Blog Archives
The Thoughts In My Head
Hey, blog. It’s been a while. I know. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say. I have a lot to say. I’m just not ready to say it.
When I started this blog, I was in a kind of negative place. Before long, my posts reflected that, and that wasn’t what I wanted for this space. I made a conscious decision that I would not write any more negative posts. No complaining about work, my profession, etc. Here, I would stay positive.
That’s a lot easier to do when it doesn’t seem like everything is turning to shit. To be honest, 2013 has been a real bitch. I can’t ever recall a more trying three months. It has been really difficult to be positive – about anything. Whenever I thought about posting, I was focusing on ugly thoughts. So, I didn’t write.
I can’t say that much has changed, but I need an outlet. And, I want to believe that the power of positive thinking works. So, I leave you with three positive things that happened today:
1. I was able to run in shorts and short sleeves today.
2. I had an idea for a new story and the first three pages practically wrote themselves.
3. March Madness resumed.
Don’t worry; this isn’t going to become standard format for future posts. I’m just doing what I can to get in the right frame of mind.
To 2013
I’ve been struggling to find the focus of this first post of the new year. I’m not one to make resolutions, and who really wants to read a list of my goals for the year? Usually, I’m excited about the start of a year – a clean slate full of so much possibility. 2013 came around and I couldn’t find that excitement. It took me a while to figure out why.
The last few years have started with much to look forward to – getting married, starting new jobs, going on a honeymoon. I had extremely high hopes for 2012. I started a new job just before the start of the year, and I was anticipating good things happening in my personal life. Those high hopes were gone shortly after the start of the year. It wasn’t long before I realized that the new job wasn’t what I’d thought it would be. My stress level increased, my summer disappeared, and all those good things I’d hoped for were distant memories. As 2013 approached, I realized I really had nothing to look forward to. I feel trapped in my job with no out in sight. Vacation planning is on hold as is trying to decide what races I can sign up for (for a couple of different reasons). I just feel lost.
I finally took the Christmas decorations down over the weekend. Most years I’m ready for everything to be put away for another year, to get rid of the clutter, and for things to go back to normal. This year I felt sad as I looked around at the bare mantle and staircase. All I saw were the grand ideas I’d had over three years ago that never came to fruition. All I could think about was the upcoming five-day work week – the first one in four weeks. How would I ever make it through?
After dragging myself out of bed this morning, I spent most of the day feeling sorry for myself. I finally wrote out my goals – by hand in my planner. Seeing everything in front of me in black and white (or blue and white as the case may be) was surprisingly therapeutic. I looked at what I had written, and I made the conscious decision to not let 2013 get the best of me. And then I realized what my first post of the new year should focus on.
So, 2013, this is what I have to say. You might suck worse than 2012 did. I realize that is a very real possibility. You might be the best year of my life (FYI this is what I’m hoping for). Regardless of what you decide to throw at me, good or bad, I won’t let you dictate how I feel. I want to be happy, and I’ve been focusing too much on the perception of what a happy life is “supposed” to look like. I have been spending too much time wishing my days away. No more. Things might change for the better. Or they might change for the worse. Either way, I have to make the most of what I have. That doesn’t mean accepting where I’m at, or not looking for opportunities. But it does mean looking for and finding the good in every day. It means making an effort to be happy even though this isn’t where I imagined I would be at this time in my life. It means changing my attitude. I will go to bed tonight reminding myself of all the good things I have to look forward to tomorrow. And I will wake with a smile instead of a sigh.
That’s it, 2013. That’s what I expect. I look forward to our time together.
Now What? | A Mild Case of Post-Race Blues
I’d heard of the post-race blues before, but I’d never experienced it. I certainly didn’t expect to experience it after a marathon. I thought regardless of the outcome that I would be happy, and welcome a break before starting training for a spring race. But by Tuesday, I found myself feeling inexplicably sad. It made no sense. I’d already planned on focusing on my half marathon time in the spring. Usually I’m grateful for that two month break.
I think the problem was that I didn’t realize how much time I’d spent thinking about the race in addition to the time I spent actually running. Now that I don’t have those thoughts consuming my time, I’m back to focusing on some of life’s frustrations that I don’t have much control over. It doesn’t help that the days are getting shorter, we’re in the middle of dreary November (except this weekend’s weather was perfect), and I just pulled out all my winter running gear. I hate this time of year (I mean winter generally – not the upcoming holidays!).
While I’m feeling a bit lost without a detailed calendar telling me how far I should be running when, I know it’s best to take this time to recover. While I usually take an entire week off post-race, I went out three times this week (although I looked at my husband like he was crazy when he said he thought we’d run around 8 miles this morning – we did 5). I need to enjoy the easy runs because my spring goal is ambitious and will definitely require hard work.
In an attempt to get over the blues but avoid injury and burnout, I’ve been thinking about all of the races I might run next year. My outlook on racing has definitely changed after completing marathon training. I used to think that I would never run more than two half marathons in a year. After running near that distance or more on a weekly basis for almost two-and-a-half months, it doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating. So this is what I’m thinking about:
1. Santa Hustle 5K or Jingle Bell Run 10K (I’d like to do a short race in an attempt to get into Level 3 seeding for the Mini Marathon)
3. Carmel Half Marathon (with a goal of 1:45. I may do another early spring race so that I can run this one with Back on My Feet team members).
4. 500 Festival Mini Marathon (this race is just too crowded to attempt a PR and the weather is unpredictable. I’ve decided that it will just be a fun run).
5. San Francisco Marathon half (I would probably do the first half since it goes over the Golden Gate Bridge. This is right before my birthday, and I thought it would be a good birthday trip. Clearly not a race to set a PR).
6. Nike Women’s Half Marathon (It’s a lottery to get into this race, but the medals are Tiffany necklaces! And another excuse to go back to San Francisco).
I haven’t decided yet whether I will try another marathon next fall, or wait until the spring. Not that I have to decide now, obviously. I don’t plan on starting a formal training plan until the first of the year. In the meantime, I’m just going to run whenever and however far I want. I want to feel good and strong going into half training, which means I need to work on strengthening my core and dropping about ten pounds. I think I’m going to try to incorporate yoga into my routine, even though my balance and flexibility are terrible. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?
I’m already starting to feel better after outlining a plan. If anyone has any tips for getting over the post-race blues, I’d love to hear them. Suggestions for races to add to my calendar? Let me hear about those too!
I Am A Marathoner | Indianapolis Monumental Marathon Recap
Settle in, my friends, and grab a cup of coffee, a beer, or some hot chocolate. This is going to get lengthy, but I’m not sorry about that. I plan on sparing no detail as I recount this experience.
In the weeks leading up to the race, the Universe threw these things at me: 1) A foot strain three weeks before. 2) A trip and fall with skinned up hands and knees ten days before. 3) The start of a cold which I squashed by leaving work early the Tuesday before and getting a couple of extra hours of sleep. Despite these set-backs, I never once listened to what the Universe was trying to tell me. I was ready for this. I had done the training and put in the time. I wasn’t about to give up.
Thursday
I got great sleep on Wednesday night. I volunteered to help with the expo set-up on Thursday afternoon. IMM gives Back on My Feet bibs for our resident members to run the full, half or 5K. In return, we provide volunteers to work one of the water stops. Since I was running, I figured helping out with the expo was the least I could do. I rolled posters and stuffed bags for two hours, then picked up my bib. I wandered around the expo looking for a belt to hold my Sports Beans and Chomps. I stopped at the BoMF booth and chatted with Lindsey, our Director of Communications, about goals, nerves, and where we expected to see our husbands along the course. She suggested that Michael just run the race too since he’d done some long runs with me and my slower pace would be easier for him. I shared the idea with him, but wasn’t sure how excited he was about that. It did make me a little nervous because he hadn’t done the same training I had done (no twenty-mile run), and I didn’t want him to get injured. This would also be his first race of any significant distance.
Friday
I slept great Thursday, too. While we were getting ready for work, we talked a bit about what would happen if he decided to run with me. I made it clear, though, that if something happened, I would leave him in order to try to hit my goal. And if that happened, I would feel bad. I wasn’t sure if there would be any marathon spots available by the afternoon. The race was expected to sell out with people who had planned to run NYC coming here instead (and that was before the race was ultimately canceled). By mid-morning, he had filled out the registration form, and wanted to know if I could meet him downtown later in the afternoon. By the time I got down there, he was registered and we were going to run a marathon together. The nerves that had settled in earlier in the day eased up a little. We spent Friday night eating homemade pasta, watching The Campaign, and I finished up my playlist. I set out my clothes, still not sure whether to wear shorts or capris, and we were in bed by a little after 10. I set two alarm clocks – one for 4:52 AM (8 minute snooze) and one for 5:15 AM. Why 4:52?
Marathon Day
Typically I don’t sleep very well the night before a race, but I actually had decent sleep. I woke up more nervous than I’d been all week, and more so than before any other race, even my first half. The first thing I noticed when I got up was that my lips felt really dry. I didn’t take that as a good sign, even though I felt like I had done a good job hydrating through the week. I made my breakfast and drank more water. My nerves were out of control. We were out the door before 7. We snagged our usual parking spot and headed to the start line. It was cold, and I just wanted to get running.
We met up with all of the Back on My Feet teams around 7:30 to say the Serenity Prayer. I tried to say the first line and found myself all choked up. We say this prayer before and after every run. Never before had I experienced such a reaction. But Saturday was different. We were all standing there together, getting ready to accomplish things we’d never before even dreamed we could accomplish. My emotions got the best of me. I was able to get it together before the tears came, and we went over to tell our teammate Ed good luck as he got ready to run his first marathon, too.
We dropped our bag off at gear check, and I reluctantly took off my outer layers. We were halfway to the Westin for a last pit stop when I realized I’d left my iPod in the bag I just checked. Seriously? I spent like 5 hours on that playlist. I wasn’t about to run without that. I turned around and fought my way through all the people heading in the opposite direction. I got the iPod, got to the Westin, and we made it back to the start line podium in time to help lead all of the runners in the Serenity Prayer. I was able to keep it together that time. We walked through the starting corrals, trying to make our way back to the 9:00 pace group. After being at a complete standstill for a couple of minutes, we decided to just stay where we were (next to the 8:24 pace group) and just walk to the start line, start slowly, and let the crowd thin out. While it was quite crowded, I appreciated the body heat being generated by everyone being so close together. This close to the start of the race, I finally felt calm.
Without much of an announcement, we saw the runners at the front start moving, and we got ready to go. As we headed east on Washington street, the sun was just coming up and we were looking at a beautiful sunrise. Again, I got all choked up. This happens at the start of every race, but this race was more significant. I was going to run a marathon with my husband by my side. Luckily (or not), we had to start dodging people early on, so that took my mind off the emotions. I need not have worried about being near the faster pace group, because we passed someone walking before we had even gone a block.
I felt great, and while I knew most of that was due to adrenaline, I found it really hard to hold myself back. I even had enough energy to talk. I don’t usually race with anyone, so this was new to me. We turned onto Capitol, ran past Lucas Oil, and I saw a rainbow to the west right at Mile 1 (or at least the marker for Mile 1. My Garmin went off a bit before the marker, but I didn’t think too much of it). We made it to Mile 2, and as we ran under the parking garage on Virginia, I lost satellite reception for a few seconds. It didn’t seem to make much difference though, as the Mile 3 alert went off the same distance before the marker. I chalked the discrepancy up to satellite interference from the tall buildings and weaving around people.
Early on my pace was good – I had a few quick miles thrown in (like 8:51 for Mile 3), but overall I was pretty consistent. I felt confident that I would meet and likely beat my goal. When we got on Mass Ave, it seemed like the cloud cover was starting to break up. I was concerned that I was going to be over-dressed but there wasn’t much to do about it then.
My plan was to stop for water whenever I felt I needed it, start taking Chomps/Beans at Mile 5, and then one every 2-2.5 miles after that. I think my first water stop was around mile 5. I didn’t feel thirsty, and wanted to avoid any signs of dehydration. It was around this time that I saw one of my favorite signs of the day: “You are Crazy; We are Lazy.” I’ll give you that runners might be a little crazy, but anyone willing to get up early on a Saturday and stand in the cold cheering for friends and strangers alike is not lazy.
There was a lot of crowd support and entertainment during those first few miles (including the Dirty Thirty Trio on Central and a lone musician playing on his front lawn on Fall Creek). You couldn’t help but smile as you passed little kids holding out their hands to hi-five everyone that went by. Around Mile 6, we found ourselves next to some of the 3:55 pace group. We settled in there for a few miles, but ended up losing them after a water or fuel stop. I wasn’t too concerned because I still felt good.
We split off from the half-marathoners just before Mile 8, and we continued on down Fall Creek. It started to sleet a bit, but stopped within a few minutes. Traffic was backed up due to the runners still crossing down by Delaware, and I will never forget this woman in a black pick-up truck cheering everyone on as she sat there waiting.
We turned towards the fair grounds and was excited that we were approaching our neighborhood and the streets that I run on nearly every day. While I usually like the change of scenery provided by a race course, I felt that the familiarity of the course would serve me will for this first marathon. I also knew we would have at least one cheerleader looking for us.
Just before Mile 11, we passed our street. I didn’t even think about going home. Just past Mile 11, our friends Lisa and Jane were on one side of the street, while our friends Steve, Lizzie and their dog Story were on the other side of the street. I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to seeing familiar faces until they were there in front of me.
As we reached the mid-point of the race, I was thrilled with my pace. Then I started to notice that my Garmin was going off well before we came to the actual mile marker. I was hopeful that the course would right itself, and we would be back on track within a few miles. Looking back on it now, I think that impacted my mental game.
We hit the timing mats for 13.1, and I was at 1:59 and some change. I was right on pace, so I tried not to worry about the mileage discrepancy. As you can see from the breakdown above, things started to fall apart at Mile 15. I don’t know why exactly. I’d like to blame it on the uphill stretch up Meridian, or the fact that it started raining around Mile 16, or the blisters I could feel on my little toes, but I don’t think that was any of it. I honestly think it was all mental. I did contemplate turning at 49th and heading home, but knew that my mom was waiting for us at the finish line.
I got stuck behind a group that I couldn’t pass as we made our way up Meridian. I finally got past them once we turned towards Butler. At this point, I felt like I could use a bathroom break (I had long before decided that this would not be a race that required peeing my pants). We made it to the art museum, and there was an enthusiastic group of IPS (I think) students cheering us on and working the water stop. We exited the IMA grounds and tucked off the side of 38th were two unoccupied port-o-potties. I hesitated, thinking that I didn’t have to go THAT bad, did I really want to stop when I was still within my goal, and how quickly could I actually pee? By the time all of this went through my head, the opportunity had passed.
Just past Mile 20, the 4:00 pace group caught up to me – the official pace group, the one with the sign on a stick and everything. I felt encouraged. All I needed to do was stay with them for six more miles. That lasted for like a mile. They passed me, and I stopped for one of my last Chomps. Up until this point, Michael and I had been basically right next to each other, with each of us doing our own thing. Before this last stop he had pulled away from me, and I didn’t want to waste energy weaving in and out of people to catch him. He saw that I had stopped, so I was able to catch up to him.
Between Miles 21 and 22, it started to sleet/hail. It was miserable. My feet hurt, I was exhausted, and I wasn’t sure that I was going to be able to finish without walking (other than for water stops and one last fuel stop). I did not want to walk. I put my head down and kept going. After a mile or so, the sleet turned to rain. Turns out, the sleet was preferable. Once it turned to rain, my feet got wet which did not help my blisters. I think all of this helped me forget about my need to go to the bathroom because I didn’t think about that again.
It was about Mile 23 that I became certain I was not going to hit my goal. I had expected to reach Mile 23 and be able to turn out some quick miles. In reality, my legs felt like lead. As you can see from above, Mile 24 was my slowest mile, and at a pace that was no where on my pace strategy spreadsheet. I just hoped I would have something to give for the last half mile.
Around Mile 25, I saw a not-funny sign taped on a pole that said “I bet this seemed like a good idea 4 months ago, he he he.” Really not funny. Perhaps the sign-maker knew it wasn’t funny since he or she was not brave enough to stand on the sidewalk taunting runners in person.
I have run the Monumental Half before, and I know how hard those miles down Meridian are. You can see the Circle, but you still have two miles to go, and it doesn’t seem to get any closer. I focused on the ground in front of me, and tried to ignore the fact that my Garmin said we were at 26 miles before we even got to New York.
When we finally got to New York, West Street never looked so far away. I kicked it into gear anyway and pushed myself as hard as I could. We turned onto West side by side and started sprinting (I use the term loosely). We crossed together at 4:05:13, five minutes off my goal.
As we gathered our post-race goodies (very disappointed that they were out of chocolate milk), I was expecting some noticeable shift in life, a dividing line between pre-marathon and post-marathon. It didn’t come. We walked over to the results tent as I scanned the crowd for my mom. We found her after we stretched, and she had gotten video of us crossing the finish. Surprisingly, we didn’t look like we were about to die.
We hit the bathroom, got some coffee, and headed back to the finish line to wait for Ed. He came around the final corner with a huge smile on his face, hand in hand with two other teammates. I turned and watched as he crossed the finish line, and at that moment I felt a change. Watching him cross the finish line made what we had just accomplished more tangible. And I got all choked up, AGAIN. Only this time, as we made our way through the people to congratulate Ed, I didn’t dare try to talk because I knew I would cry.
Closing Thoughts
We hobbled around most of the rest of the weekend. My feet hurt worse than I expected. I was not nearly as hungry as I expected. Even though I did all the training, it was harder than I thought it would be (and not just the last six miles). Despite that fact I was able to get through the race by telling myself that I could take a week off and didn’t have to run any double-digit runs for a long time, I’m ready to run again. Despite the fact that I told myself during the race that I didn’t have to (and probably wouldn’t) run a marathon again, I’m already thinking about what I should run next fall. I know for certain that I could not have finished without walking a significant distance if Michael hadn’t been by my side. I’ll have to figure out a different strategy for the next race because I’m pretty sure I’ve created a racing monster. Despite a missed goal, rain, and sleet, I don’t think I could have asked for a better first marathon.
The Last Long Run
(OR Less than One Week to Go)
(OR What Have I Gotten Myself Into?!)
I really can’t believe the race is just five sleeps away. Five! I started my training program 19 weeks ago. November 3rd seemed like a lifetime away. And now it’s nearly here. I keep alternating between feeling nervous but prepared, and scared out of my mind. Other than a few off weeks early on, I stuck to my training program – speed work and all. If something goes terribly awry on Saturday, it won’t be for lack of physical preparation. No, my biggest fear is self-doubt, but there’s no sense in dwelling on that now.
After my 16 mile run last weekend, my foot felt fine. By Tuesday, I had no pain or discomfort. Doesn’t that sound like the perfect time to take a fall and scrape up your hands and knees? No? Well, that’s what happened Wednesday morning. We were downtown running with our Back on My Feet team, and we were just a couple of blocks from the end of the run. It was still dark out, and there is temporary fencing at almost every corner along Pennsylvania. I didn’t see the base of the fencing covered in leaves. My toe hit the metal, and I was on the ground before I even knew I was falling. Aside from some pretty good scabs (the likes of which I haven’t had since I fell off my bike when I was 9 or 10), I really wasn’t hurt. Just my pride (seriously, is there anything worse than falling flat on your face? At least I was at the back of the group).
On Thursday I had a good, fast tempo run, despite a sore knee. My schedule originally called for a last “long” run of 8 miles. That just didn’t seem long enough, so I planned for 12 on Sunday. I decided I would run part of the race course, including the stretch of Meridian from Kessler to 46th. For the most part, I will agree with the description that the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon is a flat course. Comparatively speaking, it undoubtedly is. But that’s not to say there aren’t some decent hills to tackle. As we crossed Westfield on Sunday, and I looked up and saw what looked like a giant slide in front of me, I was glad I wasn’t seeing that view for the first time at mile 15 or so of the race.
When we started Sunday, it was pretty brisk even though we didn’t leave until 8:45 or so. The cool temperatures made it easy to run quickly, and early on I settled into a 9 minute or faster pace. Without much effort, I kept picking it up. I was certain I would hit a wall, but let my legs go. Soon, I was below 8:30, and I realized that I probably did not push myself hard enough during these last 19 weeks. It’s too late now to do anything about that, so I can only focus on doing the best that I can.
Right now, my biggest concern is what to wear. With the hurricane hitting the east coast, I know that a lot can change between now and Saturday. I have 4 different outfits picked out, and I think it will ultimately be a morning-of call.
I need to sit down and work on my playlist. (Do you have a favorite motivating race song? Leave me a comment with your suggestions!) I haven’t been listening to music lately during training runs, but it’s a necessity when running by myself with only my thoughts for 4 (or less!) hours. However, if something were to happen to my iPod, I feel confident that I would be able to get through it. Now, if my Garmin died, that would be another story! (I plan on taking a back up watch because I would NOT be able to run watch-less).
As I finish this, I feel surprisingly calm. I keep picturing myself running the course, and crossing the finish line under my goal time. I also sometimes envision what it would be like to cross the finish in 3:40 (the time I would need to qualify for Boston). I know – it’s a long shot, but a girl can dream!
Injury: My Worst Training Fear
Last weekend we were in Nashville, TN for my sister-in-law’s birthday. I was also scheduled to do my second 20 mile run. I thought about trying to fit it in before we left, but my schedule just didn’t allow it. I had high expectations for this run, but was a little concerned about doing such an important run in a completely different environment. Downtown Nashville has a bunch of greenway trails. We left our hotel and made it downtown around 7:30. We parked right next to the start of the trail that follows the Cumberland River. The scenery was a bit weird for the first few miles, but once we got away from downtown it was great.
I felt good. I attributed it to the duck fat fried tater tots and white cheddar mac and cheese I’d had for dinner at Merchant’s. My pace was consistent, and I was confident that I would be faster than my last twenty miles. Then around mile 6, that greenway ended. I didn’t want to turn around and try to find another eight miles around downtown. We hit the sidewalk and kept going. Before long we came to Tennessee State’s campus. I could tell that the sidewalk was pretty angled, but didn’t think too much about it. At seven miles, we turned around, and the grade of the sidewalk was even more noticeable.
My left foot started to bother me – sort of a slight cramping. I figured once we got back onto a flat surface, it would work itself out. After all, I’d only been running on the slant for a couple of miles. We got back on the path, and I tried wiggling my foot in my shoe to stretch it out, but it wasn’t getting better. A little after 9 miles, I told my husband it was bothering me. The pain was distinctly on the outside of my foot. At this point, my only thought was that it was going to suck to run another 11 miles with this irritation.
We got back onto the flat greenway path, but the cramping was turning into pain. A little over 11 miles, we came to a spot where people can park and get onto the path. A man on a bike rode by us and cheerfully said, “You’re almost there! You can do it!” While normally something like this would make me smile and provide some motivation, this time I just thought, “But we aren’t almost there! I have 9 more to go!”
I stopped then and tried to really stretch my foot. For the first time I began to doubt that I would finish the full 20. The next mile was tough. I was in my head, and not in a good way. At 12-ish, I stopped for some more Sports Beans and put my headphones in, hoping that some music would drown out the negative thoughts. But the pain was getting worse. And the clouds had cleared and it was getting warmer.
Around 13.5, only a half mile from the car, I stopped and started crying. I knew I couldn’t do the distance, and was worried about what that meant for my training. I think this is the first time I’ve actually cried during a run. My husband asked me specifically where the pain was, and told me to try re-tying my shoe. He also told me that he would do the entire amount with me so that I wouldn’t have to get through it alone. This made me want to cry even more, because I was grateful for the offer, but knew he wasn’t ready for 20 (his longest run to date had been 13, and his Achilles’ was bothering him). I didn’t want both of us injured from this run.
We took a brief stop across from the car (14 miles) and I decided to keep going. We ran down to the pedestrian bridge, crossed the water, and ran by the Titans’ stadium. I was feeling a sharp, shooting pain with each step. At 15, I sat down on a bench, started crying again, and wailed, “I can’t do it!” My husband said, “Yes, you can. I’ll be here with you.” I just kept crying. It was hot, I needed to go to the bathroom, I was afraid to keep running and do more damage. His response? “If it’s your foot, we should stop. If it’s because of the sun and because you need to poop, you need to just buck up and get it done.” And he was right. That’s what I needed to hear.
But when I stood up, I could barely put any weight on my foot. I made the tough decision to head back to the car. My husband put his arm around me, and told me he was proud of me, which made me cry again. I was frustrated by the injury, disappointed to quit 5 miles from my goal, and worried about the rest of training and the race.
It didn’t improve during the weekend, and I took to Google on the ride home. I narrowed it down to three possibilities. 1. Stress fracture of the 5th metatarsal (not likely). 2. Peroneal tendonitis (more likely). 3. Deep tissue or bone bruise (most likely). After doing some more Dr. Googling, I self-diagnosed with No. 2. I limped around Monday, and decided I would go to the Blue Mile injury check on Tuesday.
Turns out my self-diagnosis was correct. I’m still not sure how running only 2 miles on the slanted sidewalk caused such a problem. I run on uneven pavement all the time. I left Blue Mile with strength exercises, instructions to ice, and a better attitude. I ran Wednesday morning, but it was pretty painful. I took Thursday and Friday off, knowing I had 16 miles on the schedule for Sunday. I wanted to get a few miles in Saturday, but when I woke up, it hurt worse than it had since last Sunday. How could that be? I was not happy.
I got up today, took two Advil, ate some breakfast and got ready to go. I don’t know if it was the Advil or just a general improvement in symptoms, but I felt pretty good. I had no foot pain at all, although it started to tighten up around 11. I just kept going.
I impressed myself with my pace. That is the fastest I have run anything over 13 miles, and having done it after an injury and almost a week off definitely boosted my confidence. Surprisingly, I haven’t had any major foot pain all day. I hope it continues to improve. I don’t want to have to make a decision not to run. I just want to go back to freaking out about focusing on running my first marathon in less than two weeks.
2-0
The number 20 can represent any number of things. A birthday. The number of years you’ve been married. The number of pounds you needed to lose when you started running again two and half years ago. At that time it certainly wasn’t the number of miles I ever considered being capable of (or wanting to) run. But here I sit, sore, yet proud, of accomplishing that goal this morning.
I left the house around 7:30, a bit later than I wanted, but at least the sun was up. The weather was perfect. Crisp, but sunny. I ran two miles around the neighborhood and headed over to Butler. As my long runs have gotten longer, I try to add my distance into the middle of the run, as opposed to just running farther north on the Monon (mainly because I hate running north of 96th Street). I turned around at the 38th Street bridge, hoping that I wouldn’t have to go much farther north than 91st Street.
I’ve been testing out various types of gels over the last few weeks, and have decided that I prefer Chomps and Sport Beans to the actual gels. Last week I took something every 5 miles, but felt like I ran out of energy long before it was time to take the next dose. And it seemed to take longer to feel the boost (also 4 Chomps is a lot to stuff in your face at one time). I decided I would try eating a couple of Chomps every two and a half miles. It seemed to work out OK.
I felt pretty good, but at mile 8 my legs started to feel tired. I wasn’t expecting that until mile 12 or so. I hit the Monon around mile 9.5, and immediately got behind this guy that did not want me to pass him. I did anyway, but at 10 miles stopped for some Chomps. He passed me, I started back up, caught up to him, and again he kept pushing over to the middle of the path while looking over his shoulder. Seriously? That continued all the way to 96th. I met my husband just south of 91st, he turned around, and we continued to the turnaround point, took a bathroom break, and headed towards home with about 6.5 miles to go.
At mile 16, with only 4 miles to go, I started wondering what my mental state would be at mile 16 in the race, knowing that I had 1o more miles to go. Then I realized I (hopefully) wouldn’t be thinking in those terms at only 16 miles. I have always managed to make it through long runs by not focusing on how many miles down/how many miles to go. Since it has to be done, the best thing is to focus only on putting one foot in front of the other. But I felt pretty good at 16 miles, and the thought of another ten miles wasn’t that daunting.
But then I hit mile 18, and I wasn’t sure I would even be able to finish the last two miles without walking. I felt like I’d hit a wall, and my legs felt like lead. I was certain I was running over a 10 minute pace. I felt slow. But when I looked at my watch, I was under 9 minutes. Then I started to feel stronger. So on we pushed. When I heard the alert at 19 miles, all I could think about was mentally ticking off tenth of a mile increments. I knew I would hit twenty miles before we made it back home, and I wasn’t sure yet if I would run the rest of the way home or walk.
When I hit twenty, I decided it best to walk home. I was surprised at how much every part of my body hurt when I stopped. Everything was sore, and I wondered how I would ever keep going for another six miles (I’m still not sure, to be quite honest). I thought the finish would be a bit more emotional. I would not have been surprised if I had shed a tear or two. But I didn’t. I just felt amazing. Exhausted and in pain, but amazing. And still able to smile (as Pete jumped at me to photobomb with his paws).
I stretched and thought about the run, and what I need to do to keep things more consistent. I was happy that my pace was faster than last week, but was hoping for closer to 9:15. I am concerned about starting out too fast during the race, and I have allowed myself to go as slow as I want at the beginning of the long runs. I need to work on gradually increasing my pace each mile. Good thing I have another 20 mile run in two weeks.
I topped off the run with some chocolate milk and donuts. It was the perfect reward. And I am so ready to sleep soundly tonight.
Five Weeks and Counting
I haven’t done a very good job of documenting my marathon training, and here we are, just five short weeks away from race day. I didn’t tell you about changing my training program. I didn’t tell you about an early morning long run in the dark during which I got so scared that my fastest miles were 4 and 5 of 12. I didn’t tell you that I learned that I’d been wearing shoes a half-size too small. I didn’t tell you about how my husband meets me during my long runs so that I have someone to help me through those last few brutal miles. I didn’t tell you about running 14 miles, then 16 miles, and then 18 miles. So, here’s the quick and dirty recap of the last few months.
We went to San Francisco on vacation. It’s my favorite place in the world (at least of the places I have been so far). It was cool, and I had plans for running many miles along the bay. That didn’t work out as planned, and I logged only 10 or so miles while there. We did get to meet and run with Bart Yasso. He was in town for the San Francisco Marathon and organized a shake-out run at the Ferry Building the Saturday before the race. Yes, I made sure it was OK for us to come even though we weren’t running the race.
I ran through this park in Illinois, a place I’d been many times as a child meeting grandparents for kid exchange during the summer. It was both comforting and sad, as I thought about my grandma (who has been gone for some time), my grandpa (who left us this past June), and playing Marco Polo with my cousin and brother.
When I decided to run a marathon, I didn’t think about the reality of the training program. I knew it would be hard, and that it would take a lot of time. But I didn’t think about how much actual time, and how much planning, or how many hours I would be out there, just me and my thoughts. So much time to think – about why life just isn’t fair sometimes, about why I can’t write thirty pages for my MFA application, about why we continue to live in a state where the weather ranges from -10 degrees to 110 degrees in the course of a year, about why our dogs are so badly behaved that they can’t be my running buddies.
We went to Las Vegas, and I was determined not to have another San Francisco repeat. I got in every run (except one), and ran twelve miles along Las Vegas Boulevard. I left around 6, the sun just coming up over the mountains. Perhaps not surprisingly, I passed more people at 6 am (still out from the night before) than I did during the last half. (I had oped to make in through the hotel and out to the street without too many people seeing me in my fuel belt. No such luck.) The goal was fourteen miles, and I was OK until mile 8. By that time the sun was up and the temperature was rising. I met my husband around Circus Circus. I had blisters. I was hot. I was almost out of water. And I knew that in order to do 14 miles I would have to run past the Stratosphere, and I just didn’t have it in me. We turned around, and when I hit 12 miles in front of the Wynn, I stopped and walked back to the hotel. I figured 12 miles in the heat was just as good as 14 at home.
I’ve finally lost a few pounds. I know it seems weird to run around 30 miles a week and not see a significant change in weight. But I like dessert. And I firmly believe that marathon training requires daily consumption of 3000 calories. OK, not really, but I regularly reward myself with donuts after long runs.
Last week I ran almost 18.5 miles. Tomorrow I run 20. I’m kind of scared. Last week was much harder than 16 miles, and my pace was 30 seconds slower than it has been. I am hoping that was because I did a speed workout the Friday before, as opposed to having a rest day. It was the first time that I started to get concerned about finishing 26.2 miles. So, tomorrow is a big mental day. I need this to be a good run. I’ve already started preparing. My water bottles are filled and in the fridge. I bought some new Chomps and Sports Beans. I updated my running playlist and added some fun new songs. And I’m planning to wear my favorite running clothes. I’m ready. I can do this.
Finding My Confidence, Part 2
Finding My Confidence, Part 1
Marathon training started out like gangbusters. For four weeks, I got in all my miles, all my speed workouts (even those dreaded Yasso 800s), and all my long runs (including a great 10 miler). Then things fell apart. I’m not sure what happened. I missed a long run (beer was involved). I missed a mid-distance run (beer was again involved). I went on vacation. I was busy at work getting ready for a trial. Before I knew it, two weeks had gone by, I’d hardly run any miles, and I all but forgot what a long run entailed.
I was mad at myself, but I was also starting to get worried. I’m trying to run a marathon. This isn’t something I can just half-ass for the next few weeks and then wake up on November 3 expecting to run 26.2 miles. I don’t want to be miserable, and I don’t want to be out there for five hours. Despite my fears, I still couldn’t find the motivation to get back on schedule.
I had expected lots of running while I was in San Francisco. In spite of (or maybe because of) the hills, it’s one of my favorite places to run. There’s nothing like running along the Bay, through the Presidio, and over to the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d been looking forward to doing that again since the last time I did it in April of 2011. It was going to be thirty+ degrees cooler than home, and I was anxious for a fast pace. We were there for a week. We ran twice. I don’t know what happened. Our first run was great – it was cool; we were fast. Then it was like some weird depression fog came over me.
We got home on a Wednesday (after 24 hours of being in airports and flying), and upon arrival were greeted by near-triple digit temps and humidity. That fog followed me home, settled in, and I swear it started talking to me. “You missed your long run. It’s already Wednesday afternoon. You aren’t going to run today. You’ll never get your miles in. You can’t run five days in a row after missing so much time. Just sit on the couch until next week.” Not only did I listen, but I bought into it, too.
The weekend rolled around, and still exhausted from “sleeping” on an airplane, I chose sleep over running. Knowing that I needed to be up by 6:30 in order to accomplish any decent mileage, I repeatedly hit the snooze button until I turned off the alarm. When I peeked at the clock again, it was 8:45. Game over.
I wanted to believe that I could just start fresh on Monday. Just put the past few weeks behind me and start over. I had a tough speed workout on the calendar and a 12 mile run to try to make up for the missed distance. If I could get through it all, I would consider myself to be back on track. The catch was that I was going to be out of town Monday and Tuesday for the trial. Travel, stress, anxiety, and final preparations were going to make morning runs impossible. Illinois was just has hot as Indiana. Did I have it in myself to go out and run in the heat of the late afternoon?
I wasn’t sure, even though I knew if I didn’t get my sh*t together, it would be time to start thinking about changing my entry to the half.
Curious to find out what happens? Come back tomorrow for Part 2!
Running In The Dark 