Speed bumps on the road of life

When I decided to help coach a running program at my kids' elementary school this spring, I didn't exactly know what to expect. I'd never coached a team before and I've come late to running, having grown to love it only in the past three years. It wasn't like I was an expert on the ins and outs of exercise drills or the various muscle groups used during stretches and runs. Important coach stuff to know, I would think.

But here's what I do know: I have a passion for running, for working toward a sound mind and body, and most importantly for this particular program, a desire to help young girls feel strong -- both mentally and physically. As the mom of an almost-tween, and a woman who has dealt with (still deals with!) feeling "good enough," I can't shake this longing for doing my part to combat all the junk out there that suggests girls should look and act a certain part to get ahead in life. It starts early, from my own experience and from what I see just watching my own beautifully unique nearly 9-year-old navigate her own world of relationships and the images she's exposed to through various forms of media.

Four weeks into coaching Girls on the Run, a national program with chapters across the country, I'm so happy I've taken on this role. Incredibly, we have nearly 70 third-, fourth- and fifth-grade girls on our team -- we're the largest chapter in our region. Of course I am not doing this alone, and I am so grateful for how seven other parents -- including one dad! -- have stepped up and entered into the lives of these amazing young girls. It's not been easy at times, thanks not only to the sheer size of the group and the twice-weekly time commitment, but because...well, 8, 9 and 10 are tough ages to be.

Ok, so each age has its challenges. (I have a two younger boys, ages 6 and 3, and believe me, there's plenty of issues with each of these ages as well, and I can just imagine what's in store for me during the teen years...) But there's something about the upper elementary grades, for a girl, that make life I believe especially trying. I can remember these days clearly: who's your best friend, who's not can change nearly weekly...clothing takes on new significance...boys as friends vs. boys as people with cooties to avoid at all costs becomes a concern...and, then, the whole body thing, with changes happening for some of us quickly (or slower) than others.

During the six practices we've had so far, we've dealt with the to-be-expected physical trials like skinned knees, cuts and bruises, even a minor asthma attack. Most recently we've faced the inevitable, heart-breaking tears over friend misunderstandings, hurtful gossiping and general relationship ickiness and drama. It's gonna happen, and while frustrating at times, I almost welcome it because the curriculum we follow talks about all this stuff, and then some. I feel almost honored to be there, helping these girls make sense of what's to them a very confusing time in their life. And in between all this, of course, we run. We stretch and play games and we run. We fall, figuratuvely and literally, but we help each other get back up, move forward and ultimately find out that we really can do more than we thought we could.

I love that now, walking through the school's hallways, girls yell out to me, "Hi, Mrs. Durocher!" and stop to share tidbits from their life, like how they talked things through with a friend or have been running on the weekends with their families.

I've also realized how much I'm learning from these girls. As I write this today I'm facing a decision I don't want to make, and I can't help thinking about how I'd be smart to heed some of the advice dispensed through the Girls on the Run program. Make healthy choices. Respect yourself. Take good care of your body.

As I've shared on this blog, I signed up for my first marathon this spring. After three half-marathons, a handful of 10- and 5-Ks, I felt ready to take the plunge and train for 26.2 miles. Having heard tales of runners pushing themselves too hard during training and injuring themselves to the point of having to pull out of the race, I was determined from the start to train smart. I imagined myself walking that fine line of challenging myself while listening to my body. I printed out a training guide based on my best half-marathon time of 1:48, but even that outline seemed overly aggressive at times. So I modified it some to be sure I kept to my goal of making it to race day unhurt.

Then it happened. I got overly-confident.

One cool, sunny Friday I laced up and headed out for a 10-miler. It went so well and I felt so good afterward, I somehow thought I would have no problem doing 12 miles just two days later, and then another 12 several days after that. Up to that point I'd been doing 6 miles at the most on a fairly consistent basis and so this jump up didn't seem too crazy at all. And maybe it wouldn't have been if I hadn't also dialed up my speed and incorporated a bigger hill into the mix. All together, it apparently was just too much. My left achilles informed me of my mistake.

I haven't run for a week now, having had to cut a planned 18-miler short after experiencing intense pain 10 miles in (yes, even after initial aches following the previous 12-miler, I thought I could do this even longer run). I pushed through a few more miles that afternoon, stopping every so often to rest and hope the throbbing would just go away. But it didn't. So I walked. Fighting tears, I walked several miles home, feeling stupid, ashamed, guilty...and then angry for not going easier on myself. Why is it I am so hard on myself when I would be nothing but loving and compassionate toward a friend in the same situation?

I thought of the girls I'm coaching and the all the lessons we're learning, that even I'm obviously still learning. And while I want to run a marathon very badly, now perhaps is just not my time. The last thing I want to do is injure myself further. There will be other races. Other times to prove to myself that I can do something I never thought I could do. Take care of yourself.

It's rather astounding to me that, at age 34, taking care of myself could prove to be such a difficult task. But the more I am aware of the benefits of doing so, and the more I witness it in the young girls I'm coaching and experience it firsthand, the more I realize it really is the only way to go. I think my girls would be proud to hear me say so -- and to see me actually live it out, too.

If you'd like to learn more about Girls on the Run, please check out the non-profit's web site. Also see the founder Molly Barker's very cool blog.

I found my thrill...

Back in high school, it was a place to drive to with your date. It wasn't a make-out spot - no place to park except smack-dab in front of a home -- but more of a scenic venture uphill that, once at the top, provided an incredible view of West Grand Traverse Bay and the city lights below.

It's still a location we'll drive to now and again with the kids, especially around the holidays to see Christmas decorations, but Wayne Hill in Traverse City holds a new and different meaning nowadays: an excruciatingly steep stretch of road I'm determined to conquer in the weeks leading up to the Bayshore Marathon. Which is, scarily enough, fast-approaching. Hello, less than three months away to race day.

So, Wayne Hill. It's a gorgeous area on the west side of the city, a looped neighborhood of maybe three dozen or so homes, some of which have amazing panoramic views given the location's high elevation overlooking the Bay and city stretching eastward. I remember when a grade school friend moved from the lower-lying east side to Wayne Hill in junior high, and our group of friends all thought, "Wow, her family has arrived!"

In recent years I've run not even half-way up Wayne Hill. It was part of my running group's regular route, but we always took a sharp right onto a trail before the road turned too steep. As I train for the longest race I've ever attempted, I got the crazy idea that maybe I should Just. Keep. Going. and let this hill know I mean business. Hill work supposedly helps your endurance, right? I don't know the specifics of this; all I know is running up hills is super hard and so I figure there must be some payback for the ridiculous amount of effort that goes into running at an incline.

So the other day, feeling particularly ambitious and deliriously happy about the sunshine finally making an appearance in northern Michigan, I kept right on going up Wayne Hill.

With help from 90s music blaring on my iPod (thank you, Rob Base"It Takes Two"), I got....not quite there.

This is a big, big hill. What was I thinking?

Strong as I felt at the bottom, three-quarters of the way up, I was toast. Lungs and legs were burning, the thumping, normally keep-me-going music wasn't cutting it. I was done. So I stopped and walked, completely out of breath.

That's when I noticed a man getting out of his car in a driveway just ahead of me. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was clearly looking at me and his mouth was moving. I removed my iPod earphones.

"Wow, just watching you run up this hill makes me tired! I can hardly walk it. Great job! Keep it up!" Then he waved before going inside his home.

Amazing how a simple comment from a stranger can make you feel pretty awesome. And maybe a tad crazy. Who does run Wayne Hill anyway?

This is not the part where the corny music is cued and I suddenly experienced an infusion of strength to keep going, to victoriously go on to reach the top of the summit. I still kept walking, huffing and puffing each step. I did manage a weak wave and smile in the man's direction.

But the top wasn't so far off, and once there, I was reminded of the spectacular view - made even more beautiful by the sparkling ice and snow covering the water below. I stood there for a few moments, taking it in ... and catching my breath.

Next time, I think, it won't be so bad. And there's always the view.

26.2 = crazy?

In one of those serendipitous moments that come along now and again, my friend Meg handed me the Spirit of the Marathon DVD the day after I signed up for my first marathon. I hadn't heard about this 2007 documentary until Meg mentioned how she'd just watched it and was completely moved by the film's following of both first-time and veteran runners preparing for the Chicago Marathon. We often recommend movies to each other, and this one was a definite one to watch, she told me.

I must say this before I go on: No one is more surprised than I that I'm digging running these days. Well, maybe my high school girlfriends, one of whom I saw this past week and who just stared at me a little slack-jawed and a bit speechless when the topic came up and I shared how I'd decided to sign up for the Bayshore Marathon. Not that I was a complete couch potato or anything back in the day, but I was decidedly not the cross-country running type. I didn't much care for exercise of any kind, really, unless you count my perfecting of a toe-touch. Voluntarily running mile after mile, going round and round a track? Now why in the world would anyone choose to do that?

But a lifetime later, I find myself taking time out of my days to lace up and run the roads and trails, even in the cold and snow, which really is mind-boggling if you think about it. I've subjected myself to several races even. And the kicker is that most of the time I actually like this madness. Even so, what's struck me in the past few years that I've taken to this sport is just how hard it is. Sure, some days are easier than others - the hills don't kill you as badly and your lungs and legs don't feel like they'll give at any moment - but really, it's a challenge each and every time. Not just physically, but mentally. Why go run when there's so many other things to do? When you could just as easily sit and veg?

That's why I loved this documentary so much. It answers that question of why anyone in their right mind would agree to run 26.2 miles. (History buffs will like learning about the origin of 'marathon' and there's some fascinating info on the 26.2-mile distance and how it affects our bodies.) Watching this affirmed my belief that running truly is a metaphor for life. There's days you're loving what you're doing, when your world of family, work and friends is jiving so well and you can't imagine things getting much better....and then, there's times you just want to give up, or at the very least, stop for awhile to catch your breath and maybe take a different route. But no matter what, you keep going, even when you don't want to or don't think you can, usually because you somehow find that inner strength and if you're lucky, have amazing people in your life to cheer you on.

One of my favorite lines from the film is from women's running pioneer Kathrine Switzer: "You triumph over the adversity, that's what the marathon is all about. And therefore you know there isn't anything in life you can't triumph over after that." (Kathrine, by the way, was the first woman to officially enter and run the Boston Marathon, nearly getting kicked out while she ran because she was female. Love her.)

This movie spoke to me because I run, but even if I didn't, I imagine I'd be inspired by these six individuals and their stories of how training for a marathon changed their lives. Check out the trailer, or better yet, watch this movie. Love it? Think I'm nuts? Let me know - I'd love to hear your thoughts.