#celestinarunsfitness

[celestinaruns]

Hello again! I’m currently working on building some new content for the blog, including instructional videos for some things, so hopefully you can expect a more regular schedule in the near future. I am also, finally, in the process of getting my run coach certification and can’t wait to put that to use for all my readers!

Without further ado...

Monday, June 8

A day off, resting and lightly stretching. Felt super restless as I had an easy week prior to this one.

Tuesday, June 9 - Speedwork (8x800 m repeats, total 11.71 km)

Ah, the track, how I’ve dreaded her. It was hot. Everything hurt. But I got this track workout out of me one way or another, and felt great at the end of it!

Wednesday, June 10 - Easy Trail Run (8.05 km)

This was a slow one, but I ran the trail I injured myself on for the first time ever! So I’ll take the slow, all things considered.

Thursday, June 11 - Tempo (2x3 mi, total 14.76 km)

Oof, a doozy. I got through it pretty well, but I wouldn’t say I felt amazing about it. That’s what happens when you drink sangria the night before a tough run ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Friday, June 12 - Tabata + Yoga Recovery

Oh BOY, did my butt hurt after this one. I used to hate tabata in high school, but I’ve really been loving it as my crosstraining lately. It gives a good structure to follow when motivation is low!

Saturday, June 13 - Long Run on a camping trip! (22.54 km)

This was my second time running here and it definitely felt waaaay better and easier. The cooler weather probably helped, didn’t feel like popping back salt chews ever 5 minutes this time around.

Sunday, June 14 - taking it easy.

Had to pack up the campsite, so no workout!

[celestinaruns]

In A Pace Bunny’s Shoes

Just this past Sunday, I ran as a pace bunny for a full marathon, for the first time ever.

It’s worth noting that I have run as a pace bunny before, but only for a half-marathon. I knew the general duties and had a good grasp of how to control my pace. A full marathon, though, is twice that distance (the math checks out, even I can’t mess that one up) and the Edmonton Marathon is a much bigger event. There’s definitely a greater intimidation factor that comes along with it, even if pacing a 4:15 finish time, in the context of my own athletic ability, would be a walk in the park. I spent a lot of time leading up to the event... thinking.

Yeah, all philosophical and shit. Prior to pacing the Edmonton Marathon, I received some questions that I had been mulling over leading up to the event. Mainly along the lines of 1) How can I control my pace? and 2) Why even bother pacing a marathon? Or any race at all?

Number one is the easiest to answer. It takes practice and learning to take it easy. It takes time to appreciate running slow just as much as most people appreciate a fast run. Also, shoutout to my watch for doing all the work. Let’s be real, my internal clock isn’t that good (or good at all).

(please ignore the smear of energy gel on my face, I’m worse than a baby)

Number two, however, is the more interesting question.

Running is advertised as an incredibly independent sport. Insert Athlete’s Name Here does all of these things! They’re so fast! They’re sponsored by so and so! It’s not a wrong mentality when, in reality, it is just one person that we focus on from the start line to the finish line. Still, as a runner, I find that the moment I lose touch with the people around me is the moment the whole sport becomes a lot more difficult and a lot less enjoyable.

Running is not a team sport--this is the first impression that most people get, and yet in my own experience, I have discovered quite the opposite. I have fond memories of training with my entire team when I ran cross country and track in high school. My teammates pushed me to be better and stronger. Every time I’ve been close to a marathon finish line, there’s always someone beside me telling me I can do it, I can gun it to the end, I’ve got this. When I lived in BC, Kintec employees helped me pick out the best shoes, and here in Edmonton that turned into the Running Room. I’ve always had good morning and congratulations texts from my parents to look forward to, for every race.

The evidence doesn’t lie: even the best runners would struggle to succeed without a team to back them up. Olympic marathoners always thank their family and coaches. Eliud Kipchoge, the fastest marathoner, is backed up by an entire team as he takes on the INEOS 1:59 Challenge. It’s all right in front of us.

And yet, I’ve always found it difficult to express to people just how valuable a team can be, when it comes to running. Of course, actions speak louder than words, and that was how I first decided to run as a pace bunny. A way to pay it forward, for all of the years that I ran races and there were other people pacing me the entire way or giving me my stats as I passed a marker.

So out I went, ready to pace a full marathon. I had ran the Edmonton Marathon three times before, knew the course like the back of my hand. I had run my personal best on it, my Boston Qualifying time of 3:25:25. Physically speaking, finishing 4:15 was more than doable. The part that made me a little nervous was whether I had what it took to make the runners that wanted to stick with our group feel like they were strong enough to do so.

That’s what a running team does, at the end of the day. Every person, throughout training and to the very last step of the race, is there to make the runner feel as if they can take on anything. To make them feel stronger and run faster than they thought they could, and to make them proud of their achievement. And in order to prove to myself--and anyone else--that running is not the lone wolf trope people make it out to be, I knew I had to fill that role.

When the couple that had kept up with me and the other 4:15 pacer for most of the marathon came up to me afterwards to tell me how grateful they were and that I did a great job was the moment I realized I had accomplished just that.

The race had been easy on my body and I had spent most of it cheering people on--both those in our group and those passing by us in the opposite direction. It had been fun and exciting. I saw a friend that I had helped train for the marathon, her very first one, tailing behind the 3:45 group. I saw other familiar faces that were enjoying the day. I talked to everyone in my own 4:15 group and got to know them all a little bit: the couple that always ran their marathons together, the retired woman running her first ever marathon on her birthday, the ultra-marathoner that had just done a timed ultra in Vegas a couple months prior.

There is no denying that racing is fun. I love speeding along a road, chasing PBs and pushing my limits. But enjoying these moments is important. Appreciating every person that came out to do something so challenging, cheering people on when they most need to hear it, encouraging them to stay ahead of you, to beat their own goals--focusing on other people and their relationship with running has done wonders for resetting my own passion. It’s incredibly easy to get wrapped up in technical talk and obsessive over every tiny little stat. Easy to fall victim to the same I Work Alone trope that everyone sees when they look at running, and therefore play a bigger role in perpetuating that very wrong impression instead of correcting it. This is toxic, though, and it can feed into something unhealthy. Taking the time to appreciate that the community is much bigger than me, to put my own desires on the back-burner and use my experience to help someone else, is a wonderful reminder of why I have been running for so long with no desire to give it up.

If you feel bored or unsatisfied in your running, if you feel your mind hitting a massive block every time your foot hits the pavement, take it as a sign that you need to do something different. Step back and do something for someone else. Explore a new trail with a friend or join a free run club. Volunteer to man an aid station for a race. Crew for someone running an ultra. Reset your perspective.

Healthy runners never work alone.

[celestinaruns]

“What’s trail running like?”

Me:

[celestinaruns]

underrated edmonton views 😍🌲

[celestinaruns]

Snapshot of Machete the other day feat. my heavy breathing 😂🏃🏻‍♀️

My mom’s commentary on this trail was “I’m dizzy just watching!”

[celestinaruns]

HELLO it’s me, that girl that’s always running somewhere. I have... RUNNING UPDATES 🏃🏻‍♀️ I’ll be pacing the full marathon for Edmonton Marathon next weekend at a 4:15 finish time, so if you’re running/volunteering for any of the Edmonton Marathon events, I’ll see you there! That also means I’ll be taking it easy, as far as running goes, for the next week, but once the marathon is done with I need to segue right into the tailend of my training for the 80k trail race in September. Aka, back to back long runs 😅 It’ll be tiring af, but I’m hoping for a strong end to this VERY LONG racing season. This whole summer has seriously been a physical test. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so simultaneously exhausted and strong. I never thought I’d say this, but it’ll be nice to take advantage of the cold winter to focus on some cross training to complement this intense summer! 🏃🏻‍♀️💪

[celestinaruns]

Tried out running for the first time since RVR! My quads are still very sore and cramped up, unfortunately, so it was just an easy (Jog 2/Walk 1)x6 + Jog 3/Walk 3, and then some light strength conditioning and stretching.

Edmonton Marathon is August 18, so... just over 9 weeks? Pacing 4:15 is going to be more than comfortable for me so I’m mostly focusing on getting my mileage up again so I can segue nicely into the last of my prep for my 80 km trail race in September!

[celestinaruns]

it’s me, ya girl, running her first ultra. if u look closely u can see my regret for not applying bodyglide more often. 🏃🏻‍♀️⛰

[celestinaruns]

The river valley exacted its revenge--and it was definitely angry

At 4 am on Sunday morning, the sun was already rising in Edmonton. I had kept my curtains open, partly not expecting the light to be streaming in so soon, partly hoping for it because I thought I would sleep in. Silly, really, because I was tossing and turning all night.

I had packed everything I needed the night before. Correction: everything I thought I would need to take on the 50 km course at the Canadian River Valley Revenge, Summer Edition. I had done some research, fully expecting a 50 km trail race to be a whole other monster in comparison to the road marathons I was used to. This wouldn’t be some marked course I could breeze through, after all, and that extra 7.8 km was going to hit me hard.

Of course, even with my own nerves, I hardly knew what I was in for.

The race debrief at RVR was friendly and realistic. It actually calmed me down to hear the race directors tell us that, honestly, this course was no joke. It would be tough--but we would be fine. My favourite part of the debrief was when they discussed how much they wanted their race to be as sustainable and environmentally friendly as possible. No plastic markers on the course--just ground spray and sparing use of ribbon markers in the trees. No cups at aid stations. No single-use material. After spending the last month thinking on how to make my hobby of running less impactful on the environment, it almost felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. But that’s a topic for another blog post. (Spoiler alert?)

Just standing at the start line, I could tell that this was a race unlike any other I had run before. Fellow runners were friendly and conversational, despite the fact that it was 6 am and this was a race. It was very clear to me before we even started running that there was a sense of humility you can’t quite find at big city road races.

And then we were off.

The course started out fine. It was hilly and narrow and very technical, but I was feeling good. And even when I hit my first massive hill and found myself breathless, I reached the top and just stopped for a moment. The sun was still rising and there was a fog settling on the water. After that, with every view I got to see and every step I took, I started to care less and less about my time and my pace. I was having fun, despite the burning in every muscle in my body.

The fog, of course, came to bite me in the ass later in the day. The moisture turned a very narrow cliffside trail into something like a slanted wall of mud that I had to scale, stretching for 2 miles. That alone took me 50 minutes. By the time I got to the end, though, I stopped again, looked out onto the water and down at myself, covered in mud from my thighs down, with a realization finally setting in.

Today wouldn’t be about speed and pace records and other road race jargon. It was about surviving the adventurous trails of the river valley and enjoying my surroundings.

The course didn’t suddenly get easy just because I had decided to run for myself and not for anyone else, of course, but it did become a lot more enjoyable. For those that have never experienced the Edmonton river valley, it’s something else. Almost entirely undeveloped, the terrain is anything but kind. The trails have been shaped by adventurous mountain bikers, trail runners, and cross-country skiers that came before, and a lot of them have their own little quirks. I found myself smiling as I was ducking and leaping over logs, and I didn’t hesitate to use my hands whenever I reached a hill that was so steep it may as well have been vertical.

I paid big time, physically speaking. Aside from the muddy wetness in my shoes and socks, I also had splinters all over my palms and cuts on my legs and arms. I ran out of water a couple of miles before the first aid station, underestimating the heat and the exhaustion my body was enduring. But I made it there, I chugged back some cola like I had never tasted it before in my life, and I took a breather.

I hadn’t opted to drop off a box of extra things at the aid station the day before because... well, I had underestimated the course, despite all of my planning. “Just 50 km, why would I need a change of anything?” had been my thought process. As I stood under that tent, though, my wet socks squelching under my weight, I resolved that I wouldn’t be making that mistake at my next ultra.

Just over halfway through, and there it was! Already, the words “my next ultra” were passing through my mind. I must’ve been going crazy.

As I left the aid station, I realized that I felt... really good. In pain, yes, but I wasn’t nauseous or anything--and that was a big deal. Nausea while running intensely has been a huge issue for me in the past, but something about that race sat well with me. Maybe it was the solid food, or maybe it was the perfect combination of sugar, caffeine, and carbonation from the cola that settled my stomach. Either way, I was bouncing happily along Old Tramp on my way to get a poker chip to prove that I had been to the mysterious trampoline in the middle of Edmonton’s river valley. 

I loved that, too. Not the trampoline, specifically, but the hidden gems of Edmonton trail running, which includes the trampoline-- as well as Golfball Alley, with its audience of golf balls spectating your run, and Six Shooter, with its hidden plastic revolver that I have yet to find (one day). All trash, in anyone else’s eyes, but quirks and traditions that remain untouched and unmoved by everyone that makes their way through the treacherous terrain.

It was when I doubled back on Old Tramp that I missed a marker that cost me an extra 4 km. Not something I gave much thought, though. In a road race, I would have been frustrated at myself for the time loss. I remember being delayed a couple of minutes at Red Deer and muttering angrily to myself for the next few kilometres. Now, though, I simply shrugged it off. “Just part of the adventure, we live, we learn,” I told myself easily.

The race hit a lot of exposed areas after that, just as the hot sun started shining its brightest. I had just gotten my second poker chip on the other side of the river when I found that my water was already starting to run quite low, and it would be a while until the next aid station. Next time, I would get the 2 L hydration bladder, I had resolved. Next time!

In a miraculous turn of events, an unmanned water station had been set up along the route passing EPCOR, by some of its employees. It had been at the perfect time, just when my water was completely out, and that was enough to get me to the next and final manned aid station.

In a moment of inspiration, I filled one of my bottles with half cola half water, and the other entirely with water. For whatever the reason, the cola had sat well with me once before, so I thought it would help me get through the rest of the day. Only another 12 km, after all. Hardly anything in comparison to what I had just run.

Once I had my fill of some fruit and got some of my more painful splinters out, I was off once more. Again, there was an unmanned aid station along the trail where I filled up on my cola and water. It was set up by a man and a woman living in the area, both of them ultra runners, both content with spending the day helping us out. The only other time I had seen something like that had been at Boston, but this was different. I felt like I had the time to stop, take a breather, and actually chat with them. The atmosphere wasn’t filled with the same frenzy and madness one finds at packed road races. I could hear the crickets in the tall grass and had a beautiful view of the river. 

That was easily one of my favourite stops, not only because of how kind the people had been, but also because my stomach and I discovered that rice, apparently, sits very well with me in the middle of a race.

After that, the route wasn’t quite as bad. It wasn’t until I finished the race that I found out I ran another extra 4 km by taking a loop that had been intended only for the 50 and 100 mile racers. It was a mistake that many of the 50 km runners had made, though, and in the moment of racing it hadn’t clicked in my mind at all--I just couldn’t understand why the last 12 km was definitely not 12 km.

The route was fine, though, and almost too easy--which should have been the dead giveaway. The last 2 miles of the course brought me into the deep woods once more, traversing creeks and roots and fallen logs with an ironic combination of carefulness and hurriedness. Every once in a while the trail would get closer to the city and I could hear the cheers from the finish line, and then it would dive back down into stubborn and aggressive ravine. My quads were starting to give out and my feet dragging. At this point, my knees were doing most of the work and I’m convinced it was that last kilometre that gave me most of my scratches.

A brutal last kilometre, one we had been warned about that morning. The fastest finish time for it had been 15 minutes. I had taken about 21 minutes, and that alone had actually made me very proud of myself. As soon as I realized that I was near the top, I was scrambling up and running as fast as I could to cross the finish line.

And then it was over, just like that. I received my medal and my free beer. I walked around aimlessly for a bit, too scared of sitting down in case I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. Honestly, I don’t even remember if I got my burger before or after I changed into dry clothes, but I did get it at one point. I also remember defending salt & vinegar chips as the best chip flavour to a skeptic across the table from me. The rest is a bit hazy.

Even at the end, the words at my next ultra were still running through my head. Yeah, I was destroyed. Still am. My legs and arms are covered in scratches. My ankles are bruised. My fingers are still sore from the splinters that were stuck in there for hours. I have a tan line that I’m 99% sure could be turned into a meme, and so much chafing that I had to resort to wiping my body with wet wipes instead of having a full shower. But it was fun.

In the end, my wrong turns cost me an extra 8.2 km. I finished my 58.2 km in 9:21:23 on a course that was intended to be 50 km with a 10 hour time limit. I was far from speedy and definitely nowhere near the top, but I hadn’t trained on most of that terrain. I hadn’t even thought that it could get that intense, so I had mostly, and naively, kept to well-groomed trails. Once during my training, I reached a somewhat scary trail and simply turned around, thinking that it couldn’t be that bad. That trail ended up being one of the easiest singletracks on the whole course. I hadn’t known what to expect in terms of my nutrition and hydration needs. I hadn’t thought to leave changes of clothes and shoes at the aid stations. There was simply so much I wouldn’t have considered until actually running the race.

Despite the fact that I was far from my usual speedy, confident self that people see in a road race, and despite everything I hadn’t thought to do, I still just felt so happy to be there and to have been able to accomplish this amazing, insane feat. My body had done that. And yeah, my time needs work--but then I thought about how slow I had been when I first started running cross country in high school. Really slow. I didn’t quit, though, and simply just kept running whenever I could. Each step made me a little better, and the same thing applies to ultra trail races.

I feel like I’m on the cusp of a new chapter of my life, but not quite ready to leave the last one. I still want to make it to Boston in 2021 and I still have that need for speed that only road races can really satisfy. At the same time, though, I have found something I never knew I needed or wanted in ultra marathons and trail races--or adventure races, as the brutal terrain is affectionately dubbed. I think, for now, the one thing I truly want is to find a healthy, sustainable way to keep both of these in my life.

Most of all, though, I need a damn massage.

[celestinaruns]

“You Don’t Have To.”

“You know, you don’t have to run.”

These are words I have heard all too often. I have heard them from my mom, worrying about me as all mothers do. I have heard them from people that use a tone indicating that they think I somehow missed the memo of human evolution and we don’t need to chase down our prey anymore. I have heard it said more ways and in more contexts than I can count.

We could dissect this sentence to its last syllable, but instead, I’m going to address the one and only true issue I have: it implies that we do things because we have to.

Why do you eat that? “Because I have to.”

Why do you exercise? “Because I have to.”

Why do you work there? “Because I have to.”

I’m not going to tell you that you need to find joy in everything you do. Let’s face it: that’s some bullshit. Your job can suck. Yeah, you do it because you have to. We live in a crazy advanced civilization that has given us so many privileges, but the cost is often doing things because we have to, not because we want to; so, no, you don’t need to eat, pray, love every day of your life. Go ahead and be angry and grumble—God knows I do it enough for half of humanity.

And yet, in a world where our survival depends on doing things because we have to, people are so quick to snub the mere thought of doing something because we want to.

I know that’s not the real reason people tell me I don’t have to run, it’s really because you think I mustn’t be all there in the head, but humour me for a moment.

Someone eats healthy on a regular basis. “You know, you don’t have to eat that.”

Someone is covered in sweat from a tough workout. “You know, you don’t have to do that.”

Someone opts to stay in and talk to their family instead of go out for the night. “You know, you don’t have to do that.”

It’s as if we can’t comprehend the idea of setting aside time in our life to do things simply because we want to, no matter how mundane or crazy they are. Growing up as an immigrant in Canada taught me that I have more opportunities here than I ever would have back home—and one of those opportunities that everyone takes for granted is passion.

I run marathons because it’s something that makes me happy. It pushes the limits of my body, it allows me to be alone, it makes me feel invincible. I run because I want to. I run because I spend most of my week studying, going to work, and doing chores that I have to do, so in the middle of it all, I make time for something I truly want.

If you ever find yourself telling someone that they don’t have to do something, whether it’s running for hours on end or binge-watching some trashy show you have no interest in, I want you to take a moment of self-reflection and pinpoint something that you do because you want to. Recall the joy it brings you. That is what the person in front of you is feeling.

I know, it’s tough. We struggle to understand how someone can like something that we find utterly repulsive. We can’t seem to translate emotions between people. What is empathy? It’s not easy to accept that we’re all very, very different once we step out of the things we have to do as humans.

Still think I’m talking hipster mumbo jumbo? That’s okay. I’m not saying any of this because I have to. I’m saying it because I want to.

Tl;dr life sucks, but don’t try to fit a square peg in a round hole. Do the things you want to do to make it easier to get through the things you have to do. Even if you get some weird looks.

P.S. -- This is why I run.

[celestinaruns]

Only took me four years to make it out to Elk Island 🤷🏻‍♀️ Fun little hike (read: 17 km under the hot hot sun) with the parental units before they drive back to Vancouver tomorrow. We’ll see how my joints feel about this one on my 50 km race day 🏃🏻‍♀️

[celestinaruns]

Strava: this was harder than your usual effort

Me: ya no fuckin shit sherlock

Very long, VERY slow 33 km run throughout the river valley trails. I averaged under 5:00/km on the white and green trails, but slowed down a lot when it came to the steep hiking trails and really ungroomed trails. Averaged 5:41/km for the whole thing (32.96 km in 3:07:07). BUT! I also have a top 10 time on Strava for the Mackenzie Ravine Descent.

Everything hurts. I’m doubting everything I thought I knew about personal strength. Hammer Nutrition makes a fuckin sweet chocolate hazelnut gel and tbh it’s basically nutella.

RVR 50k is 14 days from now and while this run kicked my ass (seriously my ass hurts so much) I am FUCKIN HYPE to take on my first ultra marathon trail race. What’s another 17 km? 💪

Okay peace out guys, gonna go drink my body weight in gatorade.

[celestinaruns]

Is it just me, or has the River Valley gotten some serious trail upgrades since four years ago when I first moved to Edmonton 😂 Whatever happened, the next 3 weeks will be exclusively spent exploring some old and familiar trails, as well as getting lost on some new ones, in preparation for my 50 km trail race in June! These pretty new trail race shoes will be covered in mud in no time 😏 The countdown is on: 23 days until race day 🏃🏻‍♀️

Trails I ran on today: Belgravia Access South, went on Gavin’s for like 50 m and then chickened out lol, Dirty Cut, Belgravia Climb, Slinky - North, turned back and stayed on Slinky - North, Slinky - Mid, Slinky - Slumpy, Slinky - South, turned back and stayed on Slinky - South, accidentally ended up on Gavin’s, Because You Can’t, Belgravia Access South

Shoes: Hoka One One Torrent

[celestinaruns]

Is it REALLY summer running in Edmonton if you don’t eat shit in a construction zone?

Didn’t actually have a run planned for today but I had a lot of errands to do and I didn’t wanna spend money on a car because it is SO NICE OUT TODAY. So I ran to do my errands, ending at the gym with 4 km. Then I did about 30 min of core work.

Got a 13 km planned for tomorrow and 32 km for Sunday—all trail!

[celestinaruns]

Dealing with Devastation

This weekend I ran my 5th marathon--and my worst marathon.

Yup, you read that right. After running half-marathons and marathons for four years, this was the day I did my worst. No sugarcoating? It’s a shit feeling. It’s heartbreaking. I was sobbing during the race and full-on crying afterwards. When you’re doing something you’re good at, and something like this that requires so much effort, the idea that you will go somewhere ready to give it your all only to end up doing worse than your first attempt is impossible. So when it happens, it’s devastating.

But it does happen. It happens in everything we do at any point in life (which, admittedly, doesn’t actually make me feel any better). Running a 3:54:34 marathon after qualifying for and running the Boston just... well, simply put, it sucks.

You’re probably wondering what happened. Those that know me personally know that I tend to overwork hard. I’m competitive and stubborn. And honestly? I couldn’t even tell you. Around halfway through the marathon, I just got hit with the a horrible wave of nausea. That’s all I really know. I felt a little uneasy and had some stomachaches in the morning--but it was pretty early in the morning, that could have been normal. I didn’t even think twice about it. And I suppose the water stations were awkwardly spaced out and my energy chews didn’t feel good--but there was water.

So I don’t know. All I know was that I felt sick to my stomach, and since I had taken an anti-emetic before the race, I knew I wasn’t going to puke... but that feeling in my stomach made it impossible to run too fast without getting sick, and I gagged every time I even smelled an energy gel. In other words, I ran the last half of my marathon without any gels. My legs felt like lead.

It could have had a cause, or it could have been a fluke that will never happen again--either way, it completely ruined my time and the lack of control really doesn’t help. It’s like if you were to break an arm on the way to a final exam. That’s insane, right? But it happened, and now you can’t write an exam for a class you’ve been working hard in for a whole semester. You just have to take the L and cope somehow.

Admittedly, there were other factors at play, too. I ran Boston five weeks ago. I also had a bad bout of nausea that weekend. There is a very good chance I wasn’t ready to take on a full (the thought “I should have done the half” went through my head about 2 km before the nausea hit). Unknown to me because I know very little about Red Deer, a good chunk of the race was on trail--and I was not prepared. Not to mention headwinds at every damn turn (I was running in loops--talk about acts of God). I have also been in the shittiest of headspaces all week due to a lot of external stress, and marathon running really demands 110% of your mental willpower. Feeling sick to my stomach for half the race was more like the last straw.

So yeah--it’s safe to say that I was heartbroken at the end of this. I felt like I had failed myself somehow. In reality, I just forgot to do the one thing everyone does when they’re trying to succeed: taking it easy. Again, those of you that know me personally know that I don’t do well with taking it easy. Still, the main lesson from this race wasn’t that I suck. It was that I’ve been pushing myself too hard, and because of that I couldn’t run my best. And if I want to continue running my best, I need to take it easy sometimes.

I bring to you...

Things Celestina needs to start doing

1. Not racing her heart out all the daMN TIME. I’m running a 50 km trail race in June with a time limit of 10 hours. It’ll be a lot of jogging and walking on my part. And I’m volunteering as a pace bunny for the Edmonton Marathon at a much slower pace than I would normally do. Hopefully, this will give me the time to focus on running for fun and recuperating for my BQ attempt next year in Edmonton. (Aside: I actually can’t run Boston in 2020 because of school, so 2021 it is).

2. Figuring out new nutrition tactics. Clearly gels and chews hate me, or maybe I need to try a different brand. And I hate running with a belt or a hydration pack, but I do need some kind of plan for races that just don’t have a good spacing of hydration stations. Either way, I need to optimize this so I don’t get sick anymore. And on that note, to consider seeing a nutritionist about what else I could do.

3. Not being her own worst enemy. Ultimately, I ran a sub-4 marathon and I was the 7th out of 34 women. Yeah, it was my worst time. Yeah, that’s a shitty feeling. But it’s still a sub-4 marathon and I got 7th place... just five weeks after running Boston. I know that I exacerbate things a lot of the time by making them seem worse than they actually are, and this isn’t any good for that headspace I was talking about.

A hefty to-do list, to say the least. But running was never meant to be my 5 seconds of fame. It’s something that’s allowed me to stretch my own limits and help out other people that want to do the same. It’s something I want to do for the rest of my life--but that requires hitting a few bumps in the road.

PS -- One way or another, I still got Peter’s. I guess we can call that a win.

[celestinaruns]

Running the Boston, Learning to Fail, and a Poetic Reflection on Human Limits (Or Lack Thereof)

This week, I ran my first Boston Marathon, and it was simultaneously the most fulfilling and defeating running experience I have ever had.

When I ran my first half-marathon, it was in an attempt to preserve something I was incredibly afraid of losing. I was graduating high school after four years of running cross-country and track, and running was something that I wasn’t ready to give up. It had become a major part of my life, the thing that I would turn to when I needed to clear my head and regroup. It was a reminder that I was limitless. When I first started running, I was, for lack of a better word, absolute trash. Embarrassingly slow. Within four years, I was fast enough to qualify for the Provincial Cross-Country Championships. My legs could take me anywhere.

And now, they would be walking me across a stage and far away from the teams that had become a second family. I was already mourning the loss of a good race, the feeling you get when you just know that there is someone cheering you on at the finish line--whether it’s a coach or family or a complete stranger that knows you by nothing more than a bib number. There’s just no replicating that hands-in-the-air sensation as your feet speed down a finishing chute.

So I ran a half-marathon, just to give it a shot. What followed was an even stronger addiction than before.

My life shifted drastically after I graduated from high school. I moved to a different city in a different province, took on a course load for which I was mediocrely prepared, and faced enough social revelations and experiences to fulfill ten lifetimes. I felt the sting of failure (physics class); and the rush of success (biology class); and the euphoria of life (shitty beer in shittier bars). Change is good, yes, and I learned so much--but it was also terrifying. It scared the crap out of me.

Running, though, is just about the same anywhere you go. Whatever happened, whatever changed, I knew that I could throw on my runners and just go. It was a constant, and it was something I did well. I ran and ran and ran--before I knew it, I had seven half-marathons and three marathons under my belt, at just 20 years old. One of those marathons was under the Boston Marathon qualifying time.

The Boston Marathon has always been the marathon in the world of running. It is very coveted and the qualifying times are nothing short of competitive. Six years ago, the Boston Marathon stuck in people’s minds for another reason--a much more terrible, terrifying one.

But interest in participating and volunteering for the event only soared after that attack, and mine did as well. The world was a terrible place, but the running community was inspiring. Still, I remember first looking up the Boston Marathon qualifying times and thinking “there’s no way I can run that.” Three years later... I had run that.

Almost ten minutes under that, to be exact.

My time was basically a guarantee into the event. The months leading up to April 15th were practically a blur. I read each participant newsletter with gleeful excitement and approached each training run with a determined vigour--but things were different this time. There was a strange feeling underneath the surface. One whispering sweet nothings of doubt and pessimism.

This training program was different. I had never trained so diligently throughout the winter before. I can’t run when there’s a cold warning and everything is covered in ice. Brilliant, now I have a cold and it’s been three weeks and it’s not going away and why am I still coughing--

It was April, suddenly, and I had never felt so unprepared for a race. I felt like I had already failed, somehow, and that was a sour feeling that made me want to just get away. Every marathon I had done before this, I ran faster each time. The bar was set very high and I was basically set to fail and--

Wait a minute. When did running start to feel like my first year physics class?

It took my legs cramping at mile 15 of the Boston Marathon for that thought to finally settle in my mind. Every moment before that, I had been my own worst enemy. During the bus ride to the start line when I started to realize that the time difference was hitting me hard and making me doze off despite the crappy music playing on the radio; during my tense stay in the Athlete’s Village, in which time I couldn’t even warm up because there was mud everywhere and I was terrified of wandering off too far; and during every mile of the marathon before that, when my pace was amazing and I felt like I was on top of the world and if I slowed down now then I was letting myself down.

My mind had created some arbitrary sense of failure surrounding the one thing in my life that was meant to be an escape from that same toxic concept.

But then I hit mile 15 and my hamstrings cramped so much that I could barely lift my legs to run. It felt like I had anvils strapped to my feet. “This is a failure,” I thought to myself.

And then it hit me, like my old track spikes had boomeranged through the air and smacked me right on my forehead. Running is never a failure. It had never been a failure before this, and it never would be. That had been easy to believe when I kept running a better race every time, but now that I wasn’t doing that, now that I didn’t have a number to validate my success--well, now it came down to the aspect of long-distance running that just takes time and practice.

Will power.

“I’m running the Boston Marathon,” was my next thought, as I speed-walked through a hydration station and chugged back a gatorade, “I’m a fucking success.”

It took ‘failing’ to learn that failure is bullshit. Running proved to me, time and time again, that the human body is limitless and that we’re very good at convincing ourselves to do whatever we want to do.

From then on, I knew what I had to do. This was my first Boston Marathon, but it wouldn’t be my last--oh no, I’ll be going back, that much is certain. But that meant surviving. That meant finishing. I resolved to walk through all the hydration stations to regroup and go at a pace that I could maintain in between them. I was going to finish the Boston Marathon because I wanted to finish it, because I knew that someone was cheering me on--the whole city was cheering me on at every single stretch of the course. This wasn’t a matter of failing and succeeding because the former was a limit I had set on myself and I had already accomplished the latter by running with the intention of pushing past my limits.

I finished the Boston Marathon with a time that was expected. Under 3:45, but nowhere near my best. That’s not where the success is, though. This was the first time I travelled to run a marathon. I adjusted to the time zone and the nerves of being in an unfamiliar place. It was the first time I had been awake a whole five hours before my race start. I faced monsoon rains while waiting for a disgustingly hot bus to drive me somewhere for an hour, then sat in my damp clothes in the cold in a really muddy field. And when I finally started, I faced crazy hills in the sweltering heat until my legs unpredictably cramped up--and, still, despite all that, I finished the Boston Marathon in 3:42:34.

This isn’t the end, nor is it any particularly poetic beginning. I’ll be running around just as much as always, if not more, but it’s definitely a new chapter. I have learned to fail--or, rather, I have learned that failure is just some bullshit idea I’ve created for myself and need to let go of. I have learned that my limits--or, rather, lack thereof--shouldn’t just be quantified by a time. There’s so much more that goes into running marathons, and Einstein did say time was relative... who am I to argue with Einstein?

This is the middle. A beautiful, murky, uncertain area full of frightening and wonderful things. Hello, middle; I hope you’re ready for me.