I’m Going To Be A Marathoner

Source: monumentalmarathon.com

The first time I participated in a 5K, one of my friends tried to get me to run with the chipped runners.  She told me I only had to run a 9 minute pace.  I looked at her like she was crazy.  It was 2006 (I think) and still a few years before I would start seriously running.  I asked her if she’d ever run the Mini (as it was just a couple of weeks away from this 5K), although as I think about it, I have no idea why running a 5K at a 9 minute pace equated to running a half marathon.  Regardless, her response was, yes, many times, and a number of marathons.  I again looked at her like she was crazy, thinking to myself that running a marathon sounded like one of the most horrible things you could ever voluntarily do to yourself.  Then I asked her how long a marathon was, and almost died.

Now here I am, a little over six years later, getting ready to engage in an activity that I once thought sounded like torture.  I no longer think it sounds like torture, but I am still a bit nervous.  Mostly, though, I’m really freaking excited.

After my first half marathon, I thought that would be the longest distance I would run.  It was doable.  I was content to keep running half marys.  I’m not sure exactly what changed or when, but after a year or so, a full didn’t seem so daunting.  I entertained thoughts of doing one the fall of 2011.  Then I ran my worst race to date – the 2011 Mini.  I went out way too fast, and I hit a wall at mile 9.  I spent the last three miles telling myself I was never running another race again, I might not even run again, and I was never doing a full.  Ever.  Never ever.  Fall training season came around, and between an injury and the still-fresh agony of the Mini, I sat out the season.

As any runner who has vowed to quit running knows, my threats were hollow, and after a few months I was back at it.  I started training for another half, still unsure about whether to tackle a full.  Then the hamstring pain flared up, and I really didn’t know what to do.  To top it off, I couldn’t find a training program that I liked.  In fact, I was still on the fence until last Saturday, when I finally registered for the Monumental Marathon on the last day to get the early bird rate.

So far the hamstring pain has been tolerable, and the program that I stitched together from four or so other programs has been serving me well.  I finally splurged and bought a Garmin.  It has been a great asset for my speed workouts.

I know that there are still 17 weeks of training, and I’ve yet to run a run a distance I’ve never run before, but I’m looking forward to this process.  I think I will learn a lot about myself.  I’ve already learned that while I really hate getting up early, I really hate running in 90+ degree weather more.  If you had told me even six months ago that I would be willingly running between 5:45 and 7:45 in the morning five days a week in order to avoid the sun and heat of the afternoon, I would have said you were nuts.  But here I am, doing exactly that with very little complaining.

My main goals are to stay healthy and injury-free, have fun, and cross the finish line on November 3.  I’ll be sharing the journey with you here.  For those of you also training for a marathon, or thinking about running one, I leave you with this thought, sent to me by one of my good friends:

Another Year

Yesterday was my birthday.  It was a fantastic day.  Most undoubtedly one of the best birthdays ever.  I can’t pin point exactly why.  I got up before the sun to start the day with a run with Back on My Feet.  It’s still hard getting up at 5, but so worth it to actually run in cool temperatures.  I had to spend some time at work, but my group got me the cutest cake ever.  I left early and pampered myself with a mani/pedi.  Up next was another Back on My Feet Event – the Blue Mile Brew Mile at Triton Brewing.  One more mile on the shoes.  Having a Wednesday birthday kind of stinks for celebrating, so we had a low-key dinner at Napolese, with plans to hit up The Libertine and Black Market on Saturday.  The night was capped off with a made-entirely-from-scratch chocolate peanut butter banana cake. (Yep, my husband bakes.)

I love birthdays.  I love my birthday, your birthday, any reason to celebrate a day all about you.  When I was a kid, I didn’t really like having a June birthday.  In elementary school I never got to bring treats on my actual birthday.  I got crammed into the last week of school with all the other summer birthday kids.  (See above re: “all about me”).  Then I realized how awesome it was to have a summer birthday pool party.  Then I didn’t mind a June birthday so much.

I’ve always firmly embraced my birthday, trying to maximize the waking hours of “my” day (18+ hours yesterday!).  I’ve never much thought about age.  I believe you are only as old as you feel.  So, it came as a bit of a surprise when a couple of weeks ago I started to feel some anxiety about the approaching day.  It’s not a milestone birthday – not a multiple of five or ten.  I didn’t understand it.

I turned 30 without much trepidation.  So why now?  I realized the last few years were pretty exciting: buying a new house, getting engaged, getting married, going on a honeymoon.  After all of those big events, it was time to start living life, settling in, growing old, being happy.  But this last year hasn’t really gone as planned.

I wouldn’t say that I have set goals for any given year, but as time progresses, I have expectations about what should be accomplished by certain stages of life.  I’m not saying that this past year is the first year that hasn’t gone as expected.  Far from it.  I’ve had years that were real shitters.  But it’s easier to shrug your shoulders and say, “That sucked, but life goes on,” when you’re in your 20s.  Not quite so easy in your mid-30s.

But for all the anxiety, once the day was finally here, I realized that it’s all OK.  Life doesn’t always go as planned, but it will go on.  Yes, I expected things to be different than they are now, but that doesn’t mean that I have to give up on getting to that place.  I also don’t need to feel bad or try to justify why I am where I am.  Where I am right now is actually pretty darn good, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Surfacing

It’s been a while since I’ve been here.  Six weeks to be exact (if being exact is your kind of thing).  I can’t really pinpoint where I’ve been.  I have plenty of excuses I could give you.  (Work took up half that time.  Then I was sad that work was taking up so much time.  I was out of town for a couple of weekends.  I spent a lot of time reading about The Oatmeal’s trouble with Funny Junk.)  None of them really mean anything.

I haven’t just been neglecting this blog.  I haven’t been writing at all.  Nothing.  Zero.  Zilch.  You would think writing would be a welcome retreat, but no, it was more fun to throw myself a pity party.  We’ve all been there.  You don’t really want to go, but you got the invitation and you don’t want to be rude.  Then you end up staying much longer than you ever intended.   So, I guess I did know where I was – trapped in the black hole of self-pity.

I finally decided I was tired of doing that.  I’m trying to get out of the hole and back to the surface where life is happening.  It hasn’t been easy.  I can still hear some of the party-goers shouting after me, “What’s the point?  You’ll never be a writer!  Just stay here with us!  Have another beer!”  Then they crank up some 90s dance mix to try to lure me back in.  They know me so well.  Yes, all the exclamation points are necessary.  They are very enthusiastic about their nay-saying.

In an attempt to drown out said party-going nay-sayers, I’ve been writing in my head.  Yes, yes, all writing thoughts originate in my head.  What I mean is that the thoughts for a story or blog post are flowing out while I’m driving or running (mostly running).  I don’t know if this counts as writing.  Probably not since I have yet to actually put pen to paper for any of them, but the ideas are still clear in my head.  (Is there an app that will translate my thoughts into written word?  Can someone please invent that?)

If it isn’t yet obvious, I have no idea where I’m going with this.  I just felt the need to give some type of explanation as to where I’ve been; although, I really haven’t done that.  I am trying to be accountable.  I’m ‘fessing up to the entire Internet and promising to do better.  It’s almost my birthday, and I want only good things to happen this next year.  I need to get in the right frame of mind.  You know, positive thinking and all that.

So, to summarize, I disappeared for a while because I’m lame, and I let self-doubt take over.  No more!  I’m taking a stand.  To be a writer, you must write, and write I will.  Even if it’s about making dinner or doing the laundry.  Wait – don’t go!  I promise I won’t bore you with posts like that (unless it’s really entertaining, but I wouldn’t hold my breath).

Enough pointless musings for a Monday.  I’ll be back soon – pinky swear.

Beating the Heat | Mini Marathon Race Recap

At 5:15 AM Saturday, I slapped the alarm off and stumbled out of bed.  The house had really cooled off overnight, and I was hopeful that the forecast had changed.  I fed the dogs (who apparently are just as hungry at 5:15 as 6:45), and went about making my own breakfast.  Before every race, I eat two whole grain Eggo waffles with peanut butter and banana.  Shortly before my very first race, I found this recipe in an article about high-energy breakfast foods.  It works for me, so who am I to mess with it.  As I ate, I looked over the course map and made notes of when I would stop for water and Gatorade.  I decided I would use the pace band, if for no other reason than to keep from going too fast at the start.

I got dressed, remembering to put Body Glide on my toes.  I packed up everything I thought we would need for the morning (double-checking for the iPod and phone), and we were on our way downtown by 6:30.  As we walked to the garage, I felt a bit chilled, and let myself think for a brief second that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

As we were driving, it seemed lighter out than in the past, and I began to worry that we had left later than usual.  About a mile from the house, I said, “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”  My husband’s response, “Don’t you always feel that way?”  At least I’m consistent.

We got closer to downtown and the traffic started to pick up.  I began to see people with bibs on carrying Finish Line bags walking blocks from the start line, and the worry that we had left too late increased.  I was afraid my super secret parking spot was going to be taken.  On top of that, I already needed to pee again.

I turned onto the street where I wanted to park, and was immediately relieved.  The whole block was empty.  We took off towards Washington Street.  Again, I thought about how pleasant it felt, and was surprised that I wasn’t enveloped in a blanket of humidity.  We turned down the south spoke of the Circle, and essentially met a wall of people.  I know this was only my third time running the Mini, but I did not recall this many people meandering this far east on Washington.  We MUST have left later than usual.

Within a half a block, I was getting impatient.  We could barely move.  People were just standing around as if they had nowhere to be (and I could tell by their bibs that they certainly did have somewhere to be).  After much muttering and cursing under my breath, we ducked into the Westin to use the bathroom.  The line for the first floor restroom was, of course, insanely long.  Up we went and found one with no wait.  The timing was perfect, because the line had started for form when I came out.  We went out the south side of the Westin and avoided the throngs of people until we were close to my corral.

I gave everything, including my phone, to my husband, he took a quick picture (how do I always look hideous in my before-race pictures?), and I dashed into corral F thinking I only had about ten minutes or so to wait.  I pushed to the very front of the corral, and began to look around for my running buddy.  Despite the announcement that it was the “last call” for runners to get into the corrals, I had over 15 minutes to wait. Once again, the nerves got the best of me.  (Also, I’m now convinced that we left the same time we always do).

I tried to stay calm and focused, and ignore all of the chatter around me.  The sky was still overcast, but I was beginning to feel the humidity.  I kept checking my watch, and despite it ticking closer and closer to 7:30, I didn’t hear any announcements, music, or the national anthem.  Before I knew it, we were off.  I still have no idea what was going on.

As the crowd around me began to surge forward, I began walking towards the start line.  Everyone was running past me, sometimes running into me, but I refuse to run before the start line.  As my first coaches told me, you are about to run 13.1 miles.  Why do you want to add more to that?  So despite the jostling, I continued my walk, and fell in behind two guys that were walking.  I crossed the start, and concentrated on going slowly.  If I went out too fast like last year, I more than likely would not finish.

My first mile was at a 9:11 pace, and I decided I could pick it up.  Amazingly, my hamstring was not bothering me.  Miles two and three were decent, but I was already beginning to feel hot, and there was still cloud cover.  My 5K time was only slightly off of my ideal time of 1:47:00.  I picked it up a little more, stopped at a water stop, and hit mile four with a decent pace.  At mile four and a half, I knew I couldn’t keep it up.  It’s amazing how much can change in just a half mile.

I spent miles four and five trying to figure out what my strategy was going to be for the rest of the race.  I did not want to be miserable like last year, I wanted to finish strong, and I didn’t want to walk except through water stops.  I decided the best way to achieve this was to abandon pace and run solely on how I was feeling.  That decision saved the race for me.

I hit mile six as we were about to go into the track, and the sun was high in the sky to greet us.  Around this time I also decided I would take water any time I pleased, so I grabbed a cup at the last stop before entering the track.  I stuck with my plan to have some Gatorade right after entering the track (and making it up that steep hill), and that was a mistake.  Lemon-lime Gatorade is gross.  I took two sips, but then my mouth was thick with Gatorade.  All I could think about was getting to the next water stop so I could rinse my mouth out.

I ran through the spray station, got onto the actual track, and thought for the first time that I wasn’t sure if I would be able to finish.  I was getting so hot, and the spray stations weren’t enough to cool me down.  I wasn’t even halfway done yet.  I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind and just focus on putting one foot in front of the other (it didn’t help that the winners were upon the big screen).

I came to the first water station inside the track and decided I was going to pour half the water over myself.  Wow, did that feel good.  As I was approaching the Yard of Bricks, I heard someone shout “You’re almost halfway there!”  I didn’t want to think about it, because a lot of times people cheering say “You’re almost done!”, and you’ve really got three more miles to go.  Then it registered that I WAS almost halfway done.

I hit the Yard of Bricks, tried to smile for the camera, and focused on my music.  As hoped, my playlist strategy did not fail me.  I hit another water stop, another douse of water over the head, and there was the mile eight marker.  Once I was past it, I let myself acknowledge that I had less than five miles to go.  That mean some distance with a four in front of it.  I could do that.

Around this time, the sun went behind the clouds, and I started to feel stronger.  I looked at my watch for the first time in about three miles and realized there was still a chance to break two hours.  It was also around this time that I began to see runners to the side of the course receiving medical attention.  I reminded myself to run based on how I felt.

I exited the track, and as I got back on the street I saw a Back on My Feet supporter cheering.  We saw each other at about the same time and both screamed out “Yeah!” or “Hey!” or something.  Regardless, it was the encouragement I needed, and a reminder that by fundracing, this was already my most successful race.  As I was feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, there was mile nine.

The next three miles were tough.  I knew I could finish, but I really wanted to stop and walk.  I compromised by taking some extra time at the water stops.  It was hard forcing myself to sip water, because by that time I just wanted to chug everything in sight.  However, in addition to not walking, I also try to make it a rule not to vomit.

I was almost to mile eleven, and I knew there would be a Gatorade stop, but no water.  I didn’t know if I could make it.  Then, unbelievable, right in front of me was a table with water that four or five girls had set up on their own outside their house.  I saw them pouring the water out of bottles, and I didn’t think twice about grabbing one.

By this time, I knew under two hours was out of the question, but I wouldn’t be far off.  I just hoped I had enough to give a little kick at the end.  My muscles were fatigued, and I could feel the blisters on my left foot (the same two places I always get them).  I knew that without the Body Glide, it would have been even more painful.

The last water stop appeared right at mile twelve, and I grabbed two cups of water.  I walked slowly, knowing I was not (hopefully) going to walk again.  I sipped on one cup, and poured the entire contents of the second over my head and down the front and back of my shirt.  There was so much water that my shorts ballooned out as if I’d just jumped in a swimming pool.  I may or may not have giggled at that.  I tossed the empty cups and took off.

Once I could see the finish line (or at least the structure), I let myself start to think about the race. As hot as it was, I still felt better than I had the year before, when I did spend most of the last three miles (including the last half mile) walking.  I decided I would give it all I had at the half mile mark, but it never came.  I thought I’d missed it, but then I saw the thirteen ahead of me.  (Just like the lack of sound at the start, I have no idea where the markers were this time.)  I picked it up, very conscious of the fact that most of the people around me were moving slowly and looked miserable.  I felt for the people receiving medical care so close to the finish line.

I gave it everything I had as I crossed the finish line, proud that I had conquered the race in that weather.  Unofficially – 2:02:11 (officially 2:02:09 – that never happens!). I grabbed on of the bottles of water being handed out, took a few big gulps, and went to get my medal.  As I was walking down the finishers’ lane, I realized that my husband and I had not discussed where we were going to meet.  I took my time getting all of my post-race goodies, and even got my picture taken (I never do that, and can only imagine how terrible it will be, but I wanted a memoir).  I was hoping he would be able to find me right after I entered Military Park like he had last year.

After about thirty minutes of wandering and eyeing people who I thought might let me borrow their phones, we finally found each other.  Turns out we had gone to all of the obvious places (results tent, Blue Mile tent, family reunion area) but at different times.  Yeah, yeah, had one of us just stayed put…

We walked back to the car and shared our experiences as participant and spectator.  I checked Facebook and Twitter to see how all of my friends fared, enjoyed a long, hot shower, and capped off the morning with Pancakes and More and a mimosa from Good Morning Mama’s.

While I didn’t reach the goal I’d set at the outset of this training, this Mini is the one I’m most proud of.  I ran a smart race, I had a good time considering the heat and humidity, and I raised over $1,800.00 for Back on My Feet Indianapolis.  I’d call that a win.

What’s next, you might be wondering.  I might be crazy, but I think it’s time to register for my first marathon (not Chicago – if Saturday taught me anything, it’s that I will never run Chicago).  That still scares me a lot, but I think I’m ready.  Follow along with me for that adventure, too, won’t you?

Here We Go

I can’t believe in less than twelve hours this will all be over.  All the training, the hard work, the preparation has led to right here.  And I have to say, I’m not where I thought I would be mentally, physically or emotionally.  Aside from the issues leading up to today, our A/C is broken at home.  It’s been hovering around 80 inside the house for the last two days, making sleep miserable.  This makes me worry about getting a good night’s sleep, which then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.  A storm came through a bit ago and cooled things off a couple of degrees (actually three degrees – woohoo!).  Let’s hope Pete doesn’t decide to sleep ON me again tonight.

I don’t feel nervous, which I suppose is normal. The nerves usually start in the morning while eating breakfast, and then on the drive downtown.  I have all of my clothes set out for tomorrow.  It’s weird to not have an outer layer that I shed right before the race and then put on immediately after.  It’s also weird to set out sunscreen (don’t worry – I’m not using the 15 SPF.  The 50 is in the car.  This is just a reminder).  I’m proud to be running in a Back on My Feet shirt (and possibly hat if the thunderstorm forecast holds true).  I’m proud to be running with the names of everyone who donated on the back of my shirt.  I’m proud to have such awesome friends and family who helped me raise over $1,800.00 for BoMF.  (By the way, it’s not too late to donate – I’ll add you name in the morning!)  In that regard, this is already a PR.

I’m still worried about the heat and humidity.  Right now the forecast calls for temps of about 66 at the start and 76 by 10 am.  I ran at 5:45 this morning, and the humidity had already set in.  I’m also concerned about thunderstorms, not because I don’t want to run in the rain.  Well, I don’t REALLY want to run in the rain, but I don’t mind it.  In fact, I think it would be welcome tomorrow.  What I am concerned about is lightning.  I don’t want the race to be called!   I want to cross the finish and get my medal.

My pace is going to be dictated by the weather.  My hamstring is much improved, although not 100% yet.  During this morning’s (very) easy run, it hardly bothered me at all.  I hope that the same is true tomorrow.  I’ve got a pace band sitting in front of me, but I’m still not sure whether I’m going to use it.  I’m afraid if I put it on, I will push myself to try for that time – against better judgment.  I think it will be race-time decision.

I spent the evening working up my new playlist.  I’m pretty excited about it.  It’s taken me a few races to get the hang of proper music selection, and more importantly, proper music placement.  My first race, I loaded so many songs that I had four hours’ worth of music!  I know it was my first, but it did not take me that long.  By the time I finished loading the music, I was too tired to organize the songs.  The next race I was more careful.   I put the songs that help me kick it into gear at 15-20 minutes before I expected to finish.  It worked out beautifully.  Last year I ran without music.  That was a huge mistake, mainly because I learned that the music helps to pace me.  I can’t wait to put the headphones in and just run tomorrow.

Believe it or not, I’m glad that I got up at 5 this morning, because I’m starting to feel pretty tired.  I hope to sleep like Pete and Maggie tonight (ie, nuclear war may or may not wake them up).  Usually I toss and turn the night before, afraid that I will sleep through my alarm.

Good luck to everyone else running tomorrow.  Look for the race recap before the end of the weekend.  I’m off to dream of overcast skies and swift feet.

One Week

It’s hard to believe that fifteen weeks of a sixteen week training program are gone.  In just a week the race will be here.  I can envision the start line, the tens of thousands of people converging on downtown, the buzz in the air.  But, I’m having trouble pinpointing my feelings this time around.  I’m not nervous, but I’m not excited, either.  I know it’s because I’m not quite where I expected to be.

I ran yesterday and today, and while my hamstring definitely feels better, it’s not 100%.  It’s more of an ache than a pain, but a hindrance nonetheless.  Unlike prior pains, such as the shin splint, ibuprofen does not really help.  However, I’m not discouraged either.  I know I can finish the race, and a lot can happen before Saturday.

By this point, the nerves are usually manifesting themselves as weird dreams.  So far, I’ve only had one, and it was before all of the setbacks.  It was the typical scenario.  I was still at my house when I should have been getting ready to get into the corral, and despite getting up on time, I had not eaten breakfast.  Other typical dream scenarios include getting stuck in the bathroom and missing the start of the race, or getting to the start line and realizing I didn’t actually train.  I suppose I’ll take dreamless sleep over that.

In an attempt to get my head where it needs to be, I bought some new shorts.  New things always make me feel better.  Traditionally, I buy a new outfit for each race.  Weather always dictates what I actually wear the day of, but knowing I have new clothes to run in makes it easier to get out of bed at 5 am.  This time, I’m breaking my cardinal rule.  I always wear the new outfit one time – on a ten-mile run – to see what potential issues there may be.  I’ve had my Back on My Feet shirt for a month, so no concerns there.  For a while I wasn’t sure whether I really needed new shorts, hence the delay in shopping.

On top of that, I was being a little particular this time around.  I’m tired of running in shorts with no pockets (sorry, the little spot for a house key or a gel does not constitute a pocket).  I wanted a zippered pocket along the back of the waistband.  I also do not like running in short shorts.  Let’s be honest – no one wants to see that.

After doing a bit of research and asking my running buddy what she liked, I decided to check out lululemon.  Slightly more expensive than say, Nike or Saucony, but covering all requirements.  I tried on a couple of different styles and sizes, and was surprised by how comfortable they were.  With a four-inch inseam, two gel pockets and a zippered pocket, I was sold.  I’m hoping four miles will be a long enough distance to allow any potential problems to manifest themselves.

I hope that the taper also helps to put me where I need to be mentally.  Knowing that I get to start carbo-loading in a couple of days is helping as well.  There’s no sense in denying it – part of why I run long distance is to eat tons of pasta, pizza and potatoes.  Who am I to argue with science?  Up next on the task list is to put together a new playlist for the race.  Just like a new outfit, a new playlist does wonders for upping my excitement. (Any must-have song recommendations?  Leave them in the comments!)

Over the next few days, I need to focus on getting decent sleep and hydrating.  Even if things don’t go as originally hoped on Saturday, it will be OK.  I know I will run the best race that I can, and I know that there will always be another chance, another race, another opportunity for a PR.  After all, the next goal is to tackle 26.2.

Hurts So Good

I finally called about getting a massage for my hamstring.  I got up from my desk at work, and the shooting pain up my back convinced me to call.  I had done a little research, and decided that I would try Heal Thyself in Broad Ripple.  I knew that I wanted a place that focused more on the medical aspects of massage rather than just relaxation.  Heal Thyself offers such services.

I wasn’t sure what the proper timing would be.  Should I get in ASAP?  Should I wait until closer to the race?  The woman I spoke to recommended ASAP, and much to my delight, there was an appointment available this afternoon at 4:00.  She had one question though – would I be comfortable with a male therapist?  I said yes without hesitation, thinking a male might be stronger than a female and able to really work the muscles.  Be careful what you wish for.

After I hung up the phone, I panicked.  I hadn’t shaved my legs since the weekend! (Yeah, I’m gross.  So what?)  I seriously thought about calling to reschedule, but decided I shouldn’t let a little stubble come between me and potential freedom from pain.

Heal Thyself is located in a renovated house on Broadway off of Westfield.  I could smell the lavender as I walked onto the porch.  The whole vibe of the place was soothing.  As I sat in the waiting area, I really felt like I was hanging out in someone’s living room.  I met my therapist, Helger, and he spent some time asking about the issues I was experiencing.  I specifically said that I was not having any pain in my quads.

As he got started, I was surprised that my hamstring didn’t hurt like I thought it would when he was working on it.  My hip hurt, but I kind of expected that.  What I did not expect was the pain in my quads.  It felt like he was barely working the muscles, but they were so tender.  I wasn’t sure I would be able to get through it, but you guessed it – it hurt oh so good.  I didn’t want it to stop because I knew it was helping.  Even as I was laying there I could tell that I was going to feel fantastic when I got up.

Oddly enough, my abdominal muscle was the likely source of my hamstring pain.  Apparently it was pulling up my hip, which was then impacting my hamstring.  I’ve had a decent number of massages in my time.  This was my first experience with having my stomach massaged.  It involved a bit of pinching my fat (at least that’s what it felt like to me).  But not in a mocking way.  In an incredibly helpful, pain releasing kind of way.

Going into this, I had expected to feel a little better after it was over.  My expectations were not so high as to think that I would walk out feeling normal.  I figured I would need some more stretching and foam rolling at home.  But when I got up from that table, my hamstring did not hurt.  Not one little bit.  Now my quads, they were another story.  It still kind of feels like I did a monster speed workout this afternoon.  I can only imagine what I will feel like tomorrow.

I did not run tonight, and I will likely take tomorrow off as well, as Helger’s suggestion.  I certainly don’t want to undo today’s hour’s worth of magic.  Since it’s taper time, I’m not worried about missing one run.  However, I am anxious to see how everything feels.  It would be encouraging to get through the next few days without my muscle tensing up again. At least I know where I can turn in case it does.  For now, I leave you with this:

Dealing with Setbacks

At four weeks out from the race, I felt great.  I had one ten-miler done; I was incorporating speed work; things were looking good.  Then, I woke up the Friday three weeks before the race (Friday the Thirteenth, no less), and my throat felt a bit scratchy.  Refusing to face reality, I told myself I must have just slept with my mouth open.

By the end of the day, I had to face reality.  I felt miserable by the time we got home from dinner, and didn’t understand why my husband looked at me strangely when I said I wanted to go to bed at 11:20.  I know that’s kind of early for a Friday, but I didn’t think it was deserving of a strange look.  Then I got into bed, reached over to set the alarm, and realized it was only 10:20.  No wonder.  Clearly, I was sick.

Luckily, I got over the worst part of the cold in just a few days – you know, the time period where you just feel like crap, everything aches, and you are exhausted.  By Tuesday, I felt like I was on the mend.  I went out for a short run.  It was hard to breath and I still had runny nose, but otherwise I felt OK.  Until the next morning.

I woke up and my hamstring was so sore.  What had I done?  Actually, the question was what hadn’t I done.  You see, when we got back from the 4 mile run, we had to go to the store.  In my haste to get food to put in my belly, I did not stretch afterwards.  Oh, it was only four miles, I’ll be fine.  I know better than this.

I’m not sure that my lack of stretching is the entire issue, because it is more painful than ever before.  In addition, I can’t quite completely kick this cold.  I’m still coughing and it’s still hard to breath on runs.  Needless to say, I began to feel frustrated, and even worse, afraid.  Afraid of the distance.  Afraid of the pain.  Afraid of not running to my potential.  Afraid of having wasted the last sixteen weeks.  It’s the ten-day taper.  I should be feeling fantastic.

Then I started thinking about all of my half marathons.  My first race, I had all kinds of issues.  Knee pain.  Foot pain.  Hip pain.  I remember thinking the few days before that race, “Please just let me wake up with no pain race day.”  And I had no pain that day.  Adrenaline is a wonderful thing.

Six months later I was getting ready for my second half, and about three weeks before the race I developed a shin splint.  Wow, was that painful.  Much more painful than what I’m feeling now.  Race day I popped some ibuprofen and ran my best race to date.  (I did take a break and let it heal afterwards.)

While I was moping around the last two weeks, I forgot that this is not the first time (and I’m sure will not be that last) that I’ve faced setbacks shortly before races.  Each time, I dealt with them and refused to let them get the best of me.  I’m certainly not about to do that this time.

My hamstring is still sore, but I had a really good run tonight.  I’ve been using a foam roller (seriously, how have I gotten by this long without one), and focusing on stretching.  It’s still ten days until the race.  Not just ten days, but ten days of tapering.  That’s exactly what this body needs.

I know that I’m not going to reach the starting line next Saturday morning in the condition that I had been hoping for.  But that doesn’t mean I have to give up completely.  I’m working on my race strategy, and after running the course two other times I can now visualize it.  I can realistically plan what my time should be at certain milestones along the course.  It’s unbelievable how much comfort that provides.

Right now, it’s time to focus on mental preparations.  Physically, I’ve done all that I can.  All of the hard work and long runs are already complete.  It’s time to make sure I stay out of my own head.  It’s time to remind myself that this time, I’m not just running this race for me.  It’s time to focus on bringing my A game.

Speed Work: A Necessary Evil

I hate speed work.  I know, who doesn’t.  It’s horrible.  It’s hard.  It makes me feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest.  But it works.  I had big aspirations for this training session.  I was going to do at least one speed workout per week.  I was going to get faster.  I was going to get stronger.  I was going to run the Mini in 1:45:00.

I’d like to say that I have some excuse for not sticking with the plan.  Injury, sickness, something.  Anything other than laziness.  But I’m afraid that’s the truth.  As I planned my runs for each week, I saw the days where a speed workout would fit in nicely.  Each week I had an excuse ready.  “I don’t have access to a track.”  “It’s snowy out.”  “My shins hurt.”

About two weeks ago (and six weeks out from the race), my  husband and I ran this 5K.  I gave it my all. I ran hard.  At the end, I was spent.  My pace? 8:06.  You know what that isn’t?  8:00 – the pace I need for a 1:45:00.  I felt kind of discouraged and disappointed.  I was certain there was no way I could keep up even an 8:06 pace for a half marathon.  What happened to my grand plans?  The time that was just out of reach at the last race was likely going to continue to be so.

Then I got over the pity party.  I still had six weeks.  That’s a lot of training time.  I started thinking of workouts that I could do that didn’t have to involve the track (although I have every intention of checking out the Monon Center – the indoor track is free).  The easiest workout for me (and by easy, I mean in terms of keeping track of the speed portion) are those based on time.  Three minutes all out.  Five minutes all out.  Ladders.  It’s hard to do alone, but I knew I could tackle them.

Last week I got serious.  I mapped out roughly a 4 mile route with 4 major hills (major when compared to the relative flatness that is Indy) over on Butler’s campus.  The run involved four 3 minute pick ups – you guessed it – up each of the hills.  The last one nearly did me in, but I did it.

This week I stepped it up a bit.  This week is my highest mileage week for this training program – 34 miles with a 10 mile long run.  I needed to do 6 miles yesterday, and I figured with 2-2.5 miles of warm up/cool down, I would be fine.  About a mile in, I saw an unopened Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg on the street.  It looked like it had just been dropped.  It wasn’t smooshed.  And yeah, I seriously thought about picking it up.  I refrained.

I started my first 3 minute pick up, and I could tell that I wasn’t going to be able to go my fastest through each interval.  I tried not to think about the two 5 minute intervals or the three other 3 minute intervals.  I tried not to think of the three hills I had purposefully included in my route.  I tried not to think about what would happen if those hills came at the end of an interval.  I just ran, focusing only on turning my legs over quickly for the duration of those three minutes.

As I feared, the first hill came at the end of the first 5 minute interval.  I pushed through, and savored the gravitational pull as I ran back down the hill.  Before I knew it, I was on my last pick up.  Just three more minutes and I could take as long as I wanted to get home.  Oh, and it was about this time that I really started to wish I’d picked up that Reese’s egg.  I deserved such a tasty reward.  (It’s possible I was not getting enough oxygen to the brain).

I took off, and again, as feared, that last looming hill was facing me, mocking me.  I pushed my legs harder.  Even though it didn’t feel like I was actually moving forward, the next thing I knew I was at the top.  I had just twenty more seconds to go.  I may have thrown my arms in the air in victory as I counted down 5-4-3-2-1.

Today I was sore, but in a good way.  It’s the kind of soreness that let’s you know you worked your muscles.  It’s not often that I feel that way after a run these days.  After last week’s speed session, I had a pretty good pace for my long run.  I have high hopes for Saturday’s 10.  And maybe, just maybe, 1:45:00 isn’t out of reach.  I’m not ready yet to give up hope.

Butler Bulldog Jog 5K | Recap

This morning we ran the 20th Annual Butler University Bulldog Jog 5K.  I sort of pressured my husband into running it with me, but I thought it would be a fun run and a good way to support Butler.  I of course signed us up after the early bird deadline (I’m terrible about that kind of stuff).  We stopped by the Butler HRC last night to pick up our bibs.  I was concerned that we weren’t going to get shirts since we registered late.  Luckily, they still had our sizes, which was awesome because these shirts are great.  They are tech shirts and so soft.  Considering the registration cost of $20 (if you were an early bird), this is a pretty good return on investment.

This year’s event also included the inaugural one mile dog walk.  I seriously considered signing us up for that, but was afraid that the dogs would just embarrass us too much.  I think it was wise that we decided to run the 5K.  There were so many dogs (tons of bulldogs, obviously), and I know Maggie would have flipped out.  One of the goals of the event was to gather items to donate to the Indiana Bulldog Rescue and the Indianapolis Humane Society.  Spearheaded by Butler’s mascot, Blue II, he asked participants to bring items that would be put to good use for those dogs less fortunate than him and our spoiled mutts.  So, we gathered up all of the leashes and harnesses that we no longer use (or never really used because Maggie is so picky) and dropped them off when we got our bibs last night.

We had a pretty decent storm come through last evening, and I was  a little concerned that we were going to get rained on and/or that the tow path would be a puddle-ridden, soggy mess.  I would not have been too upset if it had rained because I’m convinced that it’s going to rain during the Mini because we’ve had such great training weather.  However, I knew that rain would not have pleased my husband, and with this being his first race, I wanted it to go smoothly.

We woke up and the weather was perfect.  Just a little chilly, and the sun was coming up.  We needed to run more than just 3.1 miles, so we figured we would run over to campus and back to get in a little over 5 miles.  We walked outside and were greeted by this sunrise.  Pretty good way to start a Saturday if you ask me.  I can only hope that May 5 dawns the same way.  I could already hear the music and festivities coming from Butler.

We made it over in under 8 minutes.  As soon as we walked up I saw the Back on My Feet Indy group.  It was great to finally meet some of the members.  I received a big package of fundracing gear yesterday, so I was sporting one of my new shirts.  I definitely felt a sense of pride being affiliated with the group. (If you are interested in helping me reach my fundraising goal, visit my campaign page here.)

As we made our way towards the starting line, I saw them: Blue II and Trip!  Blue was hanging out in his Burley Trailers Tail Wagon, ready for his duties as Grand Marshall of the Dog Walk.  I finally had my chance to meet and get my picture with him, but I didn’t do it.  I’m so silly.

It was about ten minutes to go time, and I wanted to get up towards the front of the pack.  I had no delusions that I was going to stay at the front of the pack, but I wanted to avoid having to weave in and out of people.  I was really impressed with the fact that they had pacers.  We started behind the girl with the 7:50 sign.  As expected, when the race started people took off in a dead sprint, us included.

As the crowd thinned, I told my husband we were going too fast, and we backed off.  I know it was only a 5K, but I didn’t think running a 7:30 pace would be good for either of us.  Perhaps I was wrong.  We stuck together for almost the first mile, and he started to pull ahead of me.  We passed the first mile marker, and he continued to pull ahead of me.  By the time we hit the tow path, I stopped trying to spot him!  I just focused on my own pace, thinking that if I stayed where I was, I might finish around an 8:00 pace.

I kept closing the gap on the 7:50 pacer, and as I neared the 3 mile sign, I kicked it into gear.  I passed her, and tried not to think about the steep hill that was waiting for me at the end.  I hit the bottom of it and just looked down.  For me, hills are easier if I’m not looking up the steep grade ahead of me.  I saw the finish line, and realized the finish was actually on the football field.  That was pretty cool, and I’ll admit I pretended I was a college athlete as I gave it all I had those last few feet.

My unofficial time was 25:09.  I’m pretty pleased about that.  My husband was waiting for me, and one of the Back on My Feet runners gave me a high-five.  I definitely felt like I had given it my all, which is always my main goal for a race.  We walked back by Hinkle, got some water, and marveled over the impressive race set up.  They had the normal after race food, but they also had a nice area for stretching and massages!  All along the race route we were cheered on by smiling and friendly student volunteers.  I will definitely run this race again.  Great job, Butler HRC!

I hoped to maybe see Blue again, but the dog walk was still going on and we had to get going.  We had a busy day ahead of us and a mile run home.  So off we went at an easy jog.  The official race results aren’t posted yet, but I expect my husband ran at least a 7:50 pace or faster.  Pretty impressive for a first race (although I like to take some credit since I told him we need to slow down at the start).  It’s only a matter of time before I get him to the start of a half marathon.  Happy running!