T-Minus 2 Weeks to 5K

There are 6 days of school between me and summer...and two of them are half days. #icandothis

Thank you, small child. Never grow up to be a 5th grader. 

Teaching has kind of been my entire life for the last few weeks, hence the lack of new blog posts. (Sorry...I know you all LIVE for the witty, detailed accounts of my numerous and varied daring deeds.)

But now I'm training for a 5k, my first race in approximately forever, so I feel like I have something worth writing about again.

I've been trying to get back in shape ever since I got back from Europe. (Sure, I walked several miles a day while adventuring, but I also ate a LOT of croissants.)

For a while, my post-Europe exercise regimen was going well: I was hitting the gym at least 4 times a week, and I could feel my body slowly starting to return to its pre-macaroon fitness level.

But then I fell into a rut. My gym habit became more exercise routine than exercise regimen. If my progress were a geographical feature, it would have been a plateau. And all that was before I even started my job.

Corralling first through fifth graders into learning all day--on top of writing lesson plans and learning all the ins and outs of a new school--left me with very little energy by the end of the day, and the last thing that I wanted to do was hit the gym or go for a run.

All of these factors added up to a bit of an identity crisis for me; I've always been "the fitness nut." The freak who got up extra early before her 8AMs every morning to hit the campus gym the minute it opened at 6:30. The crazy who ran a half marathon and then drove 3 hours to play in a Kronum tournament. The nut who always took the stairs instead of the elevator, even when the elevator was right there.

The fact that I wasn't running six days a week, wasn't doing any strength workouts, wasn't doing yoga at all had me questioning whether "fitness" was still part of who I was.

Deep stuff.

So I got good deal on a Fitbit and headed off to the beach for Spring Break. And it helped: I got my butt out of my beach chair and took long, romantic walks along the beach at sunset...just me and my Fitbit.

Once I felt like I had an obligation to get up and move (those 10,000 steps aren't going to take themselves), I actually did it. The whole obligation thing also worked for soccer: I joined two teams, which gave me a social obligation to show up (can't let the team down), as well as a financial one (I paid $60 bucks for this league...I HAVE to go to the games). Not to mention, soccer is more fun than weightlifting.

Still, something was missing. So I applied the obligation tactic to running and signed myself up for a 5k, my first race in almost three years. I even coerced Evan into signing up too. Then he (conveniently?) broke his toe last week, so there goes my running buddy.

Running became part of my identity about eight years ago. I started running in high school, at first just to get in shape/stay in shape for soccer. But then I joined the track team my sophomore year, and I was hooked. I found myself running extra miles after games and practices during the soccer season, that way I would stay in racing shape for the next track season. (And yes, my soccer teammates gave me crap for that. Every. Single. Time. Yay, petty high school drama!)

I attempted almost every event a track meet has to offer (including long jump, to disastrous results) before I settled in as a mid-distance runner, usually running the 2nd or 3rd leg of the 4x800 relay. But once I went off to college, I--inspired by my fellow running addict and best friend--decided that I wanted to run a marathon. I started by training for the Iron Girl half marathon, and then forked over $90 to register for the Baltimore Marathon in the October of my sophomore year of college.

On the morning of the race, I got up at 5:00am, Sharpie-tattooed my mom's cell number on my arm (just in case I collapsed mid-race), and headed for M&T Bank Stadium, where the race would begin.

Silly pre-marathon Jess. So much pain ahead of you.

The 26.2 miles are a hellish blur in my memory, but a few details stand out: seeing my mom at the halfway marker (luckily I was still able to smile and wave at that point, because she snapped a picture); stopping by the water stop at mile 20, which supplied runners with Baltimore's favorite beer (Natty Boh), and tears of pain streaming down my face as I ran over that colorful bridge by MICA (the sight of which makes me flinch to this day). I have a vague memory of running the last .2 miles through Camden Yards, and crossing the finish line with legs that I could no longer feel.

Halfway there!

I don't think the post-race pictures of me with my tinfoil blanket and my medal quite capture the sheer exhaustion--both mental and physical--that I was feeling. The pride doesn't show either...that came later, after my 5-hour-long recovery nap.

The last race that I ran was another half marathon the following spring (the one that I finished and then road-tripped to New Jersey for a Kronum tournament, nut that I was). Since then, I haven't raced, but I kept running fairly regularly, and I still hit the gym up until I graduated last spring.

Going to Europe shook up my whole life (which was kind of the point). But it meant that when I got back to the States, getting fit was a struggle. So I'm excited to be finally getting back into it (tough as it is).

Any fitness tips? Recommendations for yoga videos? (That's next on my to-do list.)