybe I did and I’ve just blocked it out.
My Team in Training Coach tells me track workouts will play a huge role in getting me to my goal of a sub-four hour marathon. If you’re like me, most of you have not had a track workout in a long time (maybe ever). Here’s what you missed:
-Short strides. Instead of taking long, loping strides, long-distance runners should take shorter, faster strides. From Coach Barb: “Basically the theory states that the slower you take steps, the longer time you spend in the air. The longer you’re in the air, the more you displace your body mass and the harder you hit the ground on landing. This can lead to injury and also demands more from your leg muscles.” You should aim for 90 strides (that’s 2 steps, so count every time your right foot hits) in 60 seconds. This works and has changed the way I run.
-Run on egg shells. Sometimes, I hear myself running and I sound like an elephant. This is bad. Running lightly is (obviously) easier on your ankles, knees, and hips. You do this my rolling with your foot. Think heel, mid-sole, toe in a fluid rolling motion.
-Pick-Ups. We ran a series of 100 meter runs, starting slow, speeding up to 80%, then recovering. In this exercise I made a discovery: I am not fast. It’s possible I was never really fast, it’s just that golden hue of memories that make things look better than they were. Still, it’s kind of strange. I can run for a long time at a pretty solid speed, but running fast… well, that’s a whole other issue.
At least my shorts didn’t have a hole burned into them.
I’m eight weeks from standing at the ING Georgia starting line, still more than $1,00o from my goal. Click here to donate to fight cancer. Thanks!
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Wow. What a week to start a New Year’s Resolution. Can you even feel your toes? The tough thing about resolutions isn’t starting them, it’s keeping them. That’s where Duffie Dixon comes in. I remember Duffie telling me, “I can’t run.” 2009 changed all of that. Here’s a look at how she became a runner (and how you can too!)
I’M A RUNNER??!!
I’ll admit it. It was peer pressure. Actually, it was co-worker pressure. Fellow reporter Julie Wolfe sent out an email inviting us to take part in a Zooma 5k. I was looking for a boost in my workout routine (I walked a treadmill or went to spin classes a couple times a week) so I agreed. Then I realized the last time I had run for any significant length of time was back in college (think late 80s).
Committed, I re
membered a friend had trained for a beginners’ race and had a training guide. It was straight forward—I started by walking three minutes then running for one. Each week I was running more and walking less. I did this four days a week for several months. I’m not going to say it was easy, but it was do-able. The hardest part was the first month…literally, after every session something different hurt—an ankle, a knee, a hip, my shins—but I just kept walking and running. To my amazement soon the pains ceased, I was no longer gasping for air and I was soon running (albeit slowly) for 15 minutes straight, then 20 and eventually 30 and 40. I was hoping to do that first 5k in 45 minutes.
My first 5k (approx 31/2 months after beginning training) It was a great experience—great weather, no aches and pains (and thanks to my panic of needing to use a port-a-pottie at the finish line)—I finished in 38 minutes. I was elated. For the first time in a long time I set a goal for myself, just myself, and did what it took to reach it. What seemed impossible and downright laughable (that at my age I could pick up running) is now my preferred exercise! I try to run 30 minutes a day three times a week and on the fourth day (and sometimes 5!) I allow a lot of time and just go until I can’t go any farther. I’m up to 4.3 miles and now looking forward to tackling 5 miles. I forgot how much I love being outside with so much to look at and the sheer feeling of getting away from it all—nothing beats stress like a good run.
Duffie Dixon, 11 Alive News Reporter
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Sleet bounced off my face, cold puddles riddled my path, and the inconsiderate car splash reached my waist. Wednesday’s five mile run was not what most would call “comfortable”. Two hot showers and a Starbucks later, I’m still trying to figure out why it was so much fun.
It could have been the champagne toast we had at mile two (which I was regretting by mile three).
It could have been the company. Seven Team in Training runners showed up despite the storm.
But, really, I think it’s because I did it. I could have made an excuse (it’s too dark/cold/snowy/late), but I didn’t. I’ve learned there’s always an excuse. Some of these excuses are valid. Too bad. You have to refuse to excuse. It’s the only way you’ll ever get your marathon training done. (This is a conversation I have inside my head at least once a week.)
And that brings me to New Year’s Resolutions. This morning, 11Alive Meteorologist Ashley McDonald said, “I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions, so I don’t break them.” The last few years, as I’ve wandered the streets for MOS (Man on The Street) interviews, more and more people are telling me they don’t make resolutions. It makes sense: if you want to do something, why wait until January 1st to make it happen?
I am not one of those people. For some reason, I have a bit of an obsession with New Year’s resolutions. So, here’s my list this year:
1) Wear more hats in 2010. They’re so snuggly. This means I will likely have hat hair more often. I’m OK with that.
2) Run a 4 hour marathon. I think this is do-able, but just barely. Talk to me after my 20 mile run.
3) Drop a pant size. I have lots of pants hanging in my closet I’d like to wear again.
4) Do something nice for someone else EVERY SINGLE DAY.
5) Learn to speak Spanish.
Hats are easy. Everything else… well, I’ll let you know. Happy New Year’s Eve! Just because you celebrate Thursday doesn’t mean you can skip your long run Saturday. Don’t start 2010 with an excuse. If you do, you’ll soon find a year full of them.
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It all started with a tweet.
“Hey Julie, what would you say ab taking your TNT experience to the radio airwaves?”
Radio is like TV except no one is going to e-mail me about how bad my hair looks (oh, the stories I could tell). So, I’m in.
So, just a few days before Christmas Mary Liebman (TNT staffer), Barb Stinson (ING Coach), and me are sharing a roomy booth with Q100’s Matt Jones. For 20 minutes we chat about Team in Training. Mary talks about fundraising, Barb talks about coaching, and I talk about how great Mary and Barb are.
The twenty minute community segment plus some 60 second spots will run on Cumulus radio stations (like Q100) in January. I think they jumped the gun though because I just got an e-mail: “I totally heard you on the radio yesterday morning! I don’t know if it was live or a replay of an earlier broadcast, but it was pretty cool.”
It’s the first time I’ve been called cool since perhaps 5th grade. So, obviously, this is a big success.
If you hear the spot and are inspired to join, visit: http://www.teamintraining.org/ga/. If you want to e-mail me to tell me how bad my hair looks: jwolfe@11alive.com. If you feel pity that I actually get those kinds of e-mails, you can make it up to me by donating to my TNT fundraising efforts by clicking here.
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I celebrated an early Christmas with my two little nephews last week. I am still recovering, but I did pick up some running advice along the way.
Running is Glee. When my 2-year-old nephew runs, his little legs are just a blur and he lets out this high-pitched shrieking giggle. It is pure joy. Granted… he is usually running away from me… but his obvious glee is contagious. I enjoy a run AFTER it’s over. The sense of accomplishment is what makes me feel good about running, but after watching my nephew, I vow to enjoy the run itself more.
Gravity is the Enemy. Sometimes we make this running thing too complicated. Set me loose in a running store and I will convince myself I cannot run without the latest fancy GPS, iPod tracker, shoes, socks, tights, hat, shorts, bra, underwear, hand warmers. Running is really quite simple: put one foot in front of the other. The only enemy in runing (or even walking) is gravity: just watch my 8-month-old nephew learn to walk. But as long as you cross the finish line upright (almost everyone does), you beat gravity. And now that you know your chances are pretty good, it’s all a matter of degrees.
Purell is the Nectar of the Gods. I thought my sister (and all those moms) with bottles of Purell attached to everything were going a little overboard. I mean, I didn’t have that wimpy hand sanitizer when I was a kid and I turned out just fine, right? So, during my week with the nephews, I washed my hands religiously (like I always do), but I didn’t really partake in the 6-times-daily Purell rub…. And I got really, really sick. There are few things more frustrating to a runner than being sidelined. After six days without running, I’ve changed my mind. I’m willing to do anything I can to get better and stay well for the rest of my ING Training. So, pass the Purell, please.
Click here to find out how you can help Team in Training.
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