SB Half Marathon '05 - Liz's journal
Liz Werhane
The race.

It's over. Here's the final chapter in the story of my first half marathon. It's a bit long, but so is 13 miles.

The night before the race, my plan was simple: I'd eat a big pasta dinner with my training buddy Elda and two other half marathoners; then I'd watch a movie to get psyched up and go to bed.

I spoke briefly with local runner Steve Rider, asking him for a movie suggestion. I was thinking "Top Gun," "Prefontaine" or something along those lines. In an unprecedented move, Rider was helpful. He said I didn't need adrenaline because it was a half marathon. I just needed to relax and do what I've been training for. This idea was foreign to me, but I loved it because I knew it was true.

Dinner was amazing, and Elda made it extra runner-friendly. For appetizers, she had cut assorted energy bars into small rectangles and fanned them out on a plate surrounding a dipping bowl of yogurt. I drank Propel out of a wine glass. I was ready.

On race day, I donned my Rusty's Rockets shirt and walked down to the start with Elda. We warmed up and ran some strides. Everything felt right.

I had a very simple race strategy. After weeks of working with Rusty, I knew how different speeds and exertion levels felt to my body. I was going to spend the first 6 miles or so comfortable, but still working. I was going to pick it up just a little after that. Then I was going to get aggressive after the turnaround in Montecito. Elda agreed with my plan, and since we had done many long runs together, we knew our fitness levels were comparable.

I had four levels of goals. The first was to simply finish. Having never raced this distance before, that would be an accomplishment. The second goal was to finish under 2 hours, because that seemed like a target I should definitely be able to hit. The third goal was to finish under 8:30 per mile pace. Having run most of my 4-, 5-, or 6-mile tempo runs with Rusty at about 8-minute pace, that sounded realistic to extend over the entire distance. And the final goal was the pace Rusty had set for me, which was to hit my miles at about 8 minutes--an accomplishment that would have made him more of a miracle worker than coach.

The plan worked for the first 9 miles. I was hitting all of the miles under 8:30--some of them closer to 8:15. I felt focused. I felt like I was doing just what I needed to do to be patient and then bring it home at the end.

Strangely enough, the race was fun. The course was familiar. The weather, although warm, was beautiful. The other runners were fun to watch. The cheering crowd, including a couple of my friends, was really encouraging. And I loved passing by each mile marker, knowing there was one less ahead.

There were some learning moments. I had safety pinned some power gel-goo stuff to my shorts. I ate some of it shortly before the 6-mile marker, but I didn't have a pocket to put the trash in. I tucked it in the waistband of my shorts. It promptly slipped down into the lining of my shorts. This had to happen, of course, immediately before running by not one, but two, friends with cameras. I had the choice of being photographed with a bulge in the front of my shorts or being photographed reaching into my shorts to pull the goo out. This is what we call a lose-lose situation.

With the situation resolved, I continued along the waterfront with Elda and Gary, who had been in my pace group for numerous training sessions. Sure, I was dodging his spit, but it was great to be keeping pace with a friend--in a matching shirt no less!

Then, I got a side cramp. Nothing more. My legs were fine. My breathing was fine. But I was hurting. It was absurdly painful. I slowed down significantly.

A non-runner asked me what I think about when I run that far. Most of the time I don't think about what I think about, but I can tell you exactly what was going through my head for the final four miles. It was continuous variations of the following: "It's only pain. You can ignore it. Run through it. You've worked too hard to let this mess you up. You're ready for this. It's almost over. Just let it hurt for a little bit longer and then you can relax. You're fine. Go! Mind over matter."

I saw Rusty at the 11-mile mark, and I was embarrassed. I was running slower than 10-minute-mile pace.

By the final mile, my thoughts had been reduced to "Just keep running." I also remember looking at the people who were running near me and thinking, "They look like they're running slow. Am I running that slow?"

Aside from walking a few steps at a couple of water stations to avoid choking, I ran an entire half marathon--even when I really really wanted to walk toward the end. I finished in under 2 hours and under 9-minute-mile pace. It was 1:55.

I was devastated by those final miles. Now I'm over it. I ran a half marathon!

I don't think I hit my potential, but I'm happy that the difficulty I faced was not due to any shortcoming in my training. Sometimes, silly things like cramps happen. We all have bad days, and I only had a bad few miles. I was happy that I was running healthy. During the training, I dealt with my back injury and a flu, but I was well on race day. Racing is kind of like relationships in that way: So much of success is about timing.

Many of my fellow runners dealt with injuries and bad timing of their own. But regardless of their finishing times, or even if they raced at all, I think they're all stronger runners than they were before they began. I am.

There were a few stellar runners among the Rockets on race day. They may have even surprised themselves with their performances. Rusty highlighted a handful of performances in his post-race e-mail to the group. In addition to Annie's amazing winning PR, other runners seriously kicked some butt. He said Jay ran a 17-minute PR. Dropping more than a minute per mile is downright impressive!

When I picture how winded most of us were doing a few quarter-mile repeats up the Leadbetter to Shoreline hill during week 1, I was thrilled to see how strong so many people looked along the course on Saturday. I spotted Karen, Kim, Gary, Steve, Lori, Jay, Jim, Felicia and Annie.

What else can I say? See you next year.

Week eleven
On our final Saturday morning workout together before the half marathon, we all met at the SBCC track. We surprised our coach by donning our new shirts, which read "Rusty's Rockets." The photo on the SBrunning Web site shows what I feel: We've become a team.

It's weird to think that we'll be sharing the race experience with more than 1,800 other people. We're used to sharing the road with each other, and we generally know who's faster than who and where we fit in, but it's a whole new game on Saturday.

I'm excited that I'll recognize my teammates' faces along the course. It will also be fun to see faces of people I haven't met, but who I've seen training around town. Whether runners are one of Rusty's Rockets or not, running the half is a great undertaking. But I confess I'll be cheering for my teammates a bit louder because we trained--and suffered--similarly.

I've had a lot of fun recording my running journey. But I encouraged the other runners in Rusty's program to have their say. I asked for reasons why people should train with Rusty or for other related thoughts. Here's what we threw together.

--You needed an excuse to eat obscene amounts of energy bars and drinks.
--You didn't really like your toenails that much anyway.
--Two words: sweaty men.
--You get to freshen up your math skills figuring out splits.
--You now have no problem sleeping at night, and
--Sleeping in on the weekends is overrated. (Kim B.)
--In fact, sleeping at all isn't important. You like getting up at the crack of dawn (or earlier) to run 1:30 to 2 hours before work. (Jana)
--You didn't want a social life. (Jana)
--You like feeling like you are going to barf when you look at your dinner on Tuesday night after a speed workout. (Jana)
--Running with Rusty means having a coach who believes in you more than you do and a friend who actually cares about how you run. (Carl)
--Running with Rusty means that by the time you've recovered from the last workout, you're due for the next. (Carl)
--Free sports massage--any place, any time. (6:45 AM in the parking lot of Dos Pueblos High School, anyone?) If you can survive a Rusty massage, you can definitely survive a half marathon. (Annie.)

Other contributions:
Felicia: What I'd heard Rusty saying to me (many times until I got it): Don't start too fast!

Larry: I used to be a runner with a drinking problem, now I'm a drinker with a running problem. (Liz's note: I don't know what that means, but I'll see you at happy hour, Larry!)

Jana: I have learned to run easier, slower, longer miles and faster miles. When Rusty tells me to run faster, well, usually I run faster. I feel like trying to get myself to do the best I could at workouts when I was just totally spent from my day and making time to run when there is no time to run has taught me that if you want something, it isn't going to come easy. My poor second graders hear so many of my running analogies to working hard in school. I started to talk about how they need to practice their math facts to get better and better, and one little guy said something about how my mean coach has made me better and better at running. Rusty isn't mean ... but maybe I made him sound like the bad guy a few of those Wednesday mornings in September.

Steve M.: "Rusty, you're kidding, right?" was a line I often said to him after he gave me my splits. Can I push myself as hard without a coach? No! When I was guessing my mile splits I was always 5 to 20 seconds slower than what Rusty told me with an evil smile on his face. Did I hit the intervals Rusty gave me? Yes.

Ralph: My body's a wreck now. If I'm back together by November 5th (and run flawlessly), it will be easy to say something nice then.

Regardless of how I run on Saturday, I'm glad I took this opportunity and this challenge. Good luck to everyone!!!

Week ten
I'm behind on my updates since we finished week 11 today and this is only the week 10 report, so I'll limit the workout play-by-play. But I want to start with the story of a day I deviated from the training schedule. Instead of the five-mile tempo run I was supposed to do with the group on Saturday morning, I helped out and also ran at the Juliet and Psipsina's XC race at Lake Los Carneros.

The course was a confusing series of loops along the lake's trails--with some spots that could hardly be called trail. It was a wet morning, but the small band of racers was in good spirits.

I felt fast and strong for the first mile or so. But I was a bit disheartened because I heard a young girl's voice following behind me. She was saying how much she enjoyed the bumpy trail, and she didn't sound out of breath. A man's voice was telling her that if she liked the course, she should thank Mr. Kornell. I thought it was cute, but I was also disturbed that I was working pretty hard to stay ahead of a little child. When the course turned, I glanced to check out the young running phenom. It turns out the reason she wasn't out of breath was because she was being pushed in a baby jogger.

Laughing at yourself while you're running can make it difficult to breathe. As often happens when I'm racing, I ended up alone. There was a crowd ahead of me and a crowd behind. But I wasn't close enough to the crowd ahead to know the course route. At one unmarked junction, I actually stopped running and yelled, "Which was do I go?" No one was within hearing distance, so I picked a path, which I assume was right because I ran into the telltale white chalk marks again shortly after.

Quite frankly, I bonked in the race. By 20 minutes in, my legs were angry and lacking energy. I was also mentally discouraged from having lost sight of other runners and from not knowing where I was going on multiple occasions. I eventually caught up with an equally confused runner, and we figured out the final mile or so together. I didn't mind as much that I was going slow then. I enjoyed the company. My final time was unimpressive.

We were not alone in our confusion, and some runners hadn't made the lucky choices. Yet no one seemed angry or particularly upset. Everyone had simply enjoyed going for a morning run along the trails and seeing the lake in the morning gloom. That's how runners are.

In my training log for that day, I wrote "I sucked." But I was almost tempted to draw a happy face after it anyway. Because after I crossed the finish line, had a bagel, chatted with other runners and even won the mid-pack award, I was really not that concerned with my time.

I realized that when it comes down to it, the people are what have really made this program so enjoyable.

I could have followed a training schedule out of a book or Runner's World magazine, and I probably would have gotten stronger and faster. But it wouldn't have been anything like this training experience.

First of all, I probably wouldn't have been as committed to the workouts if I didn't have people to meet up with on Tuesdays and Thursdays or my running buddy Elda on the other days. But beyond that, I've sincerely enjoyed getting to know everyone.

It's not my place to speak for everyone, but based on what I saw week after week, I believe we all really cared about each other. We were concerned when people got injured. We were happy when people succeeded. We sweat and groaned and laughed together. We learned about each other's lives while talking during warm-up and cooldown jogs.

During the first workouts, I didn't really know anyone. I didn't have anyone to talk to. I worried that I wouldn't fit in. Now I enjoy talking with any of the runners. And many of us have a lot more in common than our love (or addiction) to running.

I look forward to running into--literally or figuratively--any of the other people in the program around town or at a future race. In fact, I'd like to propose that we all do a happy hour on the Tuesday evening following the race. After all, we won't have to meet at the track that day!

Week nine (Oct. 10-16)
Since it's almost Halloween, I'll tell you something a little scary: I ran 13 miles, and it was comfortable.

I even liked it.

Rusty has created a monster.

This is not normal behavior--at least not for me. Before I started training for the half marathon with this group, eight miles was a long run for me. In fact, any time I ran for more than an hour, I felt like I deserved a medal. Things have changed so much in just nine weeks. I use the expression "I only have to run 60 minutes tomorrow" with no sense of sarcasm.

Sure, Saturday morning I lay in bed and thought about stopping altogether. I had to dig deep to remember why I want to run this half marathon at all. My bed was so comfortable, and it looked cold outside. I wanted to see my running friends for our appointed 8 a.m. rendezvous, but I didn't want to run. I started fantasizing about all the things I would do with the free time I would have if I didn't do any more training runs and how stress-free it would be to simply not race at all.

Then I got out of bed, put on my running clothes and went to the track.

There are many reasons I did get out of bed: I want to be a better runner. I don't want to be a quitter. I've invested so much energy into this so far that I don't want to throw that effort away. I have people to answer to. Then, there's the guilt factor.

I dealt with the guilt factor on Tuesday, too. Having missed the 5:45 a.m. workout option, I was planning on meeting the group at 5:45 p.m. But as 5 p.m. rolled around, there was no end in sight of my work at the office. I knew that I needed to stay late.

I couldn't accept that I had to work late and would run a lesser workout later. I felt nearly sick about it. I was upset that I had to work late. I was upset that I hadn't foreseen it and done the run before work. I felt like a failure. I felt guilty that I wasn't going to be there--really guilty. Then I felt frustrated that I was getting so anxious about a silly workout. A friend had to remind me that my job was my priority, and one workout wasn't going to make or break me.

(I've appreciated all the people who have told me they relate to the things I write. I'm hoping that they're not all reading this now and thinking, "Wow, she's really neurotic.")

Eventually having dealt with denial, anger, bargaining and blame, I reached a point of acceptance. I realized it was OK that I was going to miss the group workout. When I realized how much the guilt had affected me, I felt quite silly. Running is a fun hobby, not an obligation. I'm embarrassed that I lost sight of that--especially since I'm not even fast!

But when you care about something, regardless of how unimportant it is in the big picture, it's hard to tell yourself it doesn't matter. It's difficult to be practical.

The running was otherwise good throughout the week. I adhered to the schedule and even fit in a little weight training. On Saturday, we did a six-mile tempo run. It wasn't as fast as I was aiming for, but the effort felt right, and I finished strong.

On Sunday, I ran the course with two friends, and, like I said, it was comfortable. The miles just melted under our feet as we talked and checked out the waterfront scenery. I learned to like Gu somewhere around mile 7. My legs complained a little during the final three miles, yet I still felt good. It wasn't comfortable enough to get me to agree to run the Las Vegas marathon with one of my friends, but it did make me realize I'll have this half marathon thing under control.

Week eight--Running everywhere.
Every now and then, runners need a change of pace. Actually, while that's literally true, what I'm trying to say is that they need a change of scenery. One thing I miss about living in Eugene, Oregon, is all the great places there were to run. There were long paths along rivers and creeks; miles upon miles of bike trails; wood chip trails; places frequented by Prefontaine...

I'm fortunate to live on the Mesa--basically along the half marathon course. I can run loops through Douglas Preserve or down along the waterfront. And while I am grateful for the geography of my rental, I've run up and down Shoreline so many times that I don't think I even see my surroundings anymore. I go into autopilot. So I made a conscious decision to try to add variety to my running paths over the past couple of weeks.

For those who are in a rut, perhaps this will inspire you to choose the road less traveled for one of your runs. And I'd love to hear about other favorite spots!

Here are some notes from runs in the past two weeks:

--Cathedral Oaks and Lake Los Carneros. It was a great place for a recovery run. My first Santa Barbara running buddy, who I met just over 8 years ago, led me around the lake. She said the mosquitoes there have West Nile virus, so after a quick view of the lake, we hit Cathedral Oaks. The road has gentle hills and gives that great sense of stretching on forever. You don't have to worry about getting lost by missing a turn, but the running can be disrupted by traffic lights here and there.

--Douglas Preserve. My regular running partner, Elda, and I have helped wear down the path around the preserve over the past year. We've spotted dolphins, owls and gophers along the short loop. When either of us get a new pair of shoes, we avoid the dusty, and sometimes muddy, route for a few days, but we always return there.

--Goleta Beach. The group met for a tempo run at the beach while Rusty was on his way to kicking ass in the marathon. We did a 5-mile tempo run, and it was a great spot for it because the miles are marked along the bike path, which is mostly flat and mildly scenic. My pace group was nearly run over by a large group of bikers. One runner, who will remain nameless to protect the not-so-innocent, suggested knocking some of them off their bikes. But in the name of maintaining good athlete karma, and all of our toes, we just got out of their way.

--Mountain Drive. This is one of my favorite spots to run. There are amazing views, and the miles are marked (where they haven't been paved over). It has patches of shade, lots of plant life and not very much traffic. Kim Horn and I ran 10 miles, only struggling a little at the uphill near the Cold Springs trailhead.

--Hope Ranch. You have to be alert when you run in Hope Ranch. There are no sidewalks, but if you're willing to dodge horse droppings (and sometimes horses), there's a wood chip equestrian trail. If you choose the wood chip trail, give the horses the right of way and be aware that some of the neighbors really don't want runners on it at all. Another fun game, especially when you're running on the road, is to listen to a car approaching behind you and guess whether it's a Mercedes, BMW, Porsche, Jaguar, Lexus or Land Rover. Elda was better at the game than I was. I don't run in Hope Ranch much, but it's fun to throw into the mix every now and then.

--SBCC track. It hurts so good. For week 7, our speed work was 5 x 1 mile with 90 seconds rest in between each. For week 8, we did 4 miles, alternating between a lap at a fast pace and a lap at a semi-recovery pace. In week 8, Peng, my running buddy for the evening, called me a metronome. We hit our target paces consistently. Something about running on a track energizes me. It's such a familiar feeling, even though I haven't competed on a track since high school. --Shoreline and Cabrillo to Stearn's Wharf. I love it in the morning. Elda and I often catch the sunrise, which paints the sky and ocean striking colors. I love the stillness of the harbor, when only a few people are stirring on the boats. I love the smells that come from Sambo's. I love that we regularly run by the same happy group of elderly men who walk in Shoreline Park in the morning.

--The loop. For a designated 1:40 run, Elda and I tried out a new loop. From the intersection of Cliff and Carrillo, we ran to Las Positas, up to State Street, down to the wharf, and back up Shoreline. There were two things we didn't count on when we planned the run, which started at 5:45 a.m. One, it was pitch black along Las Positas, and I was convinced that a coyote or skunk was going to attack. Every time the brush rustled, I picked up the pace, creating an unexpected fartlek run. Two, a rather long freight train blocked our path at the tracks crossing State Street. But it was great to run State before more than a couple of spots were open for business. And I'm pretty sure I saw the coach's sister running the opposite direction along State that morning, too.

--Berkeley and Monterey. Clearly, these aren't exactly convenient runs, but they're where I happened to be last weekend. I hope that I never again have to do a tempo run that includes as big of a hill as I tackled in Berkeley along the route that my friend selected. While I didn't get to go there on this trip, I also recommend Tilden Park in Berkeley.

My run along the waterfront in Monterey may be one of the most beautiful runs I've done this year. If you ever have the opportunity to run there--especially if you catch it on a sunny day--do it, and please bring me along.

And, for those who have been following and may be curious, my back is doing a bit better. Knowing I had a physical therapy appointment last Friday, I did an experiment the week leading up to that day in which I returned to running all the workouts in their entirety to see if it made it worse. It still hurt, but it didn't seem any worse. I'm definitely still monitoring how it feels and taking care of it with stretching, ice and PT, but I'm not babying it during workouts. Three more weeks. I'm not sure if I'm excited or nervous.

Week seven--Things you notice by week 7 of training.
Signs you're training with Rusty Snow:

--After a workout, even the dog seems fascinated by how you smell.

--You get tan lines from a single day's run.

--You started a workout in pitch black admiring the stars, and by the time you finished, you were late for work.

--You begin to resent the fact that your bedroom is on the second floor.

--Your friends tell you you're looking good.

--You gain respect from your colleagues when you describe your workouts.

--When stuck in traffic, you calculate if you could actually run faster than you're moving.

--You catch yourself using the phrase, "Rusty said..."

--You've traded in Saturday morning cartoons for Saturday mornings with your new running friends.

--You spoon the Ben & Jerry's straight out of the pint into your mouth without guilt.

--You open your e-mail on Sunday with a bit of excited anticipation and a bit of dread.

Week six - asylum home.
I don't know what to write because I don't want to write about pain. But when I think about my training now, it's in terms of pain, whether I have it and how much. I used to measure my training in distance and speed, but the ouch factor--the only phrase I can think of to make light of it--has taken center stage.

The nice side effect is that I finally appreciate running. I've been a longtime participant and advocate, but I think I finally REALLY appreciate it. As with so many things, it was only when it was sort of taken away that I could see how much it mattered to me. When the challenge shifted from the mental struggle of getting out of bed to run in the morning to the physical struggle of simply getting out of bed, I realized how lucky I've been.

I also realize how fortunate I still am. I'm slowed down, but I'm not stopped. I am still healthy.

It's important, but not easy, to maintain that positive perspective. I have to regularly remind myself that just because I can't perform at my best on any given day doesn't mean I shouldn't give it my best for that day. I'm not trying to sound preachy; I'm just giving myself a pep talk.

As for the workouts, after nearly a week of relative rest, I thought I was managing my back fairly well. It had subsided from "please, somebody make it stop," to "that's uncomfortable." When I met with the group for Tuesday's workout, I wanted to run. I wanted to feel fast. I was tired of being gentle on my back. I tried to shut it out and just go. I did. I enjoyed my five repeat 1,000s around Shoreline Park, and I dare say I even found my pace for that workout. (Most of the group did seven repeats that day.) I was hoping my back wouldn't notice that I'd snuck in a good run. It punished me a bit later. We had a long workout on Saturday. We warmed up for a couple of miles. Then we did a 4-mile tempo run up Shoreline. Our cooldown was 60 minutes. My goal was to finish the workout, and I did.

But I haven't been able to stick completely to the training schedule. I figure the workout schedules are mostly designed for training under ideal circumstances. I'd be quite surprised if any runner claimed ideal circumstances for the entire 12-week program. Even if you stay injury-free, there's sickness, a crisis at work, vacations, family needs, school, deadlines ... even an unexpected car problem can throw off the best-laid plans.

I think some of the best runners have figured out a trick. They accept it. They deal with it. They run again.

The other athletes in the program have continuously impressed me. Running is just one passion on a long list of commitments--careers, kids, volunteering, spouses, going to school. For some, our exhausting WORKOUTS are their chance to REST from other daily demands. Fellow runners, this brings me to one obvious conclusion: You're all nuts.

Finally, a place I fit in.

Week five - backing out, coming back
I never wanted to be a cautionary tale.

But during week 5 of training for the half marathon, I was reminded that although our bodies are capable of amazing feats, they are not invincible. They need care and attention.

The week actually started fine. I took my sister-in-law running on the path along Dockweiler Beach in Los Angeles. It wasn't her idea of a good way to celebrate her birthday, but she was a good sport.

Later, during a brief swim in the ocean and just around the house, I noticed that my lower back, which had been a nagging ache for a couple of weeks, was a little more finicky than usual.

On Monday, I joined the SBAA women's team at the Westmont cross country course to map out the route for Saturday's race. We jogged the course, got to know each other and, with the exception of a stray dog nipping at our calves, had fun.

Tuesday morning was a great run on the track with the group--even if it did start at 5:45 a.m. I could circle the football field with almost no problem, but actions like lowering myself to sit, standing up or bending to tie my shoes were unusually painful.

I hadn't mentioned my back pain to Rusty for weeks, but midway through the workout he asked, "How's your back?"

I answered honestly. I think the adjective was "horrible" or "awful."

"Yeah," he said. "You look twisted." He gave me some stretching and strengthening tips.

But throughout the day, my back was angry. Even my co-workers noticed. "You're moving kind of slow, kid," one said.

I went to console myself, walking slowly to Longs Drugs for ice cream. As I walked out with a heaping cup of orange sherbet and vanilla, a stranger looked at me and said, "That will make you fat. You won't fit in your dress tomorrow." Some people know how to spoil all my fun.

Wednesday morning I had big plans to go to kickboxing, which I haven't done since I began training. But when I woke up, I realized that getting out of bed was a challenge. I stood in my Cookie Monster slippers and tried to do one half-hearted front kick. It hurt. I hurt.

I took three days off from running. By day two, I was suffering withdrawal. Not only did I feel like I was losing fitness I had worked so hard to acquire, I also missed the daily endorphin rush that makes little life nuisances so much more bearable.

I went to a doctor and got what I expected. I was told I had strained my back, was given a prescription for muscle relaxants and a Xeroxed sheet of stretches for my back. Gee, thanks.

I listened to the doctor. I listened to Rusty. I listened to friends with a history of back pain. I listened to my body. At times, I just wanted to take a muscle relaxant and shut out the voices altogether.

Saturday morning, when the SBAA women's team was warming up at Westmont and the half marathon runners were warming up for their tempo run, I was face down on a blanket in the East Beach parking lot. Rusty worked on my back, and he talked about the pain in a way that made sense to me. He was talking to me runner to runner. He's a compassionate and no-nonsense coach. I am grateful for that.

Many other people said the solution was basically to lie very still and wait for it to pass, but Rusty gave me the sense that I could take action to help control it. I could stretch; I could strengthen my abs and other core muscles to balance out my lower back; I could see a physical therapist. Most importantly, he said I could still run.

I ran easy the rest of the weekend and Monday. And I started working new stretches and exercises into my routine. I still have pain, but I'm feeling noticeably better.

Another week begins. And each day starts with a few extra crunches.

Week four - exploring the land of pace.
I feel like Goldilocks. I'm searching for what's "just right." But I'm not looking for porridge that's the right temperature or a bed that's perfectly comfortable--after all, with this training, I'm hungry enough to eat about anything and tired enough to fall asleep about anywhere. I'm searching for a pace that's just right.

Sometimes I run too fast. Sometimes I run too slow. I have another eight weeks to figure out what just right is.

Twice a week, when the training crowd meets to run together, we are sorted into groups based on our speed. Some people have had the same training partners since the first week. I've been floating in and out of different groups. Perhaps that makes me sort of homeless, but I like to think of myself as a wanderer or an explorer.

Tuesday of the third week, for example, I ran with a group that was definitely faster than me. I figured that my right pace was a few seconds behind them on each 800 repeat. But the feeling of being left behind each time was still a little discouraging. When I finished that workout, I was wiped out.

On Tuesday of the fourth week, I was grouped with people I hadn't run with before for a 90-minute run. I really enjoyed talking with them, and the time and distance flew by. But when the workout was over, I didn't feel like I had worked hard enough.

On Saturday, when I was given a pace for the 4-mile tempo run that was so fast it actually made me nervously laugh out loud, I figured I should go for it anyway. I hung in for the first mile, but I began dropping off just another half mile after that. I heard another woman say, "I could run this pace all day." Seriously? I was hoping to hold it until mile 2. I didn't.

I watched the group pull farther and farther ahead, and I had to keep reminding myself that I shouldn't worry about where they were, only about how hard I was working. I finished slower than I expected, but I was reminded that there isn't a magic pace for every day. Some days are better than others.

From a more technical standpoint, there are lots of ways to find a pace or set a pace. Some people in my training group use a heart rate monitor. They can judge their effort based on their heart rate. They set targets not in terms of minutes, but in terms of beats per minute and percentages of their maximum heart rate. That involves more math and hardware than I tend to be comfortable with.

Another friend bought one of the fanciest watches I have ever seen. (He's got all the cool toys.) I borrowed it for one of my long runs. My favorite feature was the ongoing readout of my mile pace, which I think was made possible by an accelerometer on my shoe and some pixie dust. It doesn't use GPS. The digital display showed three numbers at all times: my current pace, my total running time and my total distance. If you have the chance to experiment with one, I highly recommend it.

My favorite low-tech approach involves a stopwatch and a known distance, such as a lap on a track. You find a pace that feels right. But how do you know, you ask? You just know. It's like I keep hearing from my friends about how they know they should be with their significant other: You just know. So I have to have a little faith that I'll just know when I find my pace.

Full disclosure

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit, so I find it amusing that my 22nd day of the training program, I missed a scheduled workout. It was Labor Day, and my friend treated me to a day at Santa Cruz Island. I figured our 5-mile hike between Prisoner's Harbor and Pelican Bay would substitute for the day's 45-minute run. My shins protested a bit on some of the awkward maneuvers through the canyons along the way, but the trail was a beautiful reminder of some of the places our legs alone, not cars, can travel. So keep those legs moving.

Week three - appalled.
I want to talk about running in the grocery store, running in the work place and running in the bedroom. I am a runner in all of these places.

Committing to a training program awakened a sense of discipline in all areas of my life. When I went to the grocery store during the first week of training, I bought healthier foods. There was still a small voice in my head questioning, "Carrot sticks? Granola? Spinach? What the...?" But the runner in me prevailed. I knew that just logging miles wasn't going to give me the best results.

From where I park to my office is about a half-mile walk. That's no big deal, but after running eight miles before work, making that trek in high heels is just plain insulting to my legs. I started wearing comfortable shoes and carrying my heels for the walk. I stretched my calves in spare moments. I even dared leaving work at 5 in order to make it to group workouts.

I also brought running into my bedroom--and I don't just mean the sweaty laundry. I caught myself stretching and doing crunches a bit more often. And, in an unprecedented move, I even started going to bed a bit earlier.

I stuck to the training program. I have completed every workout for the first three weeks of training for the half marathon. Getting out and training regularly helped me make my overall fitness a priority.

I've seen friends become consumed in romantic relationships. They get distracted from other areas of their life. They make one person the focus of so much of their energy that everyday things slip through the cracks. I feared I would fall into this type of a relationship with running.

So I continued to do it all. I worked full time, ran, continued my volunteering and tried never to turn down a dinner invitation. Being active, feeling healthy and post-run endorphins carried me through. I tend to be busy. I'm the type of person who is usually tying my shoes in the car at red lights when I'm headed somewhere. If I'm waiting for water to boil, I feel the need to make use of the time by cleaning out the refrigerator or taking out the trash--for the entire house. If I'm watching TV and not doing something useful--like lifting weights or folding laundry--I feel like I'm being indulgent. Yet when people say I'm a type A personality, I still act shocked (I'll also act appalled if I have time).

As running started taking up more time, and I continued trying to squeeze everything in, the margin for flexibility in my schedule grew smaller. So when things disrupted an already busy schedule--such as two coworkers deciding to leave the company within the same week or my dog's health declining--and required extra time and attention, I realized I couldn't quite keep up anymore.

One morning at work, I was greeted with "burning the candle at both ends, eh?" My body felt the effects, too. In Tuesday's speed workout, I couldn't maintain my group's pace. I was tired. What had been a nagging ache in my left shin had me limping by Thursday. And Friday, when I wrapped up my afternoon volunteer shift of asking Sea Center visitors if they wanted to test water samples or touch the sea squirt, I went home and spent the evening in bed.

I've written about balance before on this Web site. At the time, I was proud that I had it. By week three of my training, I sort of lost it. I was prizing discipline over sanity. Friends, that's just silly.

I am on the road to recovery for both my shin and my sense of perspective.

Other tidbits from the week:
* My apologies to the soccer and football players who were in the path of last Tuesday's 800 repeats on the grass. My gratitude to the runners who really helped push me that night.
* A reminder: Not everyone understands runners. I was at a barbecue over the weekend telling someone I had just met about training for the half marathon. He, a rock climber, sounded a bit disgruntled and confused when he explained that he had been woken up that morning by a group of runners in front of his house. When I found out where he lived, I had to sheepishly admit, "That was us." The neon green "2" that marked the finish and start of our two-mile tempo runs in front of his house was strange hieroglyphics to him. And our five-minute cooldown between the runs looked like strange choreography. We were simply too loud and active before he'd had his morning coffee.
* Pier to Peak rocks--perhaps especially when you're just a spectator. I was support and half a cheerleading squad for a couple of friends and a whole lot of strangers on Sunday. Watching runners make that climb, and seeing how many of them could still smile at 5 miles in, or 8, or 11 or up the final incline to the finish was an inspiring way to start the day. To everyone who ran or volunteered, I admire you.
Each week I've been fortunate enough to have at least one moment that makes me feel good about the training and propels me into the next workout, the next week, the next month... This week, in addition to watching the Pier to Peak runners, it was one runner in particular. As I stood on the side of Gibraltar encouraging people to stay tough and clapping for them, one runner talked back: "Nice legs." I was far too flattered to worry about being objectified. But it was a nice reminder of the positive side effects of running.
Finally, to whoever selected the Pier to Peak medal, well done. It made a great bottle opener for the cold beers we brought to our friends at the top!

Week two - fantastic.
It turns out that sometimes this training thing kind of hurts. My legs can change their composition without warning--from flesh to lead to Jell-O. At times, I can hear nothing over the sound of my strained breathing. My eyes may have too much sweat in them to read my stopwatch at a glance. And day to day, there's just an extra bit of ache in nearly every muscle.

This is fantastic.

I'm not a masochist. It's not that I enjoy pain, per se. But I enjoy challenging myself. I enjoy counting miles and minutes and knowing that adding them up is making me stronger. When I recommitted to running last fall, it was a struggle for me to run up the Cliff Drive hill between Las Positas and Carrillo. Now I can run it relatively comfortably. While the idea of running a half marathon sounded daunting even a month ago, it's seem more and more doable, for lack of a better word, each week. That's the point of this training, right? We're working, pushing past our current thresholds in order to change those thresholds.

On Tuesday, I met with the 6 a.m. group for a speed workout. After warming up for a few miles, we did eight 400s up a grassy hill (Shoreline Park). On one of our repeats, I overheard Rusty, who was pacing another runner, ask if the man could talk when he ran. The runner, one of at least three people named Ken in the program, started to explain how sometimes he did, but Rusty cut him off. After all, if Ken was talking during the 400, he could be pushing harder. Rusty picked up the pace. Ken definitely stopped talking.

I was not talking either. I worked hard that morning, but I also had fun. I haven't quite figured out how the two co-exist, but trust me, they do. I highly recommend it.

The next tough workout--if you don't count the challenge of again running slow at Nite Moves--wasn't until Saturday. Unfortunately, I couldn't join the group because I was in the Bay Area for the weekend. Actually, I was on the Bay itself for most of the weekend since I was staying on a boat.

On Saturday we were scheduled for a three-mile tempo run in addition to 25 minutes each of warm-up and cool-down. The harbor master told me about a reservoir that had a great trail and distance markers. I tracked it down and joined the Saturday morning crowd. I enjoyed watching the people and deer during my warm-up, but then it was time to get serious.

I ran. I felt strong. I was going faster than walkers and joggers and a few members of a high school boys cross country team. I checked each of my half-mile splits, and I was consistent and faster than I expected. I remember thinking, "All systems are go." In those three miles I got the satisfaction I needed to carry me through to another week of training.

To most people, especially those visiting this site, it may seem absurd that I want to brag about running three miles in 22:55, but it was a rush because I knew I wasn't at my limit, and I'm convinced I'll keep making big gains in a short time.

On Sunday, I did my long run of more than 80 minutes along the Bay Trail. I ran past Seal Point and under the San Mateo bridge. I learned that the wind that propelled me across the water in my friend's sailboat the day before can be a bit of a drag when running into it on land. But when it was at my back, I hardly felt like I was working.

When I finished, I stretched, grabbed a bottle of water and lay down on the dock. I was tired. I was satisfied.

Week one - a coach.
I haven't had a coach in nine years. This made me apprehensive about starting Rusty Snow's half marathon training program. What if I'm too slow? What if I can't handle it? What if I don't like being told what to do? Now, one week into official training for my first half marathon, I say "bring it on!" But check back with me next week...

I figure the next 12 weeks of training is an experiment that will go one of two ways. I will either demonstrate what average runners can accomplish if they really set their minds to it. Or, I will demonstrate why average runners stay average.

Having a coach in high school was natural. I was used to being told what to do. I was an obedient daughter, student and athlete. But I've been in charge of myself for years now, and I'm proud of the fact that no one has to take care of me; I look out for myself. To do this training right, I need to again believe that someone else knows what's best for me.

There's something almost relieving in relinquishing control of my training. I don't have to think about what I should run on a given day. I just have to open up my e-mail and know what day of the week it is. Man, that's cool. My dedication to Rusty's plan was immediately tested. Wednesday's Nite Moves wasn't on the week's agenda, but it's usually on mine. I asked Rusty how I could work that into my schedule, and he said I could run it, but he discouraged me from racing it.

It's not natural to hold back when someone says "go!" and I'm wearing a race number. I don't want people to see a slow time and think that's the best I can do. But I reminded myself that no one else really cares what time I run and that I'm committing to the half marathon. I ran slower, and it was actually kind of fun. Then I kept running for another 15 minutes or so--to make good on the day's 40 minutes easy assignment--before returning to my friends. I learned the beer tastes just as good when I don't run my fastest. (I may see if the same holds true for ice cream at tomorrow's McConnell's run.)

The group under Rusty's direction meets twice a week to train together. I thank every single other person who's out there with me, and I'll write more about the group workouts in future weeks.

As for my goals, I want to get faster and stronger. I figure if I follow the workout schedule, those things will happen naturally. But I have to put effort into my other goals: meeting other runners, learning some training strategies, getting my brain and thinking back in racing shape and, I'm not kidding, having fun. I want to be ready for the half marathon. I want to race it, not just survive it. And I want to be honest--with myself, with Rusty and with anyone reading this. If I cheat a workout, I'll fess up. The experiment doesn't work if I'm fudging the numbers.

So here are some numbers from last Sunday to today, although Rusty's weeks go from Monday to Sunday:

6 = number of days I ran.
32 = approximate miles I ran this week
6 = number of times the word "easy" appears in Rusty's first week e-mail
0 = number of nights I had trouble falling asleep
5 = approximate number of people I bragged to that I had run seven miles before work on Tuesday
11 = number of weeks remaining until the half marathon!