Amy Reinink

In the past, I never saw the need to combine my charitable giving with my recreational racing. I thought the two were best kept separate, and as a result, never used my various races as a way to raise money for causes I believed in.

Then, my mother-in-law got sick. Steve and I launched into a campaign to run the Bolder Boulder 10K as a fund-raiser for the American Cancer Society in her honor, and found it to be one of the most fulfilling experiences of our lives. Asking our friends and family members to support us in a cause we felt so passionate about lit a new kind of fire under us. It didn’t result in stellar times for either of us, thanks to such factors as high altitudes and new ACLs, but it did result in us raising $3,000 for the American Cancer Society.

A side note: It also resulted in what might be the most amazing, pained race photo of all time (see above). On so many levels, it actually hurts to look at that picture.

I still don’t totally feel comfortable asking others to lend financial support to my personal causes. But I’m OK with making exceptions in some very special cases. Today, in this season of giving, I’m bringing another very special case to your attention.

On Jan. 9, Steve and I (along with 23 other crazies) will be participating in an endurance event at Whitetail Resort called the 100K Vertical Challenge, in which we will attempt to ski 100,000 vertical feet in one day—roughly 107 runs at Whitetail. The event aims to raise funds for and awareness of the Two Top Mountain Adaptive Sports Foundation, a nonprofit adaptive sports program for people with disabilities. This rapidly growing program services wounded troops in the nearby Baltimore/Washington region, as well as civilian athletes with a wide range of disabilities.

Do this, and benefit a great cause at the same time? Yes, please!

I feel a personal connection to this cause on many levels, but at the core, I’m taking part in this event because I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the wounded warriors who receive lessons through Two Top, who have taken the burden of war upon their own shoulders so the rest of us can continue living our lives unscathed. I’m grateful that my own husband, and many of our dear friends, have returned from their deployments healthy and safe. I’m grateful that I’m able to experience the freedom, joy and exhilaration of skiing at all. Given all that I have, participating in this challenge, and thereby helping others experience the same sense of freedom, joy and exhilaration, seems like the least I can do.

If you’re looking for opportunities to give this holiday season, please consider donating to this incredible cause. There are two ways you can donate to my campaign: by pledging a certain amount for each run I complete (I will let you know that number after the race), or by donating a fixed amount ahead of time via Two Top’s website (be sure to let me know via comment or via email at amy.reinink (at) gmail.com, so I can thank you—and brag to my fellow participants). Donations can also be made via check to: Two Top Mountain Adaptive Sports Foundation, Inc., 10914 Claylick Rd. Mercersburg, PA 17236

Thanks for any support you can offer, either financial or emotional. This will be my last post before Christmas; I will return to regular posting in 2012. Until then, may your holiday season be full of family and love, and may your new year be full of fun and adventure!

Have you ever had a totally perfect training cycle? One where you didn’t have to postpone any long runs for weather or a bad cold (or an awesome tailgater, for that matter)? Or didn’t have to spend a week in the pool with a sore IT band? Or didn’t have to swim with a pull buoy because of a twisted ankle, or with a kickboard after tweaking your shoulder picking up a suitcase? Or didn’t make it to the pool at all because it was randomly closed for maintenance the very week you were supposed to swim your hardest sets, or because your toddler got sick?

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort.

I ask because I realized that the reason I’ve been so cranky about the postponement of my ski patrol training thanks to a warm-weather-induced late start to the season is because THIS WASN’T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO. I was supposed to be on the snow by mid-December! But then the weather got all warm, and Whitetail couldn’t make snow! And I don’t WANT to wait anymore, because I had to wait LAST season after I got hurt , and it’s not fair!

All that whining and pouting makes it seem like I haven’t been through this before. I’ve taken month-long hiatuses in the middle of marathon training to accommodate a sore hip. I’ve amended my training schedules for open-water swims to suit my travel and work conflicts. I’ve done speed workouts on the treadmill when it’s simply un-runnable outside. In short, I’ve accepted the fact that life isn’t perfect, which means my training won’t be perfect, either—and I’ve found a way to get it done, anyway.

We're smiling because there's snow, actual snow, falling on us at Seven Springs!

So last weekend, rather than sit home and pout about our home mountain not being open, Steve, our favorite ski-patrol buddy and I decided to drive a bit farther west to play on a different mountain that *was* open. Obviously, I didn’t do any training at Seven Springs, located about an hour and a half past Whitetail in Pennsylvania. But I’ve got to believe that getting two additional days under my skis certainly doesn’t hurt my training. And, you know … it didn’t suck, either.

We woke at a B&B near Seven Springs ski resort to find our car, and the world, covered with white stuff. Score!

Have you recently worked around a glitch in a training cycle? Tell me how you managed to get it done by posting a comment below!

A funny thing happened at the beginning of my lifting session on Wednesday. I went through the beginning of my pre-ski/post-physical-therapy workout as I always do, stacking up 50 pounds on the quad-extension machine for single-leg quad extensions.

I did my first rep … and double-checked to make sure the weight was correct. It felt jokey-light, like I had accidentally stacked 15 pounds instead of 50. The weight was correct. Well, hello, quad! Welcome back!

Longtime readers of this blog know that quad strength was a huge challenge in my post- ACL tear comeback. A quick recap: My right quadricep muscle fell asleep after surgery, woke up after weeks of electronic stimulation in physical therapy, got strong enough to start playing my sports again, got lazy on hills and forgot to hold my patella in place, got strong enough to hold my patella at all times … but never felt as solid as it did before the injury.

For the past several weeks, increasing quad strength (in addition to overall strength and agility) before the ski season has been my main workout focus, and I’d started to think that I had reached my limit around 50 pound for single-leg quad extensions—arguably the most important and most annoying exercise in my current lineup. But there it was Wednesday, when I least expected it: Evidence that I have grown stronger.

This elicited another pleasant feeling, one I haven’t experienced since the Bay Bridge Swim in June: the feeling that the hay is in the barn, that I’ve prepared for an athletic challenge to the best of my ability. Can I tell you how much nicer it is to feel this way than to think: “Huh. It’ll be interesting to see if I can pull this off?”

The best part: This isn’t just about the ski season. I’ve been training for distance events for long enough to know that ignoring even the slightest of muscle imbalances is a one-way ticket to an overuse injury. Knowing that I am past the “grossly imbalanced” phase makes me feel much better about increasing my running mileage.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the current state of skiing, too, since I’ve been blathering about Whitetail’s snowmaking all week. The absurdly warm weather has obviously halted snowmaking in its tracks, leaving me feeling not only disappointed, but kind of stupid, like a kid who’s been overexcited about Santa’s impending arrival only to learn on Christmas Eve that he doesn’t exist. Keep thinking snow; I’ll keep my mouth shut to avoid jinxing things again. In the meantime, I’m finding comfort in the fact that my quads are both ready to go.

Happy weekend!

The last time I was this fixated on the weather was before my first marathon, when I obsessively checked the race-day forecast in Nashville, hoping that by hitting “refresh” one more time, I would reach a screen announcing: “Weather will be optimal and performance-boosting for marathon runners, especially Amy.”

I’ve been doing the same thing with the weather forecast for Mercersburg, Penn., where below-freezing temps at night mean snow-makers can create more of a base for our little ski resort. Of course, the more snow they can make, the quicker Whitetail can open. And the quicker they open, the quicker I can get into the remainder of my ski-patrol training. And the quicker I can do that, the quicker you can stop listen to me blathering about it.

Tonight’s 36-degree forecast and tomorrow’s forecasted rain are kind of a kick in the pants … but doesn’t the snow look pretty in this webcam shot from this morning?

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort.

My motivation this week focuses on one thing: As you can see in the web cam photo below, they’re making snow at Whitetail!

Photo credit: Whitetail Resort.

Why do I care so much? Please see previous posts about the ACL tear that halted my ski-patrol training last season, and about failing to let go of a goal I can’t go a day without thinking about.

Whitetail’s opening day still isn’t clear. But the fact that snowmaking is well underway give me hope and motivation that it’s coming very, very soon.

What’s motivating you this week?

11 a.m. Wednesday: Cold drizzle outside. A blessed spot of rainless gray on the radar map of D.C. that, when the map is animated, looks to be headed right for Silver Spring. I decide to wait it out and squeeze in some extra work before my lunchtime run.

11:30 a.m.: It’s pouring. Raining so hard, the sound of the gigantic raindrops smacking against the roof is loud enough to make me turn up the volume on my Radiohead CD inside. The gray matter on the radar has disappeared, squeezed out by two globs of yellow-green “heavy rainfall zones.” Hourly forecast shows 100 percent chance of precipitation for the rest of the day. Crap.

11:45 a.m.: Obsessively checking the hourly weather forecast does not lend itself to productive, focused work. Suiting up for a run doesn’t, either, but it does release me from the anxiety of procrastination.

11:47 a.m.: Hop on the treadmill in the gym on the ground floor of my building for a speed workout, setting my sights on a reasonable 3X8-minute mile workout. Set treadmill for 8-minute-mile pace and begin.

11:48 a.m.: Stop treadmill. Groan audibly. Decide to brave the rain, which can’t possibly be as bad as a treadmill.

11:49 a.m.: Return to gym, soaked and freezing after standing in the rain for about 10 seconds. This particular rainstorm is, indeed, worse than the treadmill.

11:50 a.m.: OK. Here we go. It’s supposed to be hard. It’s OK that it’s hard. It’s a speed workout. It doesn’t matter that 8-minute miles “should” be easy, based on some other version of me frozen in time as the only appropriate standard for my own speed. All that matters is me, on this treadmill, today.

11:57 a.m.: Crank up pace to 7:30-minute miles. Pant audibly. Push hard here. Do this NOW.

11:58 a.m.: Done already!

Noon: Second mile, go! A totally vile Eminem song comes on my iPod. I turn it up, and to lock into the pace, I revert to a mantra I half-borrowed from Beyonce a million years ago: “I’m fierce. I’m strong. I can make it through this song.” I can’t explain why it works, only that it does.

12:07 p.m.: Crank up pace to 7:20-minute miles, with the distinct sense that I am living very, very dangerously.

12:08 p.m.: Moan as I stop the treadmill at exactly one mile. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get back on in two minutes and run a third mile. No way.

12:10 p.m.: Start mile No. 3. Tired. Already sore. Stop at half a mile; it’s going to have to be 2X1 mile, and 2X.5 miles.

12:15 p.m.: Last half mile; time to use it all up. Hold 7:30 pace. It’s not so bad. Just hang on.

12:20 p.m.: I am laying on my back with a foam roller directly beneath my spine, my arms and legs splayed to the side. I should get up and eat lunch. I should just get up. But I might nap here instead. Because when you run your first speed workout since ACL surgery several months ago; when you force your butt onto the treadmill in the pouring rain, and when you force your mind into a state of flow when it wants to be cranky and anxious; you deserve to lay motionless on a foam roller for a little while.

Happy weekend!

I knew I’d see something crash and burn at National Harbor on Saturday morning. I just sort of assumed it would be me and my race performance, not the Hot Chocolate 15K itself.

I’m not going to spend much time talking about everything that went wrong at the race from an organizational perspective. Suffice it to say that I agree wholeheartedly with most of the points in this petition, and with the events as described in this DCist blurb. I also found the RAM Racing apology to be heavy on excuses (despite the disclaimer that these weren’t excuses, but “explanations”) and light on conciliatory gestures, such as comped or discounted registration fees for those brave runners willing to give RAM another shot next year.

But before I move on, I’d like to whine about one thing that hasn’t been mentioned much in other diatribes: The much-coveted jackets in the “premium goody bag” are horrid. They’re ill-fitting and cheap and are so lightweight, I can’t imagine the warm breeze that might provoke me to grab mine before a run. The jackets were a huge factor in my decision to sign up for this race in the first place, and I mention their crappiness in order to warn others who might be swayed.

Now. The race itself. I drove down to National Harbor with a runner-friend who also failed to train for the race. She thought my 10-minute-mile plan sounded just about her speed (har, har, har!), and when the starting gun finally (it really was a full hour late) went off, she and I set off together to do just that.

The course was crowded and boring from the start, with about six miles out and back on a highway. But what did we care? We were just there to jog across the finish line and get our chocolate! So we just chilled out, hung back, and passed people only when we really, really needed to. I wore my Garmin for the sole purpose of tracking our pace, and I grew more amazed at our consistency with every mile—I’m talking about perfectly even 10-minute miles the whole way.

Around mile 5, we both acknowledged that our hurt parts were hurting (the way hurt parts do when you haven’t properly built up mileage). At the 10K marker, we both acknowledged we were out of breath (10-minute-mile pace offers a grace period in the beginning during which you barely feel like you’re running. Whee!). At the 7-mile marker, we realized that we were already to the point where we figured we’d crash and burn thanks to that whole untrained-thing—meaning anything else was gravy! I looked at my Garmin: 1:10:00. No joke. “We’re like a (expletive) metronome!” I said loudly. “We should be leading the 10-minute-mile pace group!”

We actually did try to pick up the pace a bit as we approached the finish, but the gravel and sand the last couple miles kept us in check. No matter—we were thrilled to cross the finish line in 1:31 for 9:45-minute miles, making this perhaps the most perfectly I’ve ever executed a race plan. And I felt great upon finishing—my stomach was even settled enough to scarf down the delicious, not-at-all-overrated chocolate fondue and hot chocolate.

The bottom line: I had a great time at what amounted to a disorganized catered training run for me. The fun associated with running strong and happy, and the sense of accomplishment born of surprising myself by how much I could do, outweighed—well, all the rest. Plus, I got to eat chocolate and trade war stories post-race with all my running buddies.

As for my real goal—for untrained present-day me to beat the pants off untrained 25-year-old me—I nailed it, besting my previous untrained 15K time by more than 10 minutes. Eat it, SpongeBob!

Photo credit: Florida Times-Union.

Did you run the race on Saturday? Is there anything you’d like to rant about that hasn’t been covered already (or anything you’d like to rant about that *has* been covered, for that matter)?

My race packet’s been picked up. My race plan is set (I didn’t say it was perfect, or even good—just that it was set). My evening plans are reasonable (Muppet movie with runner-friends, early bedtime). Even though this race is largely free of expectations (other than a desire to have present-day, 31-year-old untrained me beat 25-year-old untrained me), I’m still feeling that pre-exhaustion exhilaration unique to the day before a big race. In other words, it’s all over but the running.

Wish me luck—and be sure to send speedy vibes to present-day untrained me tomorrow morning!

My plan seemed really reasonable when I devised it.

I was going to start upping the distance of my longest weekly runs after the Marine Corps 10K in late October. I had exactly the right amount of time to build up my endurance with long runs on the weekends, and was steadily running four or five miles for shorter runs every other day.

Whee! Look, Ma, I'm not running!

The only problem: That didn’t allow for any wiggle room for travel and sickness, both of which threw unexpected monkey wrenches in my plan. I probably could have squeezed in more runs on the road (and during breaks from my NyQuil retreat on the couch) if the race were my primary goal, but I instead used my diminished workout time to focus on getting ready for the ski season. That was the right decision, as it was in line with my values and priorities at this moment in time. Still, making the right decision and prioritizing well doesn’t mean you’re magically trained for your 15K.

I paid for my jacket, and I'm going to run the race so I can wear it, gosh darnit.

I’m going to run the darn thing, anyway—even after noting that the course is actually not flat at all, but is actually horribly hilly. I’m in good enough shape that I believe I can at least cross the finish line and get my jacket and chocolate, so I plan to do so.

As luck would have it, I have some personal experience with being untrained for a 15K: the Gate River Run in 2006 in Jacksonville, Fla. Steve and I had both signed up for the race before a “workup” of his, a short training trip before a long deployment. When he got home a few days before the 15K, we acknowledged that neither of us had trained for the race. I decided for both of us that we’d run the race, anyway (this made perfect sense to me at the time), and off we went on race day, blithely running 8-minute miles until I crashed and burned all over the course.

Photo credit: Florida Times-Union.

I walked most of the bridge. I got passed by a guy wearing a giant SpongeBob SquarePants outfit. I got to the finish line only because Steve physically pushed me forward (imagine him walking behind me, pushing on my back with both his hands, possibly instructing me to “use my legs.”)

I finished in a slow, painful 1:43:38, or 11-minute-mile pace. The pain I felt during that race and the elation I felt after it motivated me to actually train for the race that next year, running an easy, relaxed 1:27, and staying well ahead of SpongeBob.

So here’s my goal for this weekend: I’d like for 31-year-old untrained me to beat the (square)pants off 25-year-old untrained me. To that end, I will run 10-minute miles for as long as I can on Sunday. A perfectly executed race will yield perfectly even splits, not a fast 5K early on, then a bunch of walking miles later on. If the wheels fall off and it turns out 31-year-old me is lagging behind even on 11-minute-mile pace, I’ll congratulate myself for being older and wiser—I was at least smart enough to choose a race with free chocolate, right?

Saturday morning, in a word: Ouch.

“Ouch,” because of the ever-present rolling hills on the Montgomery County Road Runners Turkey Burnoff course. “Ouch,” because being able to balance on a stability ball on your knees while holding a medicine ball (which I can do, thanks to my pre-skiing workouts) means absolutely nothing in a road race if you’ve barely been running. “Ouch,” because I’m still trying to shake a seemingly never-ending head-cold, which left me wheezing at the end of most of the aforementioned hills. “Ouch,” because all those ouchies over a little five-miler made me very, very scared about what this weekend’s Hot Chocolate 15K will hold.

On the upside …

The race started at 10 a.m., which left me plenty of time to consume my pre-race oatmeal and coffee without needing to set my alarm. I got to run with Katie, until her legs remembered they just trained for a half-marathon, and until my legs remembered they hadn’t trained for anything. I got to run through Seneca Creek State Park, which was lovely and peaceful, despite those stupid little hills. And the post-run spread was amazing for a low-key, low-cost ($10 for non-MCRRC members!) race, with cupcakes, trail mix and cinnamon buns in addition to the standard bananas and bagels.

Also, even as this race shook my confidence in my ability to run a painless 15K this weekend, it also kind of affirmed my confidence in my ability to at least finish a 15K on very little focused training. See, I’d meant to run steady 10-minute miles on Saturday. But I left my Garmin at home, and with mile markers that seemed woefully off (I’m pretty I didn’t jog that first mile in eight minutes), I had a hard time judging my pace, which was actually closer to 9 minutes and change—my official race time was 46:30, and my watch time was 46:10. It wasn’t easy, but it was more than I thought I had in me on that particular morning.

This means that if I wear my Garmin to the 15K, and be reeeally careful to run no faster than 10-minute miles for the first 10K (what, like I’m going to PR that last 5K or something?), I should at least be able to reach the finish line/the holy land of chocolate rivers, where dessert is served long before it’s appropriate to eat lunch. I’m not saying I’ll feel or look good doing it, but I’ll get there.

More about 15K goals on Wednesday. For now, enjoy these photos, taken by Katie’s poet/personal course support:

I feel tired just *looking* at myself in this picture.

I think I'm working on stopping my watch. The first thing that pops into my mind upon seeing this picture is: Is this woman having a heart attack?

Heeey, look! It's my friends! And they have a camera!

I was going for "victorious" here. I was also feeling nauseous, which comes across more clearly.

Feeling better enough to rate the hills with Katie. We rate the hills a big, fat thumbs-down.

Moments later, we are still cursing the hills, but talking about doing the 10-mile race next year.