The L-Train - Season Two: Building Consistency 0 days to go.

After rising from doo doo to podium in 2010, my goal for 2011 is consistency at all costs. I need a full year of solid work under my belt now to reach my goals in 2012. What will consistency require? Not getting too excited and carried away. Making smart decisions daily. Taking days off before I need them. Hard work. Self-control. Patience. Belief. The balance of all those things while maintaining a life outside of sport. Your comments and thoughts helped get me through the good, bad, and ugly times of 2010. Thank you so much. I hope we'll all continue to follow, comment, inspire and motivate each other in 2011!

Its been over a week since my last post, which completely goes against my “one post every day until the marathon” thing. This is what happens when a runner gets an injury scare. Its called burying your head in the sand. Heard of it? I bet you have.

I have, in fact, learned quite a few things since my knife-in-the-knee experience last Friday. But when I originally set out to write a daily light bulb, I was healthy and on a roll, envisioning composing my daily blog about the positive and humorous parts of the marathon world I was discovering.

And then BOOM!

Bye bye speed bumps, hello brick wall, and just like that I’m flailing around like one of those crash test dummies.

After taking last weekend off to heal up and doing all the treatment on my schedule, I’ve had some completely pain free days and some holy shit days. The days that it hurts are definitely no fun and I immediately pretend I don’t have a marathon coming up. Stress and pressure don’t help the healing process.

I was kind of waiting until this knee thing totally cleared up before writing a new blog post, thinking that the topic would be about how to (or how not to) manage a last minute injury before a marathon. Long story short, I don’t have an answer, I haven’t processed it on a bigger scale yet, and I’m just living day to day.

A couple bits I do want to share from this past week:

• ALF commenter and NY Marathon entry MBS is having a twin knee problem at the moment, and its been helpful to have another person going through it at the same time.
• Active Release Therapy (ART) hurts like a mother.
• Sometimes its impossible to determine if your pain comes from your back, your knee, your hip, or your mind.
• Even the remote possibility that your body might not cooperate on the day of the marathon is horrifying.
• I liked it much better when I felt invincible.
• Getting to the starting line 100% ready to go is a really tough thing to do.

Reality Check

Yesterday was Friday, and it was the last hard workout of the last hard week before staring to taper. Am I pumped? You betcha!

So what happens?

My leg falls off of course.

Halfway through the workout, my left knee decides it doesn’t want to bend anymore (at least not without the accompanying sensation of a knife stabbing into it). Yeah, I’m freaking out. Jogging is fine, but fast running is very very bad.

Experience tells me to calm down, ditch the workout, jog home, and get it loosened up pronto. So I’m jogging home and on the final stretch even jogging becomes a major problem. So I’m walking the final 200 meters to my house and even walking gets complicated. My knee simply doesn’t want to bend, like its not getting the signal, and when I consciously make it bend, it hurts (like wow hurts).

I’m on the verge of panicking and my mind is racing.

What the hell have I done? Where did this come from? I’ve never felt something this sharp and quick before, and there was no warning! I think I want to panic now. Why am I not panicking right now?

Totally weird thing happened: the panic never surfaced completely. Something told me it was just a freak thing–probably a pinched nerve, or something out of alignment. The pain was temper-tantrum-worthy for sure, but the problem wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Right?

As I fairly calmly dragged my rod-straight left leg up the stairs to my house, I actually started laughing out loud at the image of how a 22-year-old me would have reacted to this situation (thrashing around on my bed, inconsolably bemoaning the end of my running career). I decided to try to hang on to logic as long as possible, and logic told me to call Jack Magic.

Jack got me in for a massage within a half hour (life saver that he is) and calmly listened to me explain my symptoms. I know I had a crazy look in my eye, but Jack’s pulse didn’t so much as quicken for a second. He methodically worked through the potential problem areas and within an hour I could walk again. All that remained was a little bit of instability and tightness in my lower back: nothing a day or two off couldn’t fix. Looks like I’d be going into my taper hard.

The Edge

During my day off today, I started thinking about just how dangerous this place is in marathon training: the edge between the build and the taper.

For seven weeks I’ve been filling and filling and filling a water balloon without any problems, and suddenly I see that the skin of that balloon is stretched dangerously thin.

Now here I am carrying this swollen balloon towards the promised land of the taper, aware that the slightest bump from the dullest branch can irreparably rupture what it would have taken a machete to pop five weeks ago.

Yikes!

Big time yikes.

After taking today off and feeling better, I could probably do my normal Sunday run and be fine, but there is no way in hell I’m running tomorrow! Instead, my balloon and I are going to spend the day on my cushy sofa watching movies. I’m going to whip out some duct tape to reinforce the skin and let a little water out. Then I’ll feel a little safer carrying the water balloon the rest of the way to New York City, starting Monday.

Ok so I’ve been training for about 6 weeks for the marathon.

Here is the percentage of time I have felt the following ways:

Extremely tired: 30%

Pooped: 20%

Superhuman: 10%

Oh-my-God-I’m-injured: 7%

Confident that I’m on track: 25%

Why am I doing this: 3%

Normal: 5%

In case you are wondering, this is what "exhausted" looks like

And this is "pooped."

When you’ve never done a marathon, it is scary as s%#!

But there is a beautiful moment, after slogging away for weeks, when what once seemed impossible is suddenly within your reach.

I’m sure this moment can happen anytime: after completing a grueling tempo run alone; while circling a weekly mileage total; during the last mile of that first 20 miler; in hearing yourself explain your reason for doing the marathon to a friend…

Something changes in a moment and you know:

I can run a marathon.

For me, that moment came while cooling down from a 60 minute progressive tempo run at Dexter Reservoir just outside Eugene, Oregon.

When did you know?

I’ve run for 16 years now and until three weeks ago, I had perfect feet.

Okay, yeah I’ve had four stress fractures, so the internal mechanics leave something to be desired, but from just looking at ‘em, people have literally told me,

“Damn! Those are some good looking feet! Especially for a distance runner.”

You are now probably trying to imagine a scenario where an actual person would tell another person something like that. These are just people who work with feet ok? I’m not lying. My feet are awesome.

Well, were awesome.

Now not so much.

 

• It’s not the mileage (I ran more in college than I’m running now).
• It’s not the shoes (Same Nikes I’ve worn forever, same size).
• It’s not the hygiene (I may be overdue for a pedicure, but my dogs are groomed to a normal standard).

The Cause?

I’m blaming those ridiculous long runs and the fact that workouts take FOREVER now. Extended time on my feet in one shot, four days a week. Very few doubles. Doubles, FYI, prevent you from having ugly feet. Now I know.

And now I finally understand why distance runners so often rock the closed toed shoes.

The upside?

At this rate maybe I won’t have to spring for these shoe covers for my zombie Halloween costume:

 

In 21 days, this 5k runner will be standing on the starting line of the NY Marathon, about to run 26.2 miles for the first time in my life (as hard as I can).

Hot damn!

For these final three weeks of marathon prep, my goal is to share at least one thing every day that has come to my attention as a result of training for my first marathon (the good, bad, and the strange). It might only be a sentence or two some days, but I want to write something. I’m sure you veterans out there will let me know which things are normal and which things certify me as a Fleshmaniac.

Today’s illumination is that marathon training makes me brain dead after 8pm, making it very difficult to write a meaningful blog. But what the hell. I’m still going to try to explain how the following tweet rocked my world on Friday as I prepared for a big weekend of training:

In track and field, I feel more or less alone as I prepare for a big event. For example, in Daegu at the World Track Championships there were 23 women in the entire world on the same wavelength as me. Everyone else was on the outside, experiencing the event as a spectator. This isn’t a bad thing, its just the way it is in spectator sports.

So for the first six weeks of training for NY, I was going about my prep the same as all my other track races: with the feeling that I’m pretty much alone out there in what I’m trying to achieve. My loneliness was exacerbated by the fact that all my OTC Elite teammates were enjoying nice, long, post-season breaks, drinking margaritas and happily getting out of shape, and here I was pounding the pavement farther and faster than ever before.

But then Mary Wittenberg goes and writes that tweet and I’m practically knocked off my desk chair with a revelation: There are literally tens of thousands of people doing what I’m doing right now. They are preparing for their biggest long run before their marathon. And they have been building up to it for weeks, just like me.

This changed everything in an instant. Back when I was suffering from a week of sore quads during the beginning of my build up, when my calluses started accumulating, when my toenails started peacing out, there were thousands of people going through that same thing at that time. This might seem totally obvious to you guys, but it was revolutionary for me: this feeling that I was part of a mass movement of humans from all walks of life who randomly decided to run the NYC Marathon for a myriad of reasons.

Every day, all these strangers are trying to eat better and sleep more and talk themselves out the door on dead legs, temporarily structuring their life “like a marathoner” to accomplish a goal.

What an incredibly beautiful thing.

 

 

I really don’t know where to start here.

If I hadn’t just checked my calendar and done the math, I would have guessed I had only been home for a week. An insanely packed week. In reality it has been 20 days.

The first week I was concentrating on being Mrs. Thomas to support my triathlete husband as he competed in the Half Ironman World Championships. During his breakout Pro year, I’d only been able to see him race once (the Duck Bill Thrill), and otherwise stayed updated with skype calls and his hilarious, multimedia online race reports. It was great to support him, see him in his element, and finally meet all the new friends I’d heard him talk about while I was away in Europe for nine weeks. Triathlon peeps be rad.

But once that race was over, I came home to a real awakening. The other projects I am involved in had bloated and swelled while I was away and some things were on the verge of bursting. Picky Bars (new website) sales increased 150% in one month, and Jenn, our amazing Director of Operations, looked like her head was going to pop off if we didn’t hire some help and upgrade our production methods. We decided it was time to totally revamp the entire kitchen, buy equipment, and hire three new employees. Exciting stuff!

One thousand training diaries that I had spent a year creating with my friend Ro McGettigan arrived at last from our green printer, and we needed to figure out how to get the word out about them and get systems in place for people to buy them before Ro went into labor (she just had her baby this week: a beautiful baby girl, Hope.)

My natural tendency is to fill my cup to the point of overflowing. I’ll just keep on pouring it in until I flood the whole damn kitchen. I’ve been that way since high school when I was taking five honors classes alongside cross country and working at In-N-Out Burger. I’d like to blame my parents for this but they are reasonable, laid back people who were always telling me to “chill the F out.” Since becoming a pro runner, I’ve had to learn to be extremely choosy about what to pour in my cup (I no longer waste my efforts on things that I’m not passionate about like I did in high school). I don’t like to be busy for the sake of being busy, but alas, for me to be “fulfilled,” I need to be “full” and “filled”.

Enter the NY Marathon…

Originally, I signed up to run NY Marathon back when I was 8th at USA’s with no chance of competing at Worlds in Daegu. Then when I was added to the USA roster, I decided I still wanted to give NY a go since I had my heart set on it. People kept saying things like “Oh, you’ll never want to train for that after you come down from the high at Worlds,” and “Are you effing crazy?” You know, supportive things like that.

The funny thing is, in the 20 days since Worlds, I haven’t regretted my decision to run NY once. My volume has climbed from 60 to 70 to 80 (with extra time on the ElliptiGo to supplement), and the new workouts I’ve been doing have been hard but super fun. The new challenge and stimulus is exactly what I imagined I’d enjoy. Motivation isn’t an issue. However, now that I’m at my peak mileage, training will start to accumulate and if I don’t get my other projects organized, I’ll be overstretched in no time (hello colds, injuries, and overtraining symptoms).

All energy comes from the same well. Some activities fill the well, while others drain it. I’ve got one more week to tackle the draining parts of my other jobs and then I’ll need to be very selective until November 6th when I finally get to race through the five boroughs of the most incredible city I’ve ever laid eyes on.

After so many weeks overseas relying on others to cover me, I’ve enjoyed getting my hands dirty and running errands. It feels exactly like the first two weeks of school where your to-do list is enormous while you set up your structures, systems, and routines. After a summer break, you welcome the load, and even flirt with the idea of taking a drawing class just for fun. And then reality sets in and you have to trim the fat off of your schedule to survive. Bye bye drawing class.

This week will be a struggle for me while I make that transition. I need to make some decisions quickly to get things in order. Libras hate making decisions.

Just for Fun (very optional reading)

I always wish I could sneak a peak at other people’s “To-Do Lists” to get a feel for their job/life. Just for fun, here are some sample items from mine over the past two weeks. Almost all of it is done now, thank goodness

• open two months of mail
• buy used Hobart Mixer from Craigslist (why the hell is it only $600?!) before the Cuisinart dies and we’re screwed.
• metal shelving for Picky Bar storage
• find marathon training partner for long runs
• Ask Lauren comments
• open pandora’s box of emails and voicemails
• test out new Hobart Mixer (yay!) and adjust recipes for new capacity
• send thank you Believe I Am training journals to the women that contributed quotes
• press release for Training Journal
• research how to make a press release (?!)
• take broken “bargain” Hobart Mixer to repair shop (holy cow it weighs 150 pounds)
• what the heck am I going to wear as racing shoes in NY?! Its a MARATHON! Contact Nike.
• take measurements to re-do Picky Bar work space
• research and buy new work tables for food production
• buy a bunch of storage containers and organization stuff
• contact “Girls on the Run” about donating a % of Believe I Am profits.
• call the fam
• Call Rinker to see if he’ll time my workouts
• Physio appointments
• Blood test for iron levels
• decide what I want to do for my 30th birthday and 4th anniversary
• organize the horror that is my desk
• take back all new storage containers and organization stuff that didn’t work
• find receipts for storage containers that were on my desk before “organizing” it.
• remove the chandelier that everyone has banged their head on while making bars for the last year

You’ve gotta love the items that fight their way back onto the list, no matter what you do! What’s the most random thing on your to-do list?

For those of you who have written in to the site, know that I appreciate you reaching out and commenting, even if I haven’t replied. In many cases, the informed readers on this site have been awesome about sharing their knowledge and experiences and helping one another out. I have directly benefited from the advice of many of you, and if I haven’t told you personally yet, thanks!

This is part 2 of Worlds Review. Missed Part 1? Read it here. Feel free to share your experiences and thoughts at the end.

Right before the first time I ever won a major championship, I was sitting in the stands before my warm-up in Eugene for the NCAA 5k my sophomore year next to senior Brent Hauser.  He asked me what I wanted to do in the race (Kara Goucher was back as defending champion) and I said I wanted to win. He raised his brow at me and thought for a moment before he spoke.  Brent was a legend on the team and so I took it to heart when he finally said, “Just don’t try so hard to get first that you end up finishing 12th.”

I had to think about that for a while, but something clicked and suddenly I understood what was happening when runners (including myself) tanked. I realized that when you want a goal badly enough, anything less than that can seem like a huge disappointment. Emotions are incredibly powerful, and the let down you feel if your perfect race isn’t happening can paralyze you, leaving you unable to salvage a respectable performance.  Once your mind detects failure, the body follows.  Every race I’ve won, and all my best losses, have started with Brent’s tip. My worst races and the ones I ended up dropping out of were the ones where I did exactly what Brent told me not to do.

Wise Words from Jesse

After the prelim of the 5k, my husband gave me some of the best advice he’s ever given me (we aren’t usually big on coaching one another so when he offers advice, my ears perk up big time).  He had been watching the endurance races on TV and he said, “On the last lap, when people pop, they pop big time, and you can still reel people in if you can stay positive about your position. Just remember that your place isn’t determined until you cross the line.”

Brilliant, Jesse.

When the leaders broke me, a No-Tanking philosophy helped me regain focus and I managed to catch two more athletes in the last part of the race who were fading.  You might think, “7th or 9th, what’s the difference really?” Well, that choice to avoid negativity made it so that my 7th place result tied the best finish ever by an American woman at Worlds in the 5k (had no idea at the time). Sweet!  Thanks J!

Brain On, Brain Off

Its interesting for me to read my pre-race blog about my goals and expectations because I don’t mention a medal at all, or a place goal of any kind. And yet yesterday, in part one, here I am telling you that I was thinking about a medal and about all kinds of places at various points in my preparation. What a big fat liar!

Well, here is why it turned out that way.  I spend several days before a race in “Brain On” mode, analyzing scenarios, figuring out how I think I can do in the race, working on specifics (I didn’t write a blog during this time because I was in Fake World with no internet). Then about two days before, I go into “Brain Off” mode where I let go of the result and think only about the bare bones basics of running.  Coach Rowland does everything he can to keep me in this mode. I felt completely peaceful and I released everything to the Universe or God or whatever you choose to call it. In that state of mind, I was inspired to write a blog to document how good it felt to be in that state of mind before a race.  It ended up being a great example of what Brain Off mode looks like for me, and I’m sure I’ll refer back to it in the future before other races.

If you check out my post race interview from letsrun or post-race blog, you can see that I’m excited about how I finished. How is that possible when deep inside somewhere I had been dreaming of a medal? Knowing what you know now, check out the interview and tell me what you think:

Watch more video of IAAF World Championships in Athletics (Track and Field) – Daegu 2011 on flotrack.org

Final Question for the Girls

If you are a dude, be warned that the following paragraph contains feminine stuff:

The race fell on the absolute worst day of the month for my cycle, and I can’t help but wonder how I would have felt had that not been the case (I get 4 pounds heavier and sluggish at that time of the month). But maybe defending world champ Linet Masai is saying the same thing about her 6th place finish. Maybe the young Dibaba that I passed at the line had the flu. Defar had stomach problems. Molly Huddle had an injured foot. Our fastest American, Shalane, wasn’t even in the race. I guess that’s what championships are all about, and have always been about: unknowns and variables and who toes the line on the day. That spirit of championships will never change, and I wouldn’t change it if I could.  But I would like to change my cycle next time, please. Or at least learn how to lesson the side-effects of bloating and water retention.  Tips from other women with experience in this area would be appreciated!  Thanks!

This is part one of a two-part analysis of Worlds before I close the book on it and start focusing on New York Marathon!  Feel free to post questions or comments in the comments section and I’ll do my best to reply.

Fake World

When I arrived in Daegu, South Korea, as far as I was concerned, time stopped and the rest of the world didn’t exist.  Outside of my husband and immediate family, everyone else I knew was frozen in time.  If a bill was due, it would be late, late fees and credit score be damned. “The Athlete Village” was my home, my six roommates were my homies, and the rest of the team and staff was my support crew as if they’d been there all along.

This is completely delusional of course.

The village is just an apartment complex temporarily gated off, waiting to be sold off to Koreans as soon as we move out.  The dining hall will turn into a parking garage.  The administrative buildings and meeting rooms will turn into a school.  The “Champions Plaza” and its daily cultural performances will be replaced by dog walkers and loitering teens, and the cement benches where athletes met their coaches to discuss race strategies will be used as props for skaters.

As for my housemates, they are from all over the country, and many of us compete against one another for limited contracts and opportunities, none of which incentivize working together towards a common goal.  But in our pseudo world of Daegu, we all got along great and learned a lot about each other.  I’d even say some good friendships were forged.  But in the real world, roommates Morgan Uceny, Jenn Rhines and Amy Hastings will go back to the mountains of Mammoth.  Alice Schmidt will return to watering her plant in San Diego. Shalane Flanagan will ramp back up in Portland. And Bridget and I? Back to Track Town. We talked about reunions, but when push comes to shove, we’ll probably just go back to aiming the cross hairs right between the eyes.

Fake World paid off big time though.  Fake World protected me from naysayers and negative energy, (you may be shocked to know that some people devote copious amounts of time publicly tearing down professional runners and putting weird comments on their facebooks).  Fake World gave me time to imagine myself giving my best performance in an environment that I luckily slipped into last minute.  And while I was hanging out there, something unexpected happened.  I imagined myself winning a medal.

Since I went pro in 2003, I always wanted to believe I could medal on the world stage, but whenever I tried to picture it, it was too fuzzy to focus on…too slippery to hold onto.  The power of belief is an incredible tool, and I do exercises all the time to create beliefs about myself that will help me achieve a goal, (check out the new project I’m about to release on the subject) but my mind won’t let me just believe any old thing just because I want to. While some beliefs come fairly quickly with a little disciplined practice, certain beliefs are hidden behind iron-gated doors with seven padlocks and a row of archers standing guard.  A medal has always been one of those things and I’ve been tracking down the keys one at a time over the years.

But something changed after London.  I don’t know if it was age or experience or euphoria, but I got a little glimpse behind the doors.  Daegu would be hot.  The world’s best would be doubling 10k/5k and the 5k was the second event of the two.  The races would likely be tactical.  The athletes with the fastest times don’t always win races like that.  You can predict the result of a Diamond League race based on season bests almost to the T.  But Championships are different. There is a difference between the “World’s Fastest” and the “World’s Best.” A lot of the “World’s Fastest” are dependent on rabbits to make the race happen for them. Suddenly in a championship race, there are no rabbits and it all comes down to the day and a bunch of factors out of your control. Being the “World’s Best” requires handling anything thrown at you, using your instincts well, having good luck, and managing the pressure and stress of the unknown.

Was I ever going to beat Vivian Cheruiyot?  Probably not.  But did I dream about it?  Yes.  Did I imagine scenarios where I won?  Yes, about 35 of them, as well as scenarios for silver, bronze, a close 4th, etc. I imagined myself on the back of the lead pack of Africans with two laps to go, but in Fake World I was able to match the move and kick it home and pick off as many people as reality allowed on the day.  However I also had a back up plan just in case I wasn’t firing at 100% on the day, or in case the race tactics were crazy fast, just to make sure that I didn’t have a stinker in the worst case scenario (like I did in Helsinki in 2005).  Some people may think of this as giving yourself a way out, but its exactly the opposite.  It helps me identify what I can and can’t control so I can use logic rather than emotion during the race.

Stay tuned for Part 2: Final thoughts on Worlds including “how not to tank a race” and putting the result in perspective.  Please comment below with questions, experiences, etc.  I love reading your thoughts.

 

This is what has been going on in Lauren-land today (most of it while you were sleeping). If you are the least bit curious to know what competition day looks like for a pro runner at the World Championships, read on.  I’ll take you through the experience just the way I lived it. I’m freaking out now that its all over by the way. It’s all so exciting I can’t stand it. Its 5am right now, the morning after my race, and of course I haven’t slept a wink.  So without further delay…

The Day of the Race

Korea Time (16 hours ahead of PST)

8am: wake to heart exploding out of chest with realization that today is the World Championships FINAL of the 5000 meters, and that I’m actually in it.

8:01 am: put the covers over my head, count to 100, and try to relax.

8:10 am: calmly head down to breakfast, intent on keeping things chilled out since I have TWELVE HOURS to kill before my race.

8:30am: In the dining hall (which is an amazingly converted subterranean parking garage 400 meters long) pickings are slim. I select a big mug of “brown rice green tea,” some questionable yogurt and cornflakes, 2 hard boiled eggs that are impossible to peel, and some legitimately amazing french toast.  One out of four ain’t bad.

8:35-9am: Most days I plop my tray down at a table full of American athletes of various disciplines, most of whom I’ve only seen on TV, and proceed to join in a table discussion, but today its a table for two with Leo Manzano.  Despite pulling his hamstring and missing out on making the final yesterday, he balanced his honest disappointment in his situation with encouragement for my upcoming race.  It was like the whole spectrum of athletic experience was encompassed in our little bubble, and I left breakfast with a new friend and a compulsion to stretch my hamstrings.

9am: decide to make a schedule for the day and pack up my things for the race so I can relax.  The idea is to let the schedule tick itself off item by item so I don’t have to think about it or make any decisions throughout the day.  When you are a ball of nerves, even deciding what time to take a nap can make your head explode.  Better to get all the thinking done at once.

10:30am: still thinking.

11am: finished packing and planning after a having a horrendous OCD episode which involved switching bags 3 times and quadruple checking that all my items were indeed in the right bags (one for race time, and one for post race since you can’t have certain things in the call rooms that you will want after you are done, etc.) Its really not that complicated, and I’m actually embarrassed I just shared that.

11am-1pm: Called Jesse with skype and we simultaneously watched “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” and laughed way harder than the first time we saw it.  Actually got worried I was tiring out my abs.  Afterwards we talked and Jesse didn’t say one thing about my race, just like a good little husband.

1pm: Tried to nap. Mild heart attack instead.  Decided it was better to be around people.  Hung out with the roomies and had some good laughs, painted nails, etc.

2:30pm: Made Coach Row come down to lunch with me so I could chill. The buffet was my worst nightmare; one side dish was mashed up soggy tater tots from breakfast, creatively renamed “potato saute.” Barf.  Can we say emergency back-up lunch?  PBJ.

3:30pm: Showered, primped, and headed over to Coach Row’s for the final wait.

5:50pm: final snack: my last Picky Bar (All-In-Almond) and green tea with Eugene honey sticks (a gift from the runners back home, thanks guys!)

The Trip Over

6:00pm: Check out with the USA Team Staff where they visually check to see that you have everything you need.  I passed the checkpoint thanks to my diligent packing and repacking and repacking.  Boom.

6:10pm: board the magic bus for the Stadium, full to the brim with athletes and coaches, and plop down next to coach Row where we proceed to discuss the musical career of Luther Vandross.

6:15pm: drive past a breathtaking view of the stadium at sunset, set into the lush, rolling, Jurrassic Park-like mountains like a giant, white, glowing space ship.  Both of us silenced by the sight of it.

6:20pm: arrive at the high security mondo practice track, which is 400 meters from the stadium.  There are jumbo screens on the infield showing the races, athletes executing various stages of their warmups, and tents surrounding the perimeter filled with coaches and medical staffs and support crews.  We set our stuff down in a tent by the USA staff and I get horizontal, passing the time with idle chat.

The Warmup

6:50: get loosened up with the help of Jack Magic.

7:10pm: warm up for race WAY earlier than normal because we have to be in the first call room 40 minutes before the start of our race (most races call you in 15-20 minutes before the gun goes off.)  Due to the warm conditions, I only jog nine minutes, with seven of it extremely slow, and the last two minutes at tempo.  My focus is my breath, using discipline to re-direct my mind to my affirmations whenever it strays. Basically I ran around telling myself I’m awesome.

7:20pm: stretch, do some activation exercises, fluids, bathroom for the fourth time in an hour, etc.

7:40pm: stride a 200 and grab my belongings.

7:45pm: Hugs and final words from Coach Rowlando, and high fives from the USA Team staff on the way into Call Room #1.

Being Called in to Compete

7:45-8pm: All the women in the race are in a booth together, waiting while the officials check our numbers.  Many of us go into a separate room to change out of our soaking wet warmups into dry racing uniforms so as not to get cold while sitting around for 30 minutes in the air conditioning.

8pm: we are driven on golf carts from the warmup track to Call Room #2 underneath the stadium.

8:05-8:15pm: All of us plop ourselves on benches while officials call us up one at a time.  For all 15 of us, they distribute a special timing chip bib with our name on it for the front of our jerseys, and check our spikes as well as rifle through the contents of our bags for who knows what.  We have to sit there for 10 minutes until everyone has been checked.  Then we are (finally) allowed to go into a little area with a 50 meter straightaway for a couple last minute drills and strides.

8:17pm: We are lined up and led single file through various tunnels and small passageways through the belly of the stadium to a ladder that will pop us up 100 meters from the 5k start. Music and cheering gets louder as we approach the ladder until the sounds from up there make us forget we were chit chatting with the woman next to us, and the vibration of the arena seduces the performer in most of us and paralyzes a few with fear.  A Japanese girl next to me starts shaking, pulling her hands to her face and groaning quietly, and I am distracted for a moment with empathy for her.  I’ve been there and its awful. But in this moment, I look up towards the source of the vibration with wanting.

8:20pm: As I climb up the steps, the small rectangle of bright light expands until my head emerges above the mondo track and the massive stadium engulfs me.  I am a fleck of dust in the Universe. Catniss Everdeen in the Arena.  Light flooding in all around me and I squint and bury my head to avoid being overwhelmed by the crowd.  My knees wobble for a moment, and I repeat my affirmations.  The crowd roars in response to some performance, so loud that I want to cover my ears, and I decide to ignore it…all of it.  Its just me and this track.  Me and this track.

8:22pm: Two strides

8:23pm: Lie on my back and soak in the field until I feel grounded.  Step towards the line.

8:25pm: TV camera rolls across us.  The gun explodes.

The Race

First 3k: I’m all focus.  I lose myself in the laps and relax as much as possible.  Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency.

5 laps to go: The Africans come swinging around the outside, and I pretend I am one of them: the rookie.  Having learned from the prelim that they work together, I try to read their pack dynamics and body language to anticipate when a move will be made.

4 and 3 laps to go: I cover all moves smoothly. I attempt to better my position, but once I do, they go back around me.  Its what they do anytime a non-African breaks into their pack, so I adapt my strategy and try to relax once again right behind them.

2 laps to go: The pain is barely endurable, and then 200 meters later, the leaders take off and the pack strings out.  I latch on as much as possible with the knowledge that I could easily fall apart at any moment.

1 lap to go: My physical limits are very near, but so is the finish line.

200 meters to go: I am barely surviving, reaching into the corners of the toothpaste tube to squeeze out just a little bit more, and I catch one more woman right before the finish line.

I didn’t know who won, who got medals, who I pipped at the line, what time I ran, or what place I finished.  Complete immersion into maximum effort drowned out all my senses.  It wasn’t until passing through the mixed zone with the media that I learned how I placed and all I could think about was this:

June 24th: 8th in the USA

September 2nd: 7th in the World.

Just goes to show, you never know what awaits you.  Believe in turnarounds. Believe in yourself.

Thank you husband. Thank you Nike OTC. Thank you Eugene. Thank you family. Thank you friends.

Lauren