In which it's a beautiful morning

For 40.5 of my 42 years, I have never been a morning person nor, really, an "exercise" person.

So you could imagine how I would fare as a morning exerciser.

However, when I knew it was time to add regular workouts to achieve my weight-loss goals, I realized it had to be in the early morning, before the kids woke up. I tried doing DVDs during my youngest's afternoon nap, but when she crashed, I wanted to, as well. Getting a sweat on was not my first choice. Plus, with the other two kids under foot there was always an interruption.

Zero Dark Thirty it is, then.

I started getting up around 5 am and it took a good two weeks to not feel like hot death around 2 pm. But I realized that once I got in the swing of things and got my bedtime/wake-up time synched with enough sleep, it was doable.

I can't tell you how many times I've pushed myself through a workout with the mental urging: This is the hardest thing you have to do today. Get through this and the rest of the day is easy by comparison. By 7:30 am, the hardest part of your day is done.

I was thinking about this last Thursday during a run. I stepped out of the house at 6:30 am and it was dark. Pitch black, like, middle-of-the-night dark. I stood there for a second wondering why (later I realized we wouldn't turn the clocks back for another 3 days) and then headed back into the house to get my reflective can-see-me-from-Mars jacket and light.

I started out under a full moon, which was spookily darting in and out of thin, wispy clouds. Running my backwoods route, in the pitch black, under a full moon the day after Halloween: half-cool, half expecting a zombie to come at me from the woods.

As cars whizzed past, lit only by headlights, I was grateful for my jacket and light. On a side note, I see a ton of pre-dawn runners out without reflective gear. Seriously? A death wish. At least get a light.

Soon, the dawn started to break, as if someone was slowly turning up a dimmer on the sky. I got to the halfway point of my out-and-back, which that morning was at the crest of a small hill. I paused for a second and looked around, noticing the sun was streaming out over the horizon. The sky was pure blue. The hardy, remaining yellow and orange leaves on the trees seemed to glow as far as I could see.

It was so crazy beautiful, a gift I would never have received had I not become a morning outdoor exerciser. I would never see, nor appreciate, the sunrise over a gorgeous fall morning in Massachusetts. I am not a nature person, never have been. For me, camping is best done in a hotel where there is a comfy bed, no bugs and maybe a minifridge. So to really appreciate and enjoy this is quite the sea change.

So there I was, standing on top of this hill, looking out over a beautiful sunrise, early in the morning and I thought, for the zillionth time in the past almost 2 years: Who have I become?

Yes, I knew I could lose weight. But look what else came with that determination. I became a runner - a half-marathoner. A person who goes to bed early to get up early, go outside and run through the back roads of New England. And actually like it. All of that? Things I never expected but for which I am very grateful.

I feel like working out in the morning outdoors is almost like a secret club. We get our workouts done and sometimes it is the most beautiful setting just for ourselves. Whenever I see another runner or cyclist on the road at the same time, I always want to look at them, like, I know, right?

I'm not saying predawn is the best time to work out because the best time for you to work out is any time you will do it. What I'm trying to say is the beauty of the outdoors and this quiet time with nature is a gift I never expected to receive, but one for which I am very grateful.

The other day I was mentally running through my week while driving. I swear, it's like I have a cable news crawl constantly running at the bottom of my consciousness: Karate today, 4 pm...Daisies tomorrow, 5 pm....interview today, 2 pm...article due tonight....out of Chobani, get to the store...15 PPV left today...

Anyway, one of the things on my crawl was that tomorrow was Thursday and I immediately thought: I get to run. Not I have to run, I get to run. Whoa.

And that is what always amazes me about getting healthy and fit. The gifts you receive reach so far beyond the scale or clock. The unexpected are the sweetest and most cherished.

Race Report: Tufts 10K For Women

I've been waiting to post this race report for a year.

That sounds a touch dramatic, but it is true, nonetheless.

I started running in January 2011. All I wanted to do was run a 5K. I finally did it, and then I wanted to run another one. Cut to June and I wanted a challenge, a goal for the summer. The idea of the Tufts 10K came into my head after I saw an ad on CoolRunning.com.

Six miles? I can't run 6.2 miles. It's so far, so much. But I went for it. If you read through last summer's posts, you'll see dozens devoted to my training for this race.

Before I began training, the longest I ever ran was 3.1 miles. But soon came 4. Then 5. By the end of training, I was up to 8. Eight miles! I ran 8 miles? That lead to other thoughts, which would be realized sooner than later.

I trained for 15 weeks (way too long, really) for this race, only to sprain my ankle three days before the race, walking through the parking lot of an apple orchard.

I was mad. Incredibly disappointed. Pissed off, you name it. I had to drop out of the race, which left me as gutted as I've ever been for something relatively minor. Reading through those profanity-laced posts a year later, the emotions are still so raw, so real.

Anyway, what's done was done and I was left with one vow: I will be running this race next year.

Jump to, "next year," when I found myself a two-time half-marathoner. All of a sudden, 6.2 miles wasn't the dramatic, amazing accomplishment it would have been a year ago. These days, a 10K is a short Sunday run. However, that didn't mean it wasn't significant, nor that it wasn't worth avenging, so I did. I wanted closure, plus, although I've raced dozens of times, I've never run an official 10K race.

Luckily, my domestic running life partner, Sandy, was all-in as well, so we headed into Boston on a blazingly beautiful Columbus Day to run through the streets of Boston and Cambridge.

The Tufts 10K for Women is a mammoth race. There were 8,000 runners and walkers, the largest field in which I have ever raced.

We gathered at the Public Garden, got our bibs and then hung out, meandering until about 10 minutes before the gun. In our meandering, I ran into my friend, Dani, who's a fellow Weight Watchers leader, runner and all-around inspirational person. Check out her blog!

Soon it was time to get in our respective starting areas, by pace time. Big problem: There were so many runners, there literally was no room to squeeze in. I've been in crowded fields before, but nothing like this.

Shooting from the sidewalk on Charles Street, looking toward the starting line (which was actually around the corner) on Beacon Street.

Looking toward the back of the pack (my people!) on Charles Street.

So, I waited for the race to start, standing behind the rope on the curb. When the crowd thinned enough to jump in, I was off.

This would be an interesting race because it was the first big race I'd run without music. Previously, the thought of running without music was horrifying. My legs will stop! I'll just want to walk. I can't do it. I need it.

Last summer, during a 5K my Nano crapped out and I freaked. This year, I was ready to run without as I have been training with a metronome. It's part of the ChiRunning approach that I've adopted (and love) and I find I run better without music, matching my footstrike to a pace of 170 BPM. I still run with music once a week because I do like it. But, for better form and pace purposes, it's no headphones, no music. And, you know what? I don't mind it a bit.

My only regret about the metronome is I sound like a ticking time bomb. I felt bad for anyone around me that didn't have music and had to listen to my beep-beep-beeping throughout the race.

Anyway, we were off heading through Back Bay toward Memorial Drive and Cambridge on one gorgeous day. The weather was perfect for running and the scenery was gorgeous. I half wished I stopped here and there and took pictures of the striking Boston skyline, but I really wanted to run this one hard.

When we turned onto Memorial Drive, I wondered if I would see one of my dearest friends - and a great runner - Jeremy. He lives just a few miles from the course and I figured I would spot him, and I did.

I shouted his name and gave him the double finger guns as I ran by at, if I recall correctly, somewhere between Miles 2 and 3. That's the picture at the top of this post and the best running picture I've ever had the privilege to be in. As you know, I normally look like I'm bring assassinated.

Anyway, I felt great and was running really well. My splits were around 10:50 to 11:00 a mile - very, very fast for me. Yay, metronome!

The course was flat and fast, and as I ran I thought a lot about the past year of running. How all I ever wanted was just one 5K and how that pipe dream turned into an activity I really, truly love. How I look forward to my 6:30 am runs. How I like studying and improving my form so I can keep running healthy.

I thought about where I was when I started running and where I am now. It seemed too fantastic, too good to be true, but it was. For real.

Sooner than I thought, I was past 5 miles and winding back into Boston, heading to the finish line on Charles Street. The clouds had dispersed, the sun was out and it was getting hot. I was ready to put a bow on this one.

I do want to take a second and thank race spectators. They are simply the greatest people because they are strangers who clap, cheer and tell you you're awesome when you need it most. I passed the 6-mile mark and I knew the finish was just around the corner. Since I wasn't listening to music, I could hear every spectator's shouts and cheers, and I heard my favorite spectator comment ever. I've heard it at many races and it thrills me every time:

"You're almost there! The finish is right around the corner!"

Before the race, I was hoping to come in a 1:15. About halfway through the race, my splits were so good, I thought 1:10 would be a possibility. At Mile 5 I switched gears and at Mile 6, I went into my fastest stride.

I glanced at my watch. It didn't look like 1:10 was going to happen, but I decided to keep pushing anyway, why not? Never give up.

I crossed the timing pads and stopped my watch. 1:10:02. Pretty close, nicely done.

I walked through the chute, grabbed as much water as I could carry and set off to find Sandy, who came in about 5 minutes before me.

We headed home, tired but mission accomplished. I may not have had the triumphant ending I envisioned last year, but you know what? In the end, it all turned out pretty damn great, anyway. I went from a person who dreamed big and did little to someone who dreamed big and realized her goals.

A couple of hours after I got home, Sandy posted on my wall on Facebook. The official times were up. Mine - 1:09:59.

Never give up, indeed.

In which small victories are big

I so did not want to work out this morning.

I'm getting slammed with late-night work and that, combined with early-morning activity, is beating me up. I'm not getting to bed as early as I should and that's making my already aggressive lifestyle more difficult.

Case in point: Today. I only got about 5.5 hours of sleep. The alarm went off at 4:45 am. I hit Snooze until 5:30 am. 5:30 am and I am already behind the Eight Ball. Not a great way to start my day.

I came downstairs and heard rain. YAY! No running this morning. I'm heading into the last month of half-marathon training and this week is the apex - the highest mileage, the most time on the road. This is also a crazy time with work and home obligations, so of course they had to be the same week.

Today's run called for 60 minutes. That's longer than I like on a weekday because it means I have to get up even earlier than normal to eat, warm up, get out and get back before getting everyone off to where they're headed for the day.

Plus, I wanted to run at the track to work on my ChiRunning technique, so I had to factor in a 7-minute drive. Only 7 minutes, sure, but 7 minutes I didn't have to spare today.

So when I heard the rain I was psyched. A guilt-free, get-out-of-a-run card. I sat on the couch, ate my favorite protein bar, drank Diet Coke and read the New York Post on my iPad (my morning ritual). Then I realized, I didn't hear rain. Crap.

I checked the back porch, hoping to see raindrops plinking off the deck. Nothing. It seems the "rain" I heard was wind blowing the overnight rain off the trees. Crud.

I stood in the kitchen and thought it out. This is the only time you can run today. If you do not run this morning, you will be pissed at yourself all day. You're already tired, do you really want to add angry, too?

Then I realized if I ran, I could enjoy a cup of Barbara's Puffins, my favorite carbo-loading pre-run food. No run, no cereal. All right, I'll run.

I ate my cereal, got dressed and headed over to the track. It was muggy and hot for 6:30 am, but I was already there: the hardest part is everything that comes before I hit Start on my Garmin. So I hit Start and off I went.

I hadn't run at the track in months, so an hour going round and round like a stock car wasn't as deadly boring as I thought it may be. Time passed relatively quickly and I got my time in. Happy day.

I walked off the track after 60 minutes, sweaty and sticky, but with a clean conscience. Now, I could start the rest of my day.

I've found that the smallest victories are not only off the scale, but they're also the biggest. All those small behavior changes and good decisions add up. All of the I don't wanna, but I will anyway-s...

The scale, the finish line, they're flashy locales as that's where we think we get the big wins. But they're just the effect of success, not the cause. All those little, everyday good moves you make add up - they're where you win everyday.

In which I need professional help

Not the first time I've stated - or heard - that, by the way.

Regardless, after I finished my first half-marathon a couple of months ago, I decided I needed expert advice when it came to running.

I knew I could run hard - and long - but I wanted to learn how to run smart. I wanted to become an efficient runner who, ideally, could enjoy whatever ability she had for as long as she could.

My theory with running, at least my running, is this: It's like gambling. The longer you gamble in a casino, the greater the odds the House will eventually get all your money. The longer I run without improving my form, the greater the odds I will get reinjured. And that is not what I want.

When I developed a neuroma earlier this year, I asked my bootcamp director (also a physical therapist) for advice on a good local podiatrist. The doctor he recommended was so popular, I wouldn't be able to get in for 8 weeks, so I went to another, who ended up being just fine.

But when I decided I wanted gait analysis, I made an appointment with Dr. Popular - and, yes, it took 2 months to get the next appointment. But it was worth it because not only is he a podiatrist, he's also an ultramarathoner and an Ironman. This man knows his stuff, to put it mildly.

I went a couple of weeks ago and it was fascinating. First off, this guy is extremely intelligent and built like Batman. Therefore, I renamed him - at least in my head - Dr. Batman. I am also not unconvinced he has a utility belt and fights crime at night.

Dr. Batman put me through a series of stretches and movements and then watched me walk on a treadmill. He didn't even need to see me run to deliver a diagnosis: I'm asymmetrical.

Basically, my muscles are all tight and twisted on my right side, so I'm lopsided. I knew this from bootcamp - I can do many exercises much easier on my left side than my right because my left side is loose and flexible and my right is not. And, this also explains why my neuroma and back problems all appeared on my...you guessed it...right side.

So, what do I do? Basically, learn how to move symmetrically once more. I'll be starting PT in late August and learn how to walk, stand and move in the correct way so that my right side will eventually mirror my left. Dr. Batman says that will automatically correct problems in my running form.

And he also recommended a technique, ChiRunning. I've been reading the book and watching the DVD for a week now and it's fascinating. The bottom line: Many people use their muscles and joints incorrectly when they run, which leads to injury. Use your muscles and joints the way they were intended and you can run pain-free and efficiently.

No wonder why so many hate running and say it's hard and painful. It is hard and painful, because we're doing it wrong.

It's going to take many hours, miles and months to improve fully, but I'm on my way. I went out for an hour this morning, and it was fun. Well, as much fun as it can be running in humid, 75-degree weather in July.

New things to think about, a new goal to shoot for. It made the hour go quickly, I'll give it that at the very least. Employing the ChiRunning techniques felt weird. Not bad-weird, but different. And that's a good thing, in my book.

You know how I feel about goals, I love them. I need them. They keep me interested and engaged in a healthy lifestyle. And I love that running correctly is my new goal for the foreseeable future.

In which I am scared on a run

Gorgeous morning for a run, little did I suspect it would end with me almost having a coronary.

Blue sky, clear, warm - but not too warm. No humidity, birds chirping, you name it.

I'm almost done with my run, happily chugging along the country roads near my house and feeling quite satisfied with myself, as I am want to do in such situations.

I'm listening to my music, thinking about everything but running, and a *@&#^!$ DEER runs out in front of me, about 15 feet away, bounding out of the woods, across the road and into the woods on the other side. For the record, that is way too close.

Holy Mother of God, I almost had a heart attack.

I instinctively yelped something like, "GAAAAAH!, but amazingly did not fall out of stride, trip or pull something from the shock. I wish I was wearing a heart rate monitor at the time as the read-out would have been hysterical.

I've seen rabbits and turkeys on a run, but nothing as big, quick or fast as a deer.

I don't know if it's because I've watched too much Law & Order, but I always run a little on guard, half expecting a pervert, serial killer or coyote to bound out after me. So to have an actual large mammal come flying out of the woods was too close to realizing that than I ever wanted.

I only had about a half-mile left in the run and I swear my heart rate didn't get back to normal for a good half-hour.

Race Report: Worcester Firefighters 6K

Well, I'm never running this one again.

I don't recall smoking crack last night, but I did post the following on this blog's Facebook page:

Good News: Crafted a kick-ass playlist for the race tomorrow. Bad News: It's 50-something minutes' worth of music. Aiming to need only about 35 mins for 6K, which would be my fastest race ever (9:30 avg mile). Time for ruthless editing.

So, even though I don't remember a crack pipe, hallucinogens must have been involved somehow if I thought I could PR this race in this heat.

I read this a while ago from Gibson's Daily Running Post, and I should have heeded it the moment I thought about PRing this race:

"Nobody can tell you how to set a personal best. But here’s how NOT to: run with the idea of setting one. You cannot order up a personal best as if it were a turkey on rye. It's not a conscious act. A personal best is a kind of gift bestowed upon you. You’re not sure where it came from or how. It's very hard to achieve a personal best after you've run for a while and brought your times down. It takes training and hard work. But remarkably, those who achieve personal bests all say the same thing: how easy it felt. They weren't straining, they weren't pushing; it just seemed to come to them. If you run with the idea that you're just going to enjoy yourself, that you're going to relax and have a good time, that whatever happens, happens - well, those are the days when personal bests occur." -Kevin Nelson

After my experience today, I would say this is very true.

So, what the hell happened?

Well, I was all keyed up to run fast today because it was my shortest race since the Celtic 5K in March. At that race, I was coming off a significant back injury, so it was a case of Run To Finish. My next race was the half-marathon in May. Also, now coming off a foot injury, Run To Finish. Although, since it was my first half-marathon, it was technically a PR for that distance.

My last race was a 5-miler in Boston, the week after the half. Since I was just coming off the half, I deliberately took it easy. Run To Finish.

I was really looking forward to the Worcester Firefighters Memorial because it was short (6K). I was in good running shape and uninjured. I felt I was set up for success.

My one concern about this race was the fact it had a 1 pm start time. In June. No idea why so late, I wish I knew, but it always starts at 1 pm. I should have heeded that concern. Most races start early, 8 or 9 am, because it's cooler and you don't impact traffic as much early in the morning.

Anyway, got to the race about an hour beforehand and met up with Sandy, my domestic running life partner. We ran into other friends who were also running, took some pics and then headed off to Sandy's favorite part of any race staging area, the Port A Potties.

The Port A Potty line was long, so by the time our business was concluded, we had to hustle to the start. I grabbed a water on the way and downed about 12 oz before I chucked it and headed mid-pack to get ready.

After releasing memorial balloons into the clear, blue, blazing sky, the National Anthem and Amazing Grace courtesy of a bagpiper, we were off.

About a half-mile in I realized two things: It was crazy hot and I should have worn my compression shorts under my running skirt.

We soon passed a bank clock/thermometer and it read 80 degrees. I believed it. There was barely a cloud in the sky and the sun was blinding, hammering off the asphalt. There was zero shade and no breeze. Hot Child In The City, indeed.

I started the race hoping to pace around a 10-minute mile for the first 1-2 miles, then pick it up for the last 1.6. Pfft. By the 1-mile mark, I abandoned that plan and decided to switch to Run To Finish. It was just too hot with no relief.

To make matters worse, my allergies were kicking up something fierce. My head and throat were congested, making deep breathing more difficult. I was having breathing problems, something I've never experienced before when racing.

I took this rather seriously, and actually stopped to walk for 30-60 seconds a few times. By the time I passed the 3-mile mark, I saw ambulances taking off. Apparently, some runners actually needed medical transport. Yikes.

I was psyched when I hit 3 miles because it meant this cursed race was almost over. I was pissed at this race. It was short, I should have been faster and it should have been easier. In the half-marathon, I didn't feel half as crappy at Mile 13 as I did right now. I was pissed at this weather. Too damn hot. I was pissed at the organizers for a 1 pm start.

But, hey, at least it's almost over. There are the chutes. There's the finish line, not 300 yards straight ahead. Thank God.

Wait, why are all the runners taking a right? Why is everyone turning right? The finish line is straight ahead! And then I saw the pylon. And the race official pointing right. Crap, we needed to do a short out and back before heading toward the finish. Guh. I hate this race.

On the out-and-back I spied my friend, Rebecca (she's #357 in the pink, group photo). It was her first 5K and I was psyched to see her. I caught up, tapped her on the shoulder and said, Let's finish this thing.

While I felt like dump, she was spry and was actually fiddling with her iPhone to choose a good song to finish to. Atta girl.

We finished the out and back and took a right to head - finally - toward the finish. Over the timing pads and, thank the Lord, it was over.

I grabbed two waters and headed toward my predetermined meeting spot with Sandy. I spotted her on the way, grabbed two more waters, and we parked it in the merciful shade to talk shop.

So, as frustrating as this race was (45:22 finish/12:24 pace), there were a few bright spots:

• Always fun to run with friends - before, during or after.

• Given this was a race to remember six Worcester firefighters who died in a 1999 fire, it was sobering to watch several firefighters run or walk the race in full firefighter gear. I was hot. They were hotter.

• About 2.5 miles in, the shark mascot for the local AHL hockey team roller-bladed by me in full furry getup. Gotta say, I wanted to trip him.

• I was about 2 minutes into the race when another runner tapped me on the shoulder: "I have that skirt! I bought it for a July 4 race! It looks great!" Note: This is the second time a runner stopped me during a race to talk about the skirt. I will get on a whole post about this magnetic running apparel soon.

• Just after the 1 mile mark, we ran by one Worcester firehouse. The firefighters were roadside with hoses, arching water into the air and down onto very grateful runners.

So, this one's in the rear view mirror. Thank you, Lord. Next up: The Harvard Pilgrim Finish At The 50, which ends on the field at Gillette Stadium. Yeehaw.

Race Report: Boston's Run To Remember

Oh, hell, yes.

Boston's Run To Remember was one magical race, for many reasons. No. 1 being I actually liked a race picture enough to buy it. That has never happened before.

As you know, I have a history of collecting race proofs in which I look like I am being assassinated. But this one, dare I say, I love it. Why?

I look strong and swift. I am wearing knee socks and an American flag running skirt. I look like I know what I am doing. I look like a runner. I told you: magic.

But so much more was extraordinary aside from the race photo. Which, to review, was hot stuff.

So, let's get into this because this post is tragically overdue.

I had signed up for this race in December. I was born in Boston and spent the first 18 years of my life growing up 7 miles south of the Athens of America. I spent a goodly part of my life in and around the city, so I could not pass up the opportunity to run through some of its most famous neighborhoods without the danger of getting flattened by a vehicle.

I remember seeing the ads for this race last year, thinking, "I'm not ready to run 5 miles. Not yet." I had just conquered my first 5K and running 5 miles seemed so far away, so arduous. I distinctly remember thinking, Maybe next year.

Cut to December, when I was setting my sights on a half-marathon in 2012. Five miles? I got that. On the race calendar it went.

Last weekend's half-marathon cropped up within the past month. Normally, I would not race two big races (mileage-wise) in back to back weeks. But I'm a believer in things happen for a reason, so I figured I'd see how the half went and worry about the 5-miler later.

The half went fine. I took three days off from running, ran an easy 25 minutes on Thursday, and after that figured I would be fine for the 5-miler three days later.

I decided to give it a go, but take it easy. I would forget about pace, forget about running, essentially, and taking a page from Sheryl's book, race and take a lot of fun pictures on a very picturesque course.

See, in the past - and sometimes today - when faced with a challenge or roadblock. I still automatically think, "I can't."

"I can't race that distance."

"I can't race back to back."

Well, really, screw "I can't." My days of "I can't" are over. If I take a few minutes and think it through, I realize more often than not, "I can." Sure, if my legs or foot were bothering me, I would sit out.

After initially thinking, "I can't," I thought it through, took a health inventory, assessed my Thursday run and decided not only "I can" but also "I will."

I was so excited for this race for several reasons, primarily because I would get to race in town. Funny, growing up just outside the city, that's what I - and everyone I knew - called Boston, "town." Force of habit, I still do.

Talking with my Dad before the race, the conversation went like this:

"Where's your race this weekend?"

"In town."

As a public service aside, two requests from a native: Don't ever call it "Beantown." Only tourists call it that. Two, don't ask us where we pahked ah cahs. Don't try the accent, you can't do it (see Costner, Kevin, et. al.) unless you were born with it (see Affleck & Damon). But, by all means, feel free to walk around wearing a tri-cornered hat. They really are fun.

Anyway, I was thrilled to race in town, and two friends were going to be there, too, so I'd get to meet up with them for at least a little bit.

When I sign up for races, I pretty much look at three things:

Distance.

Date.

Shirt/medal/goodies.

That's all I basically concern myself with when it comes to deciding to register. I need to add "start time" to that list.

About a week before any race, you get an email from the organizers, basically saying, "Hey, remember the race you registered for? Here are the details again, if you didn't pay attention when you registered, Melissa, and everyone else."

When I get the email, then I start to concern myself with commuting, parking, bib pickup, logistics, etc. I got the Run To Remember email Monday and spied the start time. 7:15 am. Start time. Oh, crap.

I live an hour west of Boston and I usually like to get to a race an hour before the start. That means getting to the race by 6:15 am, leaving my house at, good God, 5:15 am. Which means getting up around - help me Jesus - 4:15 am to eat breakfast, wake up, get dressed, regain consciousness, etc.

This better be one damn fine race.

So, Saturday night I got all my junk together and set my alarm, which promptly went off at 4 am Sunday. I was surprisingly spry, ate breakfast and headed to Cambridge to pick up my dear friend and running idol, Jeremy, who was also entered.

At any point up until now, did I think I would be driving east, in the dark, at 4:45 am wearing an American flag running skirt and knee socks? I did not. But I got a pretty sunrise around Framingham.

Sometimes, I actually stop and think, Who is this person? (This recap is very long anyway, but I owe and will give that skirt an entire post of its own, believe me.)

I picked Jeremy up at 5:45 am and we headed over to the World Trade Center area in South Boston. We parked on Summer Street and took about a 10-minute walk over to the WTC, which was a good warmup.

I knew this was a big race, and I like big races. They're exciting, fun and (usually) well-organized. However, this race was b-i-g. Previously, the largest race I've ever run was the Caremark 5K in Providence, about 5,000 runners, last September.

Just before the race, we heard this one had topped 9,000 runners - 6,500 running the half-marathon course and 2,500 doing the 5-miler. I believe it, because the minute we hit the expo center, I felt like we were completely swallowed up. Bodies everywhere.

We found bag check, then split up. Jeremy had friends he wanted to check in with and I needed a port-a-potty. I wish I got a shot of the line of port-a-potties because there had to be 50. A line as long as you could see (Sandy, I thought of you fondly). I concluded business and set off to find my friend, Dani.

There's a lot of silly crap when it comes to social media, but there's a lot of awesome stuff, too, and one of those things is finding wonderful new friends.

I met Dani through Twitter. She's a Weight Watchers Lifetime member, leader and runner. Hmmmm, sounds familiar. Check out her blog, it's ridiculously inspirational, she's totally wonderful and super fast.

She also lives in Boston, so the opportunity to meet up with her at a race was awesome when I found out we were both doing the Run To Remember.

Dani is one of the #wwmafia who all check in with each other daily via Twitter. We're based all around the country, but we've all got each other's backs in 140 characters or less.

The crowd was so thick with people we had to text and finally call to find one another, but we did. Our time together was all too short, but we demanded photos (don't we look peppy for 6:50 am?) and made plans to get together and share a meal soon.

Dani headed off to the jack rabbit runners and I went to the back. Since I was just going to run and have fun, I decided to run holding my point-and-shoot for the whole race. I would waste too much time otherwise digging it out of my belt or the super-cool pocket on my skirt every 200 yards.

The half-marathoners went off about 20 minutes before we 5-milers, then we lined up and watched a State Police helicopter make the rounds against the skyline and over our heads.

Seriously, it was a gorgeous day.

And we're off!

The arch of the Boston Harbor Hotel at Rowe's Wharf.

I realized something about a half-mile in: It's hard to run and take pictures. If I saw something I wanted to shoot, I had to run off to the side of the road, ensure I wasn't in anyone's way (either on the way to the side of the road or at the side of the road), get a shot I liked and then take off again. Easier said than done.

Running atop what used to be the Central Artery, which is now the Rose Kennedy Greenway, with the Custom House in the distance.

I gotta say running on the Greenway was very cool. As a person who traveled the artery hundreds of times in a car, it was amazing to run through what now is a park.

Funny story: After the race, Jeremy and I were walking near the finish as the half-marathoners were coming in. The announcer, as is the norm at races, was announcing finishers, by looking at their bibs and matching it with their names. We're walking by and we hear, "And here's another finisher, Rose Kennedy!" I yell, "WOW!" and we both start laughing because not only has old Rose has been dead for a decade or so, but also when she was alive she was the frailest-looking person on Earth.

More Greenway.

Running through the Financial District, toward the Old State House.

Hanging a right on Congress Street, Fanueil Hall on the right (out of frame), The World's Ugliest City Hall on the upper left.

Entrance to Faneuil Hall, bordering Congress Street.

La-de-da, running through Beacon Hill (Charles Street).

Even the Post Office is pretty.

You go, girl. No significance to this picture, other than I am juvenile and I thought it was funny.

Your typical Beacon Hill side street. Not so much in most other parts of the city.

Where everybody knows your name.

Pretty brownstones neighboring the Public Garden, of which I did not get a good picture.

Outskirts of the Theatre District. I love how they renovated the Paramount facade. The Opera House is next door.

RIP, Filene's.

Downtown Crossing, decked out for Memorial Day.

Old South Meeting House.

My life in a nutshell.

So, at this point, we're heading toward South Station and I realize, the race is almost over. If there was a 4-Mile marker, and I'm sure there was, I missed it amidst all my Ansel Adamsing.

The funny thing is, this race seemed to go very fast, even though I was lolly-gagging my way through it.

I looked at my watch and saw we had about a half-mile to go. I was surprised. It's over already? I suppose if you race for 2:45 the previous week, an hour seems like a brief interlude. I put my camera away and thought, "I want to really run." Enough picture-taking and touristing, jam this last half.

So, I did. But, first, I actually fixed my hair, readjusted my Sweaty Band, which was very sweaty at this point. Hey, there be photographers and spectators ahead. I was wearing an American flag skirt. I had to look like I knew what I was doing.

"Shipping Up To Boston" came up on my playlist, which was the perfect tune to launch me at race pace toward the end.

We hung a right onto Seaport Blvd., with the Boston Children's Museum and the Hood Milk Bottle across Fort Point Channel to the right.

Almost near the finish I spied Jeremy off to my left, cheering me on to the finish. And I was happy to finish. I felt great, but it was hot and I was toasty.

After crossing the finish and reclaiming our bags, Jeremy and I compared notes, hung out for a bit and then headed back to the car. As I walked over Seaport Blvd. I got some nice shots of the half-marathon finishers coming in (the finish line was out of frame, below and behind me).

Overall, this was one of my favorite races. My pace was crap, but I had a lot of fun. I got to run safely through a city I love and, I realized, I ran a 5-mile race and it seemed like a walk (or run) in the park. Wow.

In which I see something incredibly wonderful

So, after crossing the finish line Sunday I triumphantly grabbed my medal, then two bottles of water. I then headed straight for the water table and snagged another two bottles.

Then I availed myself of a piece of pizza. Holy gahd, it was wonderful. I soon availed myself of three more. Hey, I just ran for 2:46, you're lucky I didn't grab the entire box.

Anyway, very full of pizza, water and downright pride, I found a shady patch of grass on the other side of the start/finish line to do my cool-down stretches and apologize to my quads.

After stretching out, I sat up and watched the 5K portion of the running festival start. I relaxed and watched the runners stream over the starting line to the amusing strains of The Lone Ranger Theme Song.

Then, the second-coolest thing of the day caught my eye. No. 1 was seeing my medal in a volunteer's hand just beyond the finish line. No. 2 was a runner, a woman who very much resembled me size-wise in my Before photo.

There she was, running with the crowd and heading out confidently for a 5K. I caught myself smiling and thought, "You go, runner! You go!"

Before I considered myself a runner, I deemed runners an elite fraternity of fast, toned cool-kid types (think John Hughes '80s movie villains) who looked good in tight clothes, did impressive things like race and looked down upon us non-runnerly types, especially if we were overweight.

I could not have been more wrong.

One of the best surprises about the running community is how supportive and diverse it is.

Go to a race and you'll see runners of all shapes, sizes, ages and abilities. You'll see bikini-model types who you will pass and older folks who will leave you in the dust. I've learned never to judge runners by their appearance because it may well belie their abilities (a decent rule for life in general, as well).

Never go to a race feeling you won't fit in because as long as you have a number safety-pinned to your chest, you do, welcome aboard. End of story.

The running community is also incredibly supportive. Last fall, when the thought of training for a half-marathon first entered my head, I had met some runners at a race (friends of a friend) and mentioned the idea in passing.

They had just met me and they all said the same thing: "You can do it! Go for it. You'll do great."

Now, I had just met these people, they didn't know me from a hole in the wall, but immediately and sincerely were giving me encouragement I needed.

I've talked to friends who run and bounced countless injury and training questions off them. They've been incredibly generous with their advice and support. When I first developed my neuroma (but before it was diagnosed), I called my dog's vet (also a veteran marathoner) for advice.

That was a fun message to leave: "Hi, Marianne. It's Melissa. Umm, Scully's fine, but my foot is bothering me and I have a question, would you give me a call back?"

She called right back.

Runners love three things: gadgets/gear, flat courses and other runners. We are a crazy breed and I'm convinced we love other runners because it's proof we're not the only insane people we know.

I get so excited when friends become new runners. It may be for them or it may not. But I love that they try.

And it doesn't have to be running, it can be anything new. I love seeing people tentatively step foot outside their comfort zone. It's scary, for sure, but the potential for amazing growth, excitement and opportunity are limitless.

As I watched that woman strike off into the course I was so happy for her. A complete stranger, but I saw myself in her in just those few seconds I watched her pass.

I flashed back to a year ago, at the beginning of my running life and a very brave, exciting new world that has gifted me with much more than I ever expected of it or myself.

You go, runner.

In which I am a half-marathoner

This is a long post, so make sure you're properly hydrated...

I look pretty damn happy, but to be honest, I wasn't sure I was going to end up with a smile on my face and a medal on my chest.

I was supposed to run my first half-marathon on May 6 with my domestic runner life partner, Sandy. But the training led me to develop a neuroma under the ball of my right foot. I visited an orthopedist in April and got a cortisone shot, but I had to take a week off from running in prime training time.

Thanks to my back injury of late 2011, my training plan was already razor-thin. I couldn't afford to miss a week and even the cortisone shot was not helping entirely. I made the tough call to bow out for fear it would lead to further knee trouble. See, my right knee was starting to compensate for the neuroma and I was having knee pain while running longer distances - something that had never happened before.

I didn't want a pyhrric victory: Finishing the half at the expense of seriously injuring my knee.

So while I closed that door, thus opened a window. I happened to luck into a free entry into the Blackstone Valley Cherry Tree Running Festival. They had a half. If I registered and didn't think I could do it come race day, it's not like I would be out any money.

Cut to yesterday, race day eve, time to make the call. How did I feel? I went to the chiropractor Thursday for an adjustment, so my back was as good as it was going to get. In terms of aches and pains, my back is currently the least of my worries.

I'd been running three times a week with the neuroma and it was doable, it only bothered me when I ran. It still was annoying and occasionally painful, but I noticed it on longer runs (5+ miles) it would flare up and then subside.

So back-OK, neuroma-OK. A new concern was my hamstrings. The last couple of 8+ runs they had, from nowhere, tightened up quite a bit. On a 10-miler in late April, they were really tough for the last two miles. But I knew a run-walk schedule would loosen them during the race if they got bad. OK, there.

But yesterday, I was most worried about my knees. Both were achey, and yesterday was a rest day. I had bootcamp the day before, and while there was a lot of hopping and jumping, I didn't think they should feel like they did. I ran last on Thursday, but it was just 2 slow miles, that shouldn't have angered them.

What to do? The one thing I really worry about are my knees. Screw your knees up and you're out of running - if not all exercise - for a goodly amount of time. And I need exercise for my mental health and weight maintenance.

While my knees were achey, they'd hadn't been acting up on runs, so perhaps it was the bootcamping on Friday. Let's give this a go.

I packed as if I were going away for weeks, so much junk:

SPIbelt filled with a baggie of Uncle Sam cereal for mid-race carbs.

Salt packets in case I started cramping (it was going to be hot).

Nano & Garmin charging, headphones in run bag.

Road ID.

Sweaty Band. Made a big decision: no baseball cap. Again, it was going to be hot.

Change of clothes and flip flops for post race cool-down.

Bowl of Uncle Sam cereal & chia seeds to carb-up when I arrive (about an hour before the start time).

Small container of almond milk to pour in the above.

Water to drink on the way down.

Prescription-strength ibuprofen. I decided to pop 600mg before the race to help with the whole knee thing. I brought along another just in case things got hairy mid-race.

Arctic Ease wraps (stored in my daughter's old Hello Kitty lunch box with blue ice) to wrap and ice my knees as I drove home.

Seriously, what a load of crap. Soldiers go to war with less. But it was all necessary. I set up alarm for 5 am and hit the hay.

Woke up at 5 am, ate a NuGo bar (my absolute favorite) and a Diet Coke, then set about getting dressed. I went with a Road Runner short-sleeve white wicking shirt (again, hot), a new pair of Thorlos (which I always run in) and a new pair of 2XU compression tights. I debated compression shorts vs full tights and decided I needed all the help I could get. Plus, the 2XUs are crazy light, so it's not like I would be super hot in them.

And away we go. It was a gorgeous late spring morning. Sunny, blue skies. I found my way down to the race with relative ease, headed over to registration, picked up my bib and returned to the car to eat my Uncle Sam, pop my ibuprofen and toss up a final status update on Facebook in case I met my demise on the course.

At 7:30 am, I headed over to the port-a-potties for a pitstop (and a nod to Sandy, queen of the pre-race port-a-potties) before warming up and lining up. After stretching and light cardio warmups, I headed for the 12-minute-milers portion of the pack, cued up and paused my playlist, and waited for the National Anthem.

I put my hand over my heart for the Anthem. I could feel my heart beating like crazy. I was nervous, and I hadn't been nervous for a race in a long time.

Anthem over, the mayor of Pawtucket gave the "Runners at your marks" cue (or, "Runnahs at ya mahks"), then hit the air horn.

I passed over the timing pads, hit start on the Garmin and shuffle on my playlist. Here we go.

The race was relatively small, maybe several hundred runners. Initially this gave me pause as I worried, "What if I was the last runner to finish?" To which I would answer, "You finished!"

In the first couple of miles I admonished myself to go slow and run my own race, and I took stock of my fellow pacers. I quickly categorized who's who by what they were wearing/doing. There's Compression Socks Guy. There's Weird Stride Woman. There's Guy Running In A Skirt (yeah, you read that right). There's Old Lady I Absolutely Cannot Finish Behind.

The first two miles I went out relatively fast, for me: 11-minute miles. I wanted to average 12-12:30, and I figured as I faded, I would. I kept telling myself: Get the numbers out of your head. Keep your core tight, everything else loose and just run. Just run loose.

Around Mile 4 I could feel the neuroma starting to kick in and by Mile 5, there was my right knee balking. Crap, too early for that. But I pushed through. It wasn't dangerous, stop-and-walk, you're-risking-major-injury pain, and I figured I would try to run through it and see if it subsides like it has been in training.

I decided to keep my eyes off my watch and just run from mile marker to mile marker, one mile at a time. Don't worry about time, just make it to the next mile marker. It was a strategy that worked, the miles seemed to be piling up relatively quickly and mentally I felt good.

Soon, I was at Mile 6, which I considered halfway. When it came to this race, I'd always think, It's just 6 miles out and back. I know it's really 6.55, but for some reason the extra .55 sounded daunting. Let's just pretend 6 is halfway.

The race was very well organized, with 11 water and Gatorade stops over the 13.1 miles. At every water stop I would grab two cups, get off to the side and walk until I finished them. I can't run and drink. Sure, it looks cool, but more water ends up on the ground or on my shirt than in my body. Plus, it wasn't like I was going to win the race, I could stop and walk for a minute.

At the halfway mark I grabbed more water and Gatorade and some Gu. I had never tried it before, but I figured, why not. I know why not, it's friggin' nasty. Turns out it was chocolate flavor, so it was like chocolate slime. Ewww, gahd, it was horrid. I pulled out my Uncle Sam cereal, grabbed a handful and walked until I was done chewing and drinking.

As I started running, I thought, Wow, I feel really fresh. It was getting hot, but I felt very good. Even the knee and neuroma were subsiding. Mentally I was spot on, not tired, not hot or flushed.

Another fortuitous event happened at 6 miles - we were finally on the Blackstone Valley bike path portion of the course. Up until that point we were winding through the City of Pawtucket and neighborhoods with no shade, the sun reflecting off the black asphalt and typical city-road terrain.

The bikepath was shaded, smooth and cool. This lasted until Mile 11, thank goodness. By Mile 8, I felt my hamstrings starting to tighten, so I made a decision to run-walk. I would walk for 1 minute, then run for 4. This method is advocated by running expert Jenny Hadfield, who notes that the walking won't adversely affect your time because it will help you run better, so you make it up.

Just those 1-minute walk breaks really helped. My hamstrings loosened and it let me really run 4 good minutes at a time. I kept track of my splits at each mile and she was right: My pace averages were better with the run-walk than they were with the straight run when my hamstrings started to give me trouble.

Soon I spied the marker for Mile 10 and looked at my watch. I'd been running for 2 hours. Wow, I had? I still felt really good (hamstrings nonwithstanding). I could do this. I was really going to finish this.

At Mile 11, it was good news, bad news. Bad news was we were off the bike path and back in the city. The good news: We only had 2 miles to go! I pushed myself on, You'll be done in less than 35 minutes!

And thank goodness, because it was hot. I passed an electronic thermometer on a business sign and it read 80. I believed it. But by Mile 12, I could have been running on hot coals and nothing would have stopped me. I was almost done.

I crossed a street and the cop stopping traffic said, "Only .65 left."

Wow. I did my last run-walk interval and thought, Screw it. I am running the last bit straight. I want my medal now.

Soon, there was the Mile 13 marker. I could see Pawtucket City Hall in the distance (the starting/finish line) and soon the blue chutes. This was it, the final tenth.

I turned the corner and started to give it whatever I had left. High on adrenaline, I still felt good and was about to realize my dream of finishing a half-marathon. I really couldn't believe it.

Now, funny thing. I put together a wonderful playlist last night (below, click to enlarge. It was too long for one screenshot).

It was like a Melissa's Greatest Hits, as I went through all my running playlists and picked out my favorites from each. I loaded on 2.7 hrs of music, more than I would need, and hit Shuffle when I started the race. I thought it would be fun to not know which song I would cross the finish line to, and I wondered throughout the race, What song will it be? As each song came on during the race, I'd think, Well, it won't be this one.

CHASE's "Get It On" finished just as I entered the chutes. I put on my best determined-runner face for the race photographers as I strode toward the finish line. I heard the race announcer call my name, "Here's another half-marathon finisher, Melissa Shaw!" The crowd at the chutes began to cheer. I wanted to cry, it was so amazing.

In the distance, I saw the official clock, the timing pads and beyond them a volunteer holding out my finisher's medal in the air. I crossed one pad, then another. I held out my hand and grabbed my medal. I lifted it in the air, over my head in a triumphant fist-pump and I heard the crowd off to the right yell, "Yeah! Way to go!"

I slowed to a walk, grabbed some water from another volunteer and realized: I have no idea what song I finished on.

Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to run another.

That would be the perfect ending to this post, but I can't leave you hanging on the post-race wrapup, eg, How do you feel?

Surprisingly, very good, which means my training was right on. Yeah, I'm stiff in the hamstrings if I sit for an extended period of time, but otherwise I feel great. I'm very surprised how fast the race seemed to go.

One of my concerns when training was it would feel like I was running forever, but it seemed to pass pretty quick. I didn't experience any mental fatigue. When I crossed the finish, I was happy to be done running, for sure, but I wasn't beat up or dead. I still felt good, which was wonderful because 13.1 miles was the longest I've ever run in time (2:46) and distance (previous longest run was 10 miles).

A year ago today, I fully ran my first 5K. It was a huge, monumental event for me. Now, here I was, just a year later strongly finishing a freaking half-marathon.

Last year at this time, my big goal was to finish a 3.1-mile race. I did it, and signed up for another. Then another. Then, I turned around and 3.1 didn't seem to hard. But, 4 miles? Could I run 4? So I did. Then 5 and 6.

I signed up and trained all summer for a 10K. While training for that I did an 8-mile run. I ran 8 miles! And, all of a sudden, 13.1 didn't seem impossible.

A half-marathon? 13.1 miles? Are you kidding?

Running is very similar to losing weight in many ways. You want to lose weight but it seems like you've got so much to lose, it will take so long. But you give it a try. You have some success. You try more. You lose a little more. You may have a setback here and there, but you keep trying. You push on.

You want to run. 3.1 miles seems so far. You're nervous, but you try. It's hard, it's awkward at first, but you try. You learn. You keep running, a little bit more every day.

The pounds lost add up, and all of a sudden you're doing it. You're really, truly doing it. Then comes that magic day when it hits you and you realize, I am going to do this. I am going to get to goal.

It's like turning that corner, seeing the chutes and realizing your dream is literally in sight.

Whether it's running or losing weight, what seem like small advances, slow progress or little successes, they add up. And they pay off. All of a sudden, you're the person you always wanted to be and you earn this: