The canine of defeat

Saturday’s Polar Dash 10K was notable for two reasons: I snagged a PR and, for the first time, managed to get beaten by a dog.

As context, I’ve been beaten in a race by just about everyone: old people, children (LOTS of children), blind runners being led by guides, you name it. I once, in a moment of truly shameful competitiveness, launched into a near-sprint in order to beat an amputee up a hill during a half marathon. It was NOT my finest moment. (Although I did flash him a thumbs up as I ran by. So there’s that. But seriously, when you’re in the back of the pack, the chance to pass someone – ANYONE – is both thrilling and rare.)

However, Saturday marked my first defeat by an actual canine.

Lining up for the unusually warm race (I busted out cropped pants and a t-shirt for the 40-degree start), I spotted a woman in front of me with a tote bag slung around her shoulder. But this wasn’t just any tote bag: this bag carried a white, shaggy, Muppety -looking tiny dog, who appeared totally content to just hang there like he (or she) lined up in a race corral every weekend.

Inching closer, I heard the woman say she and her husband brought the dog, but didn’t expect to run the race with it. Somehow, though, here she was, in the 12:00 +/mile area, getting ready to start her 6.2-mile race with the dog and purse in tow.

I turned to a girl behind me.

“We HAVE to be able to run faster than the woman doing the race with the DOG,” I said.

We eyed the lady suspiciously. She was blonde. Maybe in her 40s. Maybe in her 50s. Lithe. This description definitely did NOT apply to either of us.

“I don’t know if I can,” said The Girl Behind Me.

“Yeah, um. I’m not sure if I can either,” I said, eyeing Dog Lady like I was on my third drink in a bar.

With that, the race started.

I moved to the side and tried to find my pace and entertain myself, leapfrogging a few other run-walkers. I’ve been working hard to improve my pace, so I tried to accelerate a bit with every passing mile. The race had a few weird moments: the 5K group seemed to miss the turnaround. We all seemed to miss the first water stop.

Mile 4 dragged. At Mile 5 I decided to try to pick up the pace even more, figuring the faster I’d run, the faster I’d be done. That’s when I spotted her: Dog Lady was walking ahead of me. And holy hell, I was going to catch her.

I ran faster and inched closer. Every time I got close enough to start to pass her, she’d begin to trot, dog carrier in hand. It went like this for almost a mile. Then finally – FINALLY – around the 6 mile marker, I did it. I PASSED THE WOMAN AND HER DOG.

“HAHAHAHAHA,” I thought victoriously to myself, as I approached the last turn before the finish line. “ I'M GOING TO BEAT THE WOMAN WITH THE DOG.”

We ran under an underpass and entered Grant Park at the base of a hill that’d lead us to the finish line. That’s when it happened. Woman With The Dog began to speed up the hill. I have a firm policy to always sprint the end of the race, but she was starting well before I was ready. Pumping my arms and legs I tried to catch her as an onlooker yelled: “Look! First place in the dog division!"

I won't lie: I contemplated a "bite me" retort.

Blonde Lady kept going, crossing the finish line about five seconds before I charged through.

I stopped my Garmin and tried to breathe. I looked up, hoping to find her and her furry companion to at least say "thank you" for pushing me. Thanks in part to the two of them, I’d cut about 2:20 off my best 10K time that'd I'd recorded in November.

But by then, she and the dog had disappeared into the crowd.

Maybe next year we'll have a rematch.

We run this town.

My view on a run. (Well, one of them.)

I used to be intimidated by Chicago's Lakefront path. In the warmer months, it's overflowing with people -- runners, bikers, rollerbladers, walkers, teenagers, tourists, beach goers, dog walkers, stray children who don't look before they dart in front of your bike, giving you a heart attack at 6 a.m. on your commute to work and making you think that you'll hit them and either kill them or die yourself in a crash. (Sorry... projecting.)

It took me a while to get used to frantic pace while still being able to keep my cool. (It's been more than six years since I moved here, and I still know my sanity will always be tested if I ride south of Fullerton on a warm summer afternoon. Been there, been hit in the head with the football by the drunk frat boys.) (True story.) (I also got hit by a flag attached to a passing triple-wide stroller. You can't make this shit up.)

I live about two blocks from the 18-mile-long paved path that runs along the waterfront. To dodge the crowds -- and my own insecurities when I started running -- I'd usually veer along winding dirt paths that splinter off from the main north-south thoroughfare. Sure, they might be muddy and devoid of bathrooms and water fountains. But they offered this incredibly different experience of exercising in the city. Running right along the water's edge, I'd loop around Montrose Harbor, following the shoreline south past the golf course and then trace the outline of Belmont Harbor before turning back north to finish a 5-mile route. You'd get spectacular views of the skyline while passing a few runners and picnickers off the main drag. (I learned the disastrous way NOT to bring the Mutt Puppy on these runs after an ill-fated outing where she stopped roughly every 500 feet to roll around in smelly goose poo and fish detritus.)

A storm washed out a huge part of my favorite splinter path last summer, so I've found other routes to call my own. In the winter, when the sun sets before 5 p.m., I hit the main trail. (Because treadmills are the devil.)  It's a wholly different experience to be out there in January. Bundled up in gaiters and balaclavas, you still see just a few runners and cyclists who are out in the cold. You nod as you pass each other, offering the trail version of a high-five. (I've been known to let out a loud squeal when the snowflakes start falling and the wind gusts kick up in single-degree weather.)

RunChi shirt from CafePress.

This past summer, I'd ride my bike six miles down to Oak Street Beach on Saturday mornings to get in a swimming workout while I was training for a triathlon. One morning in particular it felt like the path -- and the entire city -- was alive. It was warm and sunny on the way south as I passed my Chicago Endurance Sports teammates training for the marathon. Along the way I spotted an outdoor yoga class, cycling groups, people doing bootcamps, tennis players, people flying kites, walking dogs, fishing, picnicking and swimming. I finished my workout with this ridiculous grin, so proud of my city and the people in it. It was just one of those moments when I felt so much civic pride. I was so stoked to be able to call myself part of Chicago's dynamic running community.

The path is this weird place full of conflict when it's crowded and yet full of serenity when it's not. (And the views of the city are mind-blowing.) When I saw this photo posted on a Facebook page, I knew I'd have to share it.

If you're ever up this way, let me know -- I'll show you my trail. Just make sure you bring your camera.

Successes and failures

For years, I used to have dreams I was a secret runner. I’d fall asleep, lace up my shoes, and take off – running, bounding, practically flying through the air. It was easy and effortless. And the spectators – whoever they were on any given night – would be awed.  “Who is this girl? Why didn’t we know what she could do? How does she do that?”

I’d run, and run, and never get tired. The miles would fly by.  And I’d smile this big, huge crazy grin.

Then I’d wake up.  And lying there in the dark under the covers, I’d remember that feeling of effortlessness. I’d be inspired. “Maybe, one day,” I’d think, before rolling over and going back to bed, hoping the next dream would be just as good, vivid and real.

It’s been almost 23 months since I started Week 1, Day 1 of the Couch to 5K workout and 49 weeks since I ran my first half marathon. In 2012, I logged almost 689 miles on the path, finished 11 races, including four half marathons and a triathlon. (Since I started running, I dropped almost 40 pounds -- and gained roughly 10 back.) By my math, I worked out for well over 130 hours last year and went from being a running participant to a running leader – working out four to five times a week, pacing run-walkers with my training group and mentoring new runners who are trying to cross their own first-time finish line.

My 2012 medals and bibs.

With a turtle pace, my running isn’t effortless like those dreams from so long ago. But in two years, I’ve managed to transform myself from the girl who thought about things, to the girl who does them.

And so, catching up on TV yesterday I was surprised to find myself crying – REALLY crying. At every commercial break, there was another ad highlighting someone else’s weight loss success story. The married couple who’d shed more than 100 pounds on Weight Watchers.  The Medifast woman who has a tearful conversation with her future “leaner, happier” self.  

I was jealous. And defeated. And embarrassed. And frustrated.

I’ve worked so hard in the past two years, and yet here I am – still so far from where I want to be. I’m exercising harder and more frequently than I ever have in my life and the number on the scale isn't moving much at all. (I know, I know – it’s just a number. But when you stand there and stare at it, it sure feels like a measure of your own effort and self worth.) 

With every commercial, I felt more like a failure.  (Note to self: only watch things that have been DVR’d.)

I typed out a few tearful text messages to friends and after a few conversations, I had one of those knock-you-over realizations.

When I was fat and sedentary (instead of slightly less fat and active), I thought the hardest part of losing weight was going to be the exercise. When the thought of running even half a mile is intimidating and beyond your ability, exercise – and committing to make it part of your life – seems impossible.

Grand Rapids Half Marathon

But on a snowy Saturday two years into my journey, still sniffling from my meltdown, I realized that exercise is actually the easy part of the weight loss equation. It’s the food that’s the biggest, baddest mean girl bitch.

My life (and often my social life) now revolves around my training group. Some of my bestest friends in the city are athletic inspirations (ironmen, triathletes, marathoners, cyclocross riders). They encourage me and I support them.  We talk about training schedules, race bucket lists, rough workouts and speed drills. IT’S AWESOME.

(Pro tip, new Sporty Spices: When your community is all about exercise, it makes you want to be all about exercise. Who wants to bail on a workout if it means bailing on your friends? NO ONE, that’s who!)

So with a new year and new goals, I tried to talk me self out of my wallow fest. I decided to treat myself to a new yoga mat I’d been eyeing for months. (Shopping heals, y’all.) And I refocused. I thought about where I was and where I am and then how I’m going to get to where I want to go.  (Preview: it’ll involve a lot more mindfulness about food.)

Triathlon finish!

My word of the year is going to be “push.” Wallowing moments aside, I’m so proud of what I’ve done, but I know I need to push myself to keep going. I’m not where I want to be. and I’m working to be OK with that. Losing weight and changing your life aren’t supposed to be easy.  (Although seriously, you’d think the universe could have made losing weight nearly as easy as putting it on.) My wise BFF, The Modern Gal, points out that when I started this whole process, I would never have called running -- or any exercise -- easy. I've come pretty far to say that. So now it's time to do the same thing with the healthy eating. 

So here’s to another year of trying. And the reassuring fact that those skinny bitches in the TV commercials probably can’t run a half marathon.

So there.