This is the image of the race shirt. Yes, there is a statue of Lenin in Fremont. It’s as glorious as you might imagine. Unfortunately, the shirts are GINORMOUS so it fits Husband and not me. Until I take my scissors and sewing machine to it. 

I love this 5K. I never spend any time in this neighborhood because the parking situation is atrocious, but note to self, it’s a fun place to run.

I had a time goal in mind for this race. But I also wanted to have fun. I mean, come on. It’s a Friday evening 5K. You just can’t take that too seriously. So I did the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my racing career: I left my garmin at home. Intentionally. I stopped, took it off my wrist, and then walked out the door. I run without it maybe 1/3 of my regular runs, but I haven’t raced without it since I bought it. 

Anyway. 

A goal: meet my time goal and have fun doing it

B goal: PR and have fun doing it

Definitely met my B goal. And I was a measly 15 seconds from my time goal. 

This is where I would normally drop into a self loathing examination of what I did wrong (eating nothing but kettle corn for the entire day before a race is neither a healthy nor wise decision, wasn’t as hydrated as I should have been, should have gone with shorts over capris because it was so warm, if I’d worn my garmin I would have known how close I was and I easily could have pushed for those 15 seconds)

but I’m not doing that. I haven’t been training for speed. At all. I shaved 1:16 off my previous 5K PR and I’m pretty very happy about that. 

More importantly, I want to race again. So excuse me, but I have hours to waste over at gametiime plotting my imaginary race schedule for the rest of the year. 

tl; dr: missed time goal by xx:15, but PR’d. Happy about it. 

This is the image of the race shirt. Yes, there is a statue of Lenin in Fremont. It’s as glorious as you might imagine. Unfortunately, the shirts are GINORMOUS so it fits Husband and not me. Until I take my scissors and sewing machine to it. 

I love this 5K. I never spend any time in this neighborhood because the parking situation is atrocious, but note to self, it’s a fun place to run.

I had a time goal in mind for this race. But I also wanted to have fun. I mean, come on. It’s a Friday evening 5K. You just can’t take that too seriously. So I did the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my racing career: I left my garmin at home. Intentionally. I stopped, took it off my wrist, and then walked out the door. I run without it maybe 1/3 of my regular runs, but I haven’t raced without it since I bought it. 

Anyway. 

A goal: meet my time goal and have fun doing it

B goal: PR and have fun doing it

Definitely met my B goal. And I was a measly 15 seconds from my time goal. 

This is where I would normally drop into a self loathing examination of what I did wrong (eating nothing but kettle corn for the entire day before a race is neither a healthy nor wise decision, wasn’t as hydrated as I should have been, should have gone with shorts over capris because it was so warm, if I’d worn my garmin I would have known how close I was and I easily could have pushed for those 15 seconds)

but I’m not doing that. I haven’t been training for speed. At all. I shaved 1:16 off my previous 5K PR and I’m pretty very happy about that. 

More importantly, I want to race again. So excuse me, but I have hours to waste over at gametiime plotting my imaginary race schedule for the rest of the year. 

tl; dr: missed time goal by xx:15, but PR’d. Happy about it. 

so why not test it all the time? 

My husband broke his tibia and fibula almost two weeks ago. Last Wednesday, he had a rod (actually a nail) placed inside his tibia, and four pins to hold it in place. 

We went in last Monday for the consultation appointment, and I made one of the most selfish requests of my life. The orthopedic surgeon said the surgery would require an overnight stay just so they could keep an eye on things. I told him I had a race on Saturday so we needed the surgery as early as possible. As I said this, Husband turned toward me, with pupils fully dilated as if I had just thrown him to the wolves. Big baby. Someone needs to sort out their priorities.

The surgeon rearranged his schedule and got my husband in a full day earlier than originally expected, just so I could run my race on Saturday.  

Husband works non-traditional hours, which include both Saturday and Sunday. Usually me running a race includes begging one set of grandparents or the other to take the child for an overnight. Which generally means I have to swoop him up on my drive home from any given race which also eliminates any chance of an actual recovery routine. 

Expected recovery time is in the 3-4 month range for this surgery. 

I will be squeezing as many races as I can out of this. 

so why not test it all the time? 

My husband broke his tibia and fibula almost two weeks ago. Last Wednesday, he had a rod (actually a nail) placed inside his tibia, and four pins to hold it in place. 

We went in last Monday for the consultation appointment, and I made one of the most selfish requests of my life. The orthopedic surgeon said the surgery would require an overnight stay just so they could keep an eye on things. I told him I had a race on Saturday so we needed the surgery as early as possible. As I said this, Husband turned toward me, with pupils fully dilated as if I had just thrown him to the wolves. Big baby. Someone needs to sort out their priorities.

The surgeon rearranged his schedule and got my husband in a full day earlier than originally expected, just so I could run my race on Saturday.  

Husband works non-traditional hours, which include both Saturday and Sunday. Usually me running a race includes begging one set of grandparents or the other to take the child for an overnight. Which generally means I have to swoop him up on my drive home from any given race which also eliminates any chance of an actual recovery routine. 

Expected recovery time is in the 3-4 month range for this surgery. 

I will be squeezing as many races as I can out of this. 

How to take an amazing race photo:

I felt the need to move this post over from the archives. 

This is where you jump in. No, really. How do you do it?

Here’s one from Sunday (10/4/11):

As good as it gets

I can guarantee you are not seeing what I did when I first looked at this photo. But then I told myself to shut up because I refuse to allow a photograph to diminish the experience. So I kept looking until I could see something different.

Yep, my face is red. Because I’m working really hard. Really, really hard.

Yep, I’m staring at the ground. Because I’m doing something I’ve never done before. (And I’m trying not to fall on my ass or lose a shoe.)

I giggled at my hair (not because my piggy buns are crooked) but the fact that my hair grows out of my head almost black and then gets very auburn. To think of all the time I wasted coloring my hair red in high school. Side note: I’m in love with that headband!

I ran with wider elbows that usual because there was a lot of semi-lateral movement. Once again, I was trying to avoid falling. Embarrassment was not the issue, pain was. It also appears that I’m really twisting from the hips. I don’t know if that is because this was taken just before finishing the race and I’m exhausted, because I was back in the deep mud or something completely different. Twisting is definitely not part of my regular running form.

I’m not wearing any knee sleeves. This is the cherry on top of the icing on my cake that is trail running.

Best of all,  after staring at this picture on and off for the 40 minutes it has taken me to write the post, I’ve come to love it.

Is there a secret to taking a good race photo? Looking at the camera and smiling certainly go a long way. But it’s even more important to remember that a picture is quite literally a snapshot in time. A fraction of a second. Too short for the human eye to recognize. A photograph is not an opportunity to pick yourself apart. It’s a tool to bring up the memory from the recesses of your brain. Does this shot look like it belongs in a magazine spread? Hell no. But that top used to cling to my tummy, and I think my legs look awesome.

The real secret? Perspective.

How do you feel about your race photos (or photos in general)?

How to take an amazing race photo:

I felt the need to move this post over from the archives. 

This is where you jump in. No, really. How do you do it?

Here’s one from Sunday (10/4/11):

As good as it gets

I can guarantee you are not seeing what I did when I first looked at this photo. But then I told myself to shut up because I refuse to allow a photograph to diminish the experience. So I kept looking until I could see something different.

Yep, my face is red. Because I’m working really hard. Really, really hard.

Yep, I’m staring at the ground. Because I’m doing something I’ve never done before. (And I’m trying not to fall on my ass or lose a shoe.)

I giggled at my hair (not because my piggy buns are crooked) but the fact that my hair grows out of my head almost black and then gets very auburn. To think of all the time I wasted coloring my hair red in high school. Side note: I’m in love with that headband!

I ran with wider elbows that usual because there was a lot of semi-lateral movement. Once again, I was trying to avoid falling. Embarrassment was not the issue, pain was. It also appears that I’m really twisting from the hips. I don’t know if that is because this was taken just before finishing the race and I’m exhausted, because I was back in the deep mud or something completely different. Twisting is definitely not part of my regular running form.

I’m not wearing any knee sleeves. This is the cherry on top of the icing on my cake that is trail running.

Best of all,  after staring at this picture on and off for the 40 minutes it has taken me to write the post, I’ve come to love it.

Is there a secret to taking a good race photo? Looking at the camera and smiling certainly go a long way. But it’s even more important to remember that a picture is quite literally a snapshot in time. A fraction of a second. Too short for the human eye to recognize. A photograph is not an opportunity to pick yourself apart. It’s a tool to bring up the memory from the recesses of your brain. Does this shot look like it belongs in a magazine spread? Hell no. But that top used to cling to my tummy, and I think my legs look awesome.

The real secret? Perspective.

How do you feel about your race photos (or photos in general)?