In Dad's Footsteps (Houston Marathon Race Report 2015)

In 1989, at age 40, my Dad ran a 2:48 at the Houston marathon to qualify for Boston. I was 13 years old at the time, and I remember spectating the race with Mom and Adam. Mom dragged two reluctant kids all over downtown Houston to provide cheers and support for Dad along the course. I was unimpressed with the entire situation, typical for my age, but I remember how Mom rushed us from mile marker to mile marker, offering relentless support to Dad as he went flying by. I also remember Dad's spectacular collapse at the finish line - the first time I ever saw him as anything other than strong and tough; my usually stoic father showed such emotion as he greeted Mom after reaching his goal.

Those are pretty big shoes to fill. To be honest, for years I never even considered the possibility of a BQ. I've been a 10-minute-mile runner forever.

Then, last winter, something happened. A question snuck into my mind and eventually I became brave enough to say it out loud to Dawn. "Do you think I can improve my running enough in two years to qualify for Boston at age 40? Because it would be really cool to do that at the Houston marathon and (literally) follow in my Dad's footsteps."

At the time, I had completed 5 marathons. My PR was a 4:46. I'd need to take an hour off my best time to get the 3:45 I'd need to qualify for Boston. Was I being ridiculous? Here's why I love Dawn - she immediately and confidently replied, "YES, OF COURSE YOU CAN." And I started to really consider it.

A year went by and some confidence was built and I raced in San Antonio in December 2014 and went sub-4 for the first time. I'd need 12 more minutes to make that BQ time. The Houston marathon was coming up in just 6 weeks. I started to believe that I could do it, although I didn't really "have to" until next year, to make the magic "BQ at 40 in Houston" goal.

When I lined up to race last Sunday, my entire family was there to support me. Mom and Dad were there. Adam and Jen and their adorable children had driven in from Louisiana and were going to be on the course cheering. Because this was Dad's race course and a part of our family's history, this was a big deal for me. It was emotional. And I was going to go for it.

Hazel, Jen, William, and Henry waiting at Mile 15.

 It was weird to stand in the corral at a start line by myself. No Shelly or the girls. Just me and my goal, and a note written on my hand with a Sharpie, "How bad do you want it?" (Thank you Bree). As teammate Trent passed me in the first mile of the race in pursuit of his own BQ, I looked at my hand for the hundredth time, picked up my shoulders, and went for it. I raced my heart out, I ran at the intended pace for 17 miles, and then began the inevitable fade. I'd find myself falling off the pace and then struggling to turn my feet over faster to pick it up again. Even with the bottle of Coke that my amazing friend Rene provided at mile 21, I couldn't keep up the pace, but I tried my very best. I am so proud of this race.

I didn't qualify for Boston. With a 3:52 finish, I did chip 5 minutes off my time. I'll make a Smart Plan to make the whole dream come true next January in Houston when I'm 40 - I've already signed up for the race. I need to find 7 minutes to make that BQ time. I know that I can do it.

Although I didn't reach my goal, the race was incredible. A gorgeous course with hundreds of thousands of screaming spectators, ridiculously well organized and supported, with perfect weather. I'll recommend this race to everyone; it was so much fun. Even with thick crowds and the relentless pounding of a flat course that ends with 3 miles of punishing hills (yes, there are hills in downtown Houston, I didn't believe it either).

The joy at this race was in sharing it with my family. At multiple points along the way, they were there yelling support and providing "Pinky 5's," a salute invented on race day by my ridiculously cute nephews. When I saw them for the first time at mile 15, I lost my composure for a few minutes afterwards and had to gasp for breath as I tried to stop crying. I was following in my Dad's footsteps while chasing my own dream and they were all there sharing it with me - it was overwhelming.

Saw the family, smiled, and then melted down for a quarter of a mile. :)

It was similarly emotional to have Dad run alongside me as they caught me again at mile 23. Our conversation went like this: "You're doing great." "I'm not going to make my goal, but it's okay, I'm going to PR." "You're not far off your goal." "I know. I just need to learn how to be in pain for 10 miles. I'll get it." (That's an example of a ridiculous change in mindset - I'm beginning to crave that pain, as Dawn says). And then I ran off to finish the race.

Running with Dad on the Houston Marathon course. Pretty amazing (He's far right, in Pink, on purpose). 

My Dad has always been the Real Runner in the family. He's been in my corner for as long as I've been doing this, but now something has changed. He's coaching me, giving me advice; he really believes I can qualify for Boston, which means he thinks I'm a Real Runner too. Somewhere along the way, I'm going to believe it as well. Houston 2016 is a year away, and I'll be ready.

Running Like a Swimmer

The other day, I was talking with a coworker that I've been informally coaching for over a year as he's transformed himself into a pretty good runner. Vincent reminded me of something that I told him a while back that I didn't even remember saying - "Just go for it. What's the worst that can happen?" He told me that on a 20 mile run last weekend, as he picked up the pace, he thought to himself, "the worst thing that will happen is that my wife will have to come and pick me up." As a result, he ran faster than he's ever run before, because he got rid of fear.

I've posted quite a few times about putting fear aside and going for it. But having a goal of a BQ at the Houston marathon in a few weeks brings up a whole new level of scary, turbulent fear. What if I fail? What if I hurt myself? ...what if I give up?

There's such an enormous contrast between how I feel as a runner and how I feel as a swimmer. I will confidently tell you, "I am a swimmer." Between swimming, biking, and running, I'm definitely best at swimming. Because it's what I'm good at, it's what I love - I mean LOVE. Love it so much that I'll ask my coach for a 100x100 swim for my birthday. Love it so much that I will fearlessly set big goals for a timed event. Love it so much that when I see a difficult set on my workout plan, my thought is "cool! Let me see if I can do this," not (as I do when I see a similar running workout), "crap, I hope I don't fail."

The confidence and joy that I feel in swimming allows me to push through one difficult workout after the next, which, of course, builds strength and makes me faster, which provides more confidence and joy. Clearly, this is a pattern. So how to translate it to running? How do I run with confidence, when in the back of my mind, I'm always saying, "what if I fail?"

This morning, I happily swam to a new PR for the hour swim at Monica's Mile - 3800 yards, which is 200 more than last year. I felt physically sick for the rest of the day because of the effort I put into the swim. But I still had a 2.5 hour run to do, with goal paces that I was supposed to reach. Ugggggg.

I put off the run until I realized that I'd run (haha) out of daylight to do it. Then I headed out on an out-and-back route in which I was supposed to start out slowish and then hold a 9 minute mile pace or better for the last hour and a half...on a false flat, into a huge headwind. 

I went out too fast. My first few miles were at an 8:45ish pace. I thought about my own advice that Vincent had repeated back to me. What's the worst that can happen? (Well, I could end up an hour and 15 minutes away from my car, walking, and it could get dark, and I could get murdered. But we won't think about that.) I made an effort to just go for it and see what happened. I forced myself to be confident. I embraced the challenge and chose to run like I swim. I bet you can guess what happened next (or I wouldn't be blogging about it - ha)...I held the pace I started with. I even ran a negative split on the way back! Talk about a confidence builder.

What's the worst that can happen? My answer: you can finish this race knowing you didn't try your best. Whatever happens in Houston, I vow to run with confidence, even if I have to remind myself every mile to run like I'm swimming. I might even start to tell you confidently, "I am a runner." And I'll re-read this post a thousand times in the next couple of weeks to remind myself.

Super happy fun times at my 100x100 birthday swim - thanks to the lovely ladies, Dawn, Michelle, and Linda for joining me on Christmas Day to swim!

Some of the Tri-Belief crew (although no matchy suits this year) - Trent, Orissa, Linda, me, and Shelly at Monica's Mile, year 3! An awesome event, as always. A thousand thank yous to Bree Soileau for timing me today!

Dawn's version of "don't be afraid." This has been on my desk at work since 2011 when, during marathon training, Shelly and I asked "what's the worst that could happen?" for the first time.

San Antonio Rock n Roll Marathon Race Report 2014

There's a THREE at the front of my marathon PR. Last Sunday, under perfect conditions, I ran a perfect race and grabbed a new marathon PR of 3:57. I can't even describe how amazing that feels. Really, I can't. I've tried and deleted at least 7 attempts at this post over the last week.

There's not very much for me to say about the race itself. I described the course in last year's report, and it hasn't changed (neither have the crowds). I'd rather talk about the reason that I had the kind of day that results in a 33-minute PR at a distance that I haven't been able to understand in 6 tries, until now, lucky number 7.

Except that I'm not going to credit luck. I wasn't lucky last Sunday. Yes, it's lucky that the weather was great: mid 50s and overcast. (And I did wish on a star that fell right behind the porta potties at the park n ride before the race!) But otherwise, luck is not the reason that I achieved something that constantly eluded me before. I was successful because I changed my mindset approaching the race.

When I'm talking about marathon or ironman, I tend to go on and on about having "respect for the distance." Clearly, that's important. There are some things that you just can't fake or muscle through, and marathon and ironman are two of them. Both take preparation, consistent training, dedication, and heart. However, as far as marathon is concerned (and maybe ironman too) I've been disguising fear as respect, and there's a difference.

Respect: This is a tough distance and I've set a hard goal, but I've trained, I'm ready, and I'm going to do my best to accomplish something and have some fun today.

Fear: Marathons are hard, so it's ok if you don't reach your goal.

In the week leading up to the race, I solicited the advice of everyone I could think of who would help me to get into the right mental place. People that I really look up to: Dad; Dawn, my coach; Trent and Rene, my super fast training buddies; and finally, in a desperate, late-night plea the day before the race: Bree, my Worlds-crushing travel buddy. They all said the same thing. Of course you can do it. Then, more importantly, they proved it to me: you ran that pace at Buffalo Springs and Norseman, off the bike. You ran faster than that pace on multiple long training runs. You can do it. You have it in you. It'll probably be easy. Try. Have fun. Go get it.

I cried over this. What if I fail? I've told tons of people my goal of going sub-4: what if I end up having a terrible day out there? I'll disappoint people, I'll look stupid. Looking back, it seems ridiculous to have struggled so much over something that doesn't really matter in the whole scheme of things. But oh my goodness, I struggled.

On race morning, under perfect conditions, I still think it could have gone either way. I consciously decided as I crossed the start line to put fear away and to have fun chasing a goal. And sure enough, mile after mile, my Garmin proved to me that I was doing it: one 9-minute mile after the next. For someone who has considered herself a 10-minute-mile runner for 15+ years, this was just huge.

Super happy to not be cramping at mile 18.

Even after my iPod crapped out at mile 8 and Shelly took off to crush the half, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I kept on running steady. Seeing Mom and Dad at mile 13, 18, and 24, out on the lonely back half of the course, gave me a boost. Using positive thoughts and singing a little to myself, taking strength from passing people, smiling as spectators called me "Pinky" like they've done at races all year, pretending that I was running in Norway, channeling that joy, I made my way to the finish line. My feet were burning and my legs threatened to cramp with every step after mile 24, but I didn't slow down. With half a mile to go, I checked my Garmin and knew that I was going to make it. I started smiling then. I beat my goal by 3 minutes and smiled so much as I crossed the finish line that the announcer even said "Now there's a smile, Kristina Cordova, Smash!" (Then I burst into tears.)

Photo by Dad at mile 24. I had so much I wanted to say, but all I could get out was a four-letter word. (Sorry Mom.)

I'm really proud of myself for reaching my goal, for putting fear away and going for it. It was hard, it hurt, but I didn't let myself stop or slow down or settle for something less than my best. As always, this is the stuff that will help going forwards, in racing and in life. Make new goals. Get comfortable being uncomfortable, and you'll reap the benefits. Hard work works, and so does believing in yourself. I proved it last Sunday. The future is wide open, and I'm so excited to see what happens next. I know I just keep saying this, but it's true.

In fact, what happens next is the Houston marathon in January. And I'll put the goal out there: I want to qualify for Boston. I'm 12 minutes away. Every marathon I run after this, that's what I'll be aiming at. Mindset = changed. And I refuse to be afraid.

Strong, Calm, and Confident - Mental Training

This weekend, a few weeks into the "off season" (which actually means marathon season - which is really not "off" at all), I took Coachie up on an offer to ride with her. It would be foolish not to accept an invitation to ride with Dawn - my take on this is always that if I ride with her, it's going to hurt but I'll get so much more out of it than riding by myself (or with the girls for a donut) that I have to do it every time I can.

So I went with her a couple of weeks ago and it was a total sufferfest (for me. For her, it was a "social ride" which meant she chattered easily the entire time while I tried not to die). It ended up being a 4 hour ride, during which we rode down Krueger Canyon (the last time she rode there, she crashed and broke her collarbone, so that was a fun memory to revisit), and back along some horrible new chip seal and down some access roads to major highways that I'm still trying to block out of my memory. The last hour and a half was torture for me, but afterwards, I thanked her and told her I would love to ride with her again, anytime she'll have me.

That opportunity came up again this weekend. She extended an invitation to the Tri-Belief group and I was the only sucker taker. It was cold and windy and we headed up Blanco Rd. at 12 mph. At first I wondered if she was waiting for me, but of course she was struggling too, leading us into the 15-25 mph headwind and providing a (very welcome) draft for me.

I love riding with Dawn because I can watch what she does and copy it. Just like following Hillary down Mt. Lemmon at camp, I followed Dawn through all the twists and turns, up and down hills, watching how she turned and how she leaned and when she stayed in the bars and when she sat up. By trying to do what she does, I'm learning to be more comfortable on my bike. Woo hoo! Oh, and also we took a break to take some photos of the cows.

At one point, Dawn had to do a 15 minute effort into the wind, along a straightish road with rolling hills. As I watched her disappear into the distance, I concentrated on my own effort - stay in the aerobars. Keep making smooth circles with your feet. Don't let up, keep riding strong. Thoughts came up, "I'm afraid of the crosswind - what if I crash? I'm scared to turn corners." I refused to let my mind use those words - scared and afraid. Instead, a mantra bubbled up, which I repeated throughout the ride - "I am strong, I am calm, I am confident." (Sounded quite a lot like Stuart Smalley or the nanny talking to the little girl in "The Help" - haha - but it worked!) I thought about racing - I don't have to catch up with her, I just have to know I'm going as fast as I can. When I finally did reach her (she had turned around for me), I felt proud of my effort.

The reward was a screaming tailwind on the way home. Of course by this time, almost 3 hours later, I was cooked. Dawn instructed me to get on her wheel, never falling more than a bike length back - we only had an hour to get back to her house. So we blasted back down Blanco Rd, this time at 40 mph. And although I was suffering, I continued to repeat my mantra, and I stayed on her wheel (in zone 4. Zone 4!!! On her wheel with a tailwind!!!).

I'm putting this in the bank for the next racing season. I am strong, I am calm, I am confident (and doggone it, people like me!). Ride on!