Coming off last year’s unsuccessful attempt at a Boston Marathon Qualifying time, I find myself training again, even though I swore I’d give it one more year when my required time will drop by ten minutes. However, being selected as an alternate for the Air Force Reserve Command’s marathon team has put me back on the accelerated training warpath, so here I go again, qualifying time be damned.

Though I’ve spent five years threatening to throat punch my husband every time he preaches, brags and nags me about his running group, the Sunrise Striders, who helped him get to Boston in 2011, I’ve finally remembered that if you want to do something you’ve never done, you should try doing something you never do. Run with the Striders, that is.

For those who don’t know, the Sunrise Striders are comprised of some of the fastest runners in the area. These aren’t the people that just train to run marathons – many of them train to WIN the race. Short, stumpy and well past my running prime, I felt somewhat like the Ugly Duckling at my first training run. With other slower groups sharing the morning meet up spot, I was tempted to fade into the background and jog off with a group more my speed. But when the announcement was finally made, “Fast group over here!,” I cringed and shuffled over, feeling grotesquely out of place amongst all the faces I typically see at the front of all the local races.

The prescribed workout was a series of eight-minute intervals up Rampart Range Road, which is known to be impossibly steep, with less than a mile or so of a hilly warm up to the start and again back to the parking lot finish. As I headed out with the group and up the first early hill, I quickly realized that the “warm up” pace was actually around a 9-minute mile, which is typically my personal red line for success. If I can average nines, I’m a happy girl. My friend and Brewers’ Cup teammate was gracious enough to jog alongside me at first, pointing out how well I was doing since I was still with the group and hadn’t been passed by any waddling ducks on the road. Though I appreciated his positivity, I was keenly aware that we hadn’t even gone a half mile and yet I was already breathing like a locomotive and becoming increasingly nervous that the intervals were coming up quickly.

As I was trying to stay within acceptable distance of everyone else, the group leader slowed a bit to give me a heads up about the next workout and how he would likely assign me less 400 meter sprints than the other more experienced and faster members of the group, which is pretty much everyone. By the time he had spewed a bunch of numbers, distances and dates (and told me to stop whining and put on my big girl panties), I was already short on air and unable to process all the information in a coherent manner. When we reached the bottom of Rampart Range Road, I had already forgotten how many intervals we were supposed to do, but somehow I had the number eight stuck in my mind. A series of eight minute runs uphill, followed by four minutes down. I resigned myself to the workout and at the word “Go!,” I took off as fast as I could and it only took approximately 2 minutes for the entire group to leave me in the dust, struggling to work my way up the hill. With or without companions, I was determined to get this DONE.

The first interval was incredibly hard. I had actually run the same road a few days earlier but only did eight ONE minute intervals and still felt like I was dying. As I finished the first eight full minute interval and started to walk back down, I was tempted to text my husband and let him know that I was dying and perhaps this group really isn’t for me. However, remembering all his crap Strider talking over the years, I quickly decided that I wasn’t ready to admit I couldn’t finish the workout and got back to my run – albeit a bit slower.

The second interval was also a struggle, but I began to settle in and decided not to focus on pace as much as the fact that I was still moving as fast as I possibly could, even though my body was begging me to slow down or stop. Thinking I had eight intervals to complete, I had moments of complete despair and near tears thinking I would be unable to do it, but I rationalized with myself that if I kept focusing on my failure, it would only make it come more quickly. For now, I just needed to keep moving.

Interval three was more of the same and in my distress and loneliness, I began doing the math on timing and became concerned that perhaps I’d be much later to work than I had expected. After all, work is a good reason to cut the intervals short and give up – wasn’t it? Maybe, but still I couldn’t admit defeat. I HAD to finish the workout.

By the fourth interval, I’d love to say I started running uphill but the fact is that it was more of a pathetic jog or shuffle that was likely not much faster than if I were simply walking. Still, I was moving and working on my attitude as much as my effort. I had actually seen one or two group members around a bend as they cruised on their downhill interval, but the majority of the group had been long gone for the duration of the workout.

As I shuffled along, I suddenly saw the entire impressive pack of Sunrise Striders running VERY quickly down the hill towards me. I was shocked and pleased thinking that perhaps they too decided to cut the workout short and head back! I was SAVED! As I saw the group leader sail past I desperately called out, “Are we DONE??” and he said yes, I should get running and catch up! I asked another runner why they were headed back and apparently I had misremembered the directions and we were only scheduled to do three uphill intervals and the fourth one was DOWNHILL! I felt like a desert refugee who’d stumbled onto an oasis – I was essentially DONE and could run back to the start! YESSSSS!!!!

I turned and hauled down the hill as fast as I could in my happy delirium, which was around a 7-minute mile pace and I was feeling pretty good – and fast, except for that fact that even at that pace, the group had long since pulled away and I was far behind with only one older dog of the group who had given up trying to catch his owner. His company and sympathy will forever be remembered.

My teammate from the start of the workout was kindly waiting for me at the bottom of the hill to accompany me back to the parking lot, which meant I still ran much quicker than I would have liked, knowing that he is a tall, 3-hour marathoner and I didn’t want to bore him or embarrass myself any more than necessary.

Making it back to the parking lot tired and sore, it became apparent than in my slowness, I’d actually run more than a mile less than the rest of the group, but still felt relatively proud of my effort. Success or not, I also feel I’m bound to be more of the group’s mascot rather than an actual member, but there is still plenty of time before my qualifying race in September.

After all, everyone knows how the Ugly Duckling story ends – after a long stretch of ugliness and misery, the swans eventually welcome and recognize the Ugly Duckling as one of their own. If I keep at the work, perhaps one day even I can be a beautiful, FAST swan?