RADrabbit Athlete!

New year, new gear, courtesy of the running apparel company, rabbit

Since being selected to join the RADrabbit team last year, I’ve had the chance to connect and race alongside fellow athletes both near and far. What truly binds us is the shared encouragement when training gets tough, and the celebrations, whether it’s a podium finish or just finishing a very long race (yep, some of them really are that long.) It’s a special feeling knowing you have this team camaraderie. 

rabbit just released their new PR Racing Collection, and I can’t say enough about this singlet. It’s feather-light, constructed with smooth, chafe-free seams, and finished with cooling vents along the back. Perfect for race day!

The Marathon Mindset

It’s been a while.

2019 was, by my standards, a quiet year of running. I still raced (about once a month) and even took the entire summer off. Somewhere along the way, though, I lost my competitive edge. Looking back, that makes sense. 2018 was a huge year: big mileage, ambitious goals, and personal firsts. I fell about 100 miles short of my run-the-year goal, but it was still my highest annual mileage to date. I ran my first marathon, then another five weeks later, and completed my first 50-miler. And then… my hip started hurting.

I backed off. I took rest days - something anyone who knows me understands did not come easily. I missed running deeply, and each inactive day brought a quiet fear of fitness slipping away. I tried to cross-train doing biking, lifting, swimming, hiking, all excellent substitutes during a niggle or injury, yet consistency was hard. Still, there was a bright spot: I won my age group at a December trail half marathon. That surprise result gave me hope and the push to finally look deeper into what was going on.

More than anything, the last couple of years have tested my patience. But they’ve also been full of learning. One of the beautiful things about running is how easily it allows us to shift focus. A 5K PR. An hour of uninterrupted running. A marathon PR. Another ultra. Or simply not finishing DFL in an ultra (yes, that was me in my first 50K, and yes, I’d still like a redo). I’ve even DNS’d a race once—a 5K, of all things—after missing a 3 a.m. alarm for Hollywood. I’d already driven up the day before, picked up my bib, and was completely pumped. Oops.

And then there’s the marathon - the distance that still eludes me.

My first marathon was the LA Marathon, chosen thoughtfully after plenty of research. My aunt is a legacy runner, LA is iconic, the course is relatively forgiving, and the destination meaningful. My primary goal was simply to finish, but I also believe in tiered goals: reach high, recalibrate if needed, and always leave room to succeed.

My tiers were sub-4:10, sub-4:30, and finish. I was on pace for the first through the halfway mark, but around mile 15 - ironically, in Beverly Hills - my knee and hip flared up on a downhill. From there, it was survival. I fought through the next 11 miles, watched the 4:20 pacer pull ahead, and with 5K to go, set one last goal: don’t let the 4:30 pacer pass. I “surged” (which probably looked more like a determined shuffle) and although they briefly overtook me, I hung on through sheer will. That’s how I earned my painful but proud 4:28.

The finish was emotional. I was grateful, but I also knew I could do better. As a first-time marathoner, I’d started far back in the corrals, weaving through traffic early on. I told myself: come back next year, start with runners of similar pace, do it right.

Cue 2019.

I arrived undertrained and managing lingering issues. On the bright side, I ran freer. I enjoyed the course. I ate the pretzels. I tested gels (despite being a typically fasted runner—fasted, not faster). I finished, but with much more time on feet. 5:15. Ooof.

So yes, the marathon remains unfinished business.

I don’t consider myself a naturally gifted runner. Nothing comes easily. Breaking a 10-minute mile takes work on any given day. But I love the process. I love racing. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the marathon mindset, why we keep coming back. Most of us aren’t running sub-2:30. We’re not winning prize money. So why do we sacrifice late nights and social plans? Why do we wake up at dark o’clock, pin on a bib, obsess over hydration, logistics, parking, and then willingly endure recovery?

For me, marathon running is about the art of tackling challenge.

There’s the distance - 26.2 miles is far. There’s pace. Injury prevention. Strength work. Fueling. Mental stamina. Holding a plank a little longer. Accepting that progress is incremental. (For the record, I’m at a two-minute plank. Three minutes will not happen tomorrow. Change is gradual.)

The marathon mindset demands thoughtful planning and patience. Adjustments must be smart and slow. As a lifelong musician, this feels familiar. You don’t master a sonata overnight. You can read through it, sure, but true polish takes months, sometimes years. Progress matters more than speed, and pressure only interferes with growth.

Steady runs, intervals, and long runs build marathon success, just as scales, arpeggios, and metronome work build artistry at the piano.

In short: nothing arrives overnight. Plan carefully. Improve incrementally. Celebrate quick gains, but don’t confuse them with lasting progress.

My goal for January is simple: rebuild a strong base. I won’t be running the LA Marathon this year - it’s too soon. Some things are best done when you’re truly ready.

And I’ll get there.

The Elusive Sub 2

In spring of 2014, when I realized I wanted to pursue running - I chose the Long Beach Half Marathon as my first race to train for.  Since it was in October, I would have a good solid 3-4 months of training. When I made this commitment, I'd been running for about 4 weeks, with my longest distance being 2 miles. Yep - novice.

Interestingly, I had no fear, no uncertainty, just total commitment. Coming from someone who owned more heels and fashion boots than running shoes, it seemed quite the irony. But the seed was planted when I arrived early for a group class at the gym, and decided to jog for 10 minutes.

Immediately, I had memories of high school PE, shuffling around the track and disliking every second of it. Back then we were timed, and I was also getting passed up by many of my peers. So this time, I was running with no time frame in mind. I didn't have one of those fancy gps-heartrate-tellmeyoursplits kind of watch. No distractions. No destination. With that, I felt a certain freedom, and was able to run how I FELT.

And it felt Fan.Tas.Tic.

So much so it left me intrigued for more. Running never felt this way before! I wasn't sweating. (Yet.) I didn't have a charlie horse. (Awesome.) I felt I could do more. (Um...what?!)

And that kickstarted my training. I gave myself a 12-week training program, which started on July 1. I printed out a chart with each week laid out with the dedicated training for that day. Some days were rest days - those were the easiest. Other days consisted of strength training, tempo runs, and the most important one - the LONG run.

Long runs turned out to be my favourite, because you just got out and ran at a slower pace but for a longer time. Time actually goes fast, once you get into the groove of it. Your breathing isn't hard, and as more time elapses it's a snowball effect - how much longer can I go at this? (Perhaps it's the mentally for ultra races in me). Speed was my least favourite - no matter how hard I pushed, or really kicked it with form - I was still the slow lane car on the freeway. Training went well, I hit most of my workouts, and made sure to consider resting as training. A few pointers from my fitness instructor friends and...I was off!

Race day, 2014. I was half excited, half nervous. To compare the feels of race day to other monumental moments in my life - it would be entering the classroom to teach high schoolers for the first time, and also stepping out onto the stage for a piano performance in front of 10,000 people. All three gave me the jitters, and all three moved me to tears - in a beautiful, good way.

On race morning, we parked in the dark, and made our way to the start line corrals next to the Marina. Being surrounded by so many other runners - not to mention the question of going the distance, was all very new to me. The place was buzzing with excitement. There was music and an MC, along with the beautiful sunrise that opened us up to a 7:30 am start.

The start - I am way back in my corral - 2:30 finish was my best goal guess

I had put the training in - many inclined treadmill runs, the weekly long runs outdoors, and committed to my fitness classes, and was feeling confident. A few weeks prior, I did my longest run at what I felt was 11-12 miles. (I just had a wristwatch that had a stopwatch function!)

So, as I toed the start line, I had one goal in mind: to finish the race, and to run it non-stop as an added-bonus. When you register for the race, they ask you to estimate your finishing time. I put 2:30:00. I figured it would give me a good buffer pace, and 10-11 minute miles seemed very reasonable, since that equated to the efforts I was putting on in the treadmill.

Somewhere between mile 8-9...I'm smiling!

I finished with an official time of 2:00:46.

I was elated. I ran non-stop. I was a tad nauseous. I wanted to hug my mom. I wasn't as tired as I expected. I wanted to celebrate.

But...2:00:46.

You know what I thought next?

Darn those 46 seconds.

Imma have to come back next year and try to break those two hours.

Still had energy to do a jump shot at the end!

So Long Beach Half 2015 was in the books again. However, running took an unexpected backseat to projects and new work prospects on the horizon. The only long run I managed to do was a 7-miler.
So guess what happened. During the race, right at mile 7 - I hit the wall. Go figure. The legs felt like lead, and I battled a lot mentally. I recall thinking at one point, this is one of the hardest things I've done in a long time. I kicked my mantra in, and it helped somewhat. I finished in 2:07:40.

I ran again in 2016, this time coming off an knee injury from completing my first ultra marathon earlier in May. It was probably the least pressure of all the halves, because let's face it, a sub-2 this time was laughable. So I decided to really enjoy the course and walk if I had to. I decided to stop at the aid stations for water and food. It was there I tried a new gel - and if it didn't sit well with my stomach, there was a port-o-potty at mile 12 somewhere -  had some coconut water, ate an energy bar, and got my leg sprayed with some cooling mist to help with the dull leg pain that I was having. I crossed the finish line in 2:17:12.

Well, time wise, you can see where the trend is going, and I'm determined to change it's direction.

After a glutton filled November and December, and a temporary break from running to let my knee really heal, going into 2017 was going to be different. I still struggled with balancing life and motivating myself to go run. At one point, I decided to run 5K a day for 10 days in a row. I did just that, but it didn't spark any new motivation in me. I even found I was warding off a slight metatarsal tweak.

But I reflected back to how I first started. Small steps. I'd have to bounce back from my lax days, but I knew I could not do it instantaneously. Gung ho attitudes do not work well for running, or you risk injury or disenchantment, and I tend to have a very enthusiastic gung ho attitude! To earn back the high mileage I needed for training, I'd have to humbly start from 1-2 miles.

So now, with the half a few days away, I'm using my taper time (riding off of 250-275K monthly training for the last several months) to blog about my journey. Running a sub-2 means averaging 9:09 min/mile. Given my last long training run of 15.25 miles, I'm confident I can run a sub 2:05:00. Yet, a 1:59:59 (or lower!) is still within reason.

Whether I crack it or not, I am still thrilled with the progress I've made so far. What sparked this goal was to see if I could transform myself into a better runner than I was before. And with recent PRs in both 5K and 10K distances are little fruits of the efforts along this journey.

I'm a bit nervous to toe the start line on Sunday. But, mostly excited. This race in particular is very close to my heart. Along with thousands of others, I'll be getting there pre-dawn, pre-loaded with carbs.

We'll line up at the start corrals.

And together we'll watch the sun rise.

*Good luck to all the 5Kers, halfers, and marathoners this weekend! Go get 'em!*

Global Energy Race - 5K or 10K

I’ve got some exciting news to share about this year’s Global Energy Race! I was selected to be an Ambassador, which means I get to help spread the word about this awesome running event—and hopefully convince you to join in 😉

What makes this race especially cool is that it’s truly global: it takes place in 28 countries and counting. When you sign up, you’re not just running a race—you’re part of an international fitness celebration.

I ran the 10K last year in Long Beach and loved it. The course is flat, right by the ocean, with great views of the marina—perfect if you’re chasing a PR or just want a beautiful run.

If you’re interested, sign up and use the code GOGLOBALLL (that’s three L’s at the end) to get $5 off either distance. And bonus: this race is known for having some pretty great swag and shirts, too.
Hope to see you out there!

Global Running Day

When I was a kid, riding around town as a passenger, I remember seeing runners and thinking: W H Y???

Do these people enjoy being out of breath? Sure, it’s good exercise, but… why?

Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to painful repetition? Were they trying to lose weight? But some of them already looked amazing. Could it actually be fun? And if so… how?

So many questions.

It wasn’t that I was inactive. I loved sports (especially swimming and tennis) so when high school PE rolled around, I was excited… until the coaches uttered those dreaded words:

“Warm up on the track.”

or

“Run a mile - you’ll be timed.”

That pebbly, crumbly, graham-cracker–colored track. The sight. The sound. Instant dread.

A few months into freshman-year PE, I started having knee issues. After multiple doctor visits, I landed in physical therapy. The highlight? A doctor’s note excusing me from PE. So there I was on the sidelines, eating vending-machine Twinkies three times a week while my classmates ran endless loops.

I was told running was bad for my knees - and I believed it. Whenever someone asked if I ran, or why I didn’t, that was my answer. Eventually it turned into a quiet conclusion: running just isn’t for me.

Looking back, that belief was a powerful teacher. We’re often limited less by reality than by what we accept as truth.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what physical therapy was. I was one of the youngest people there, and it felt like a very specialized gym, where someone showed you exercises, and then praised you enthusiastically when you did them correctly.

At one point, as I moved from squats to the balance board, I remember thinking, Why am I even here?

Then, while I sat at the leg press, my PT said, “Good. Your quads are getting stronger.”

Fast-forward a few years to my senior year of high school. My family and I signed up for a local 5K - our first race ever. Three miles felt like a lot, but my mindset was simple: It’s for charity.

Being total newbies, we lined up near the front. The logic? Maybe it’ll be over sooner.

The horn blew. I was passed by about 99% of the field. I went out way too fast and earned myself a side stitch by the end of mile one.

And mile one was downhill.

That was 2001.

After that, I didn’t own a proper pair of running shoes, and I didn’t seriously attempt running again… until 2014.

By then, I’d been doing cardio dance classes and lifting light weights for a couple of years. One day, feeling peppy, I found myself standing on the edge of a familiar track. This time, though, there were no classmates. No competitors.

Just me. My shoes. And the loop.

I could go at any pace I wanted.

So I jogged. Slowly. I’m pretty sure a turtle could’ve passed me.

But I kept going. I didn’t push until I was breathless. I just moved, step by step.

Step by step.

And today, on Global Running Day, I think about that journey and how running eventually became something I enjoy. I might even be one of those runners you see outside now.

And if you ever catch yourself wondering… why?

I invite you to lace up and see what you might discover out there.

Whoos in El Moro 10K Trail Run

7 am view 

My race repot and reflections here on the 10K trail run - I’d rested the day before - on purpose. No running, no workouts, nothing. I like putting my legs in time-out so that on race day they feel fresh, fired up, and slightly annoyed enough to want to move.

Unfortunately, I also had a macchiato.

I did not fully appreciate what caffeine would do to me. I tossed and turned until about 3 a.m. Normally, playing a word game on my tablet knocks me right out, but not this time! I was wide awake. Alert. I even won a couple of games, which only made things worse. Somewhere in that haze, I RSVP’d to a few events and nearly bought something off my Amazon wish list. (Thankfully, it stayed in my cart.)

Two hours of sleep. One big hill. 6.2 miles.

This was going to be an adventure!!!

I always say I’m not going to race, that I’m just going to run “comfortably hard,” whatever that means. But inevitably, the competitive switch flips, and suddenly I’m thinking strategy more than effort.

Parking was easy. Bib pickup was smooth. The shirts were actually cool - one of the perks of Whoos. I scanned the crowd, wondering how many people had signed up for the 50K and 25K that had started an hour earlier. I felt immediate relief knowing I was not in that group today. Confidence for the 10K started to build.

There couldn’t have been more than 20 of us. Everyone looked legit. Fast. That’s when a new goal emerged:

Just don’t finish last.

Someone has to - but that someone was me last year in the 50K, and I had zero interest in a repeat performance.

As we lined up, you could hear watches beeping all around while race director Molly went over the course details. (Side note: Molly is a hardcore ultra runner - 50s, even 100-milers. Thinking about that made this 10K feel like a very reasonable slice of the pie.)

“Ready, set… GO!”

And we were off.

I’m usually good about pacing the first mile, because I’ve hit the wall before, and it’s one of the worst feelings. It’s like magnets suddenly attach your shoes to the ground.

So the plan was to enjoy the trails, take in the scenery, and mentally prepare for the hill waiting at mile two.

Shaped like "M" for monster hill 

Before the first mile was even done, several runners passed me. I might’ve been the caboose now, and that was okay. Hills change things.

And then—boom.

It felt like stepping onto an elevator that only went up… while breathing hard. Turbo walking became necessary. A woman in neon pink pants ahead of me jogged steadily the whole way. Somehow, I managed to trail her for the entire climb, alternating between short bursts of running and walking, maybe 10 to 15 steps at a time.

When the trail finally curved, I could hear the course guides cheering. The encouragement helped, but I was winded. My quads started to noodle out.

Too early for noodles.

And then it hit me: This was the race I’d been waiting for. One that challenged me both cardiovascularly and muscularly. Road races don’t usually push me there - you can’t go all out from the start. But this? This demanded something extra.

I walked a few steps at the top of the hill - painful, because the terrain flattened out - but I needed air. Then I jogged. And suddenly, a second wind kicked in. My feet felt light again.

That feeling? One of the best in racing.

I ran through the mile-three aid station. The trail flattened into a tiny roller coaster, maybe 20 feet up and down. After "Monster Hill," my body charged right through it. Best news of all: it was downhill from here.

Downhill running is its own art. I increased my turnover and focused on staying light. It was fun. My obliques kicked in, working to keep everything aligned as my legs pounded fast. I scanned for rocks, but still felt like a barrel rolling downhill.

I clocked my fastest race pace ever: 7:07 per mile.

And then - of course - I got passed. On a downhill. That doesn’t happen often. Her stride looked effortless, and she disappeared ahead. I had to laugh.

I stayed focused on form, but I was having way too much fun. Running fast without feeling out of breath? Magic. At the bottom, I checked my watch.

52 minutes.

One mile left.

Could I break an hour?

The final mile had a slight decline. I pushed. Hikers passed in the opposite direction. I was smiling, they smiled back. The vibe was warm and encouraging, and suddenly the finish line was right there.

I kicked it in, crossed the line, and stopped my watch.

1:01:01.

A new PR.

Shattering my old one of 1:27:36.

Time for some stretching and beach relaxation

Just Run

After a full day of meetings, work, and teaching, followed by eating and grocery shopping (the most important errand for runners, amirite?) I found myself at a fork (ha!) in the road:

To run… or not to run?

I was starving, so I decided it would be a rest day and that I’d run tomorrow. (Possibly the most overused excuse in the book.)

Instead, I sat down and read about running speed, convincing myself that a small part of me was still… running.

But let’s rewind for a moment - to when I first started running nearly three years ago. Back then, the only goal was finishing one mile. Keep your goals reasonable, they say, and with running, that advice somehow feels both true and wildly misleading.

The first time my feet hit the track, I wasn’t stopping, but I was definitely turtling along. I wasn’t chasing time. When I completed that final loop, I was so surprised I’d finished that I nearly forgot to stop my watch.

Beep.

9:45.

Even more surprising? I felt like I could keep going.

Soon, one mile felt manageable, so I tried two. You can see where this is going.

Eventually, running became routine. Two miles - boom, done. Three or four if I had the time. I was also cross-training and dancing a lot back then. Unlike my high school PE days, I actually enjoyed running.

A few months later, a new question popped up: How fast could I run a mile?

Closely followed by another: How far could I go?

At its core, speed comes down to a simple equation: stride length + cadence. But increasing both at the same time is tricky (and a great way to get injured, from my experience). Overstriding is a common pitfall: reaching too far forward so your foot lands ahead of your center of mass, creating a chain reaction of foot, knee, and hip issues. Plus… it’s just inefficient.

I’m no expert, but from personal experience, cadence is my stronger suit (thank you, years of metronome-based musician training). My stride tends to be on the shorter side, even when sprinting, I might hit 1.2 to 1.3 meters. A cadence around 171–174 feels like a comfortable jog, but holding 180? That’s a whole different beast.

And then there’s the real brain teaser: what if you can hit 180 steps per minute… but you’re still running 8-, 9-, or 10-minute miles?

Food for thought. That’s where the art of training comes in.

Running seems as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.

Or is it?