Injury.

My knee started hurting at mile 7 of my easy 12 miler today.  I was just over a hill on a road with a pretty nasty camber.  I stretched and walked and got to feeling better, but not perfect. 

Later, I had to brake suddenly on my bad leg to keep some getting hit by some old dude in a station wagon who was edging into the crosswalk.  I was going to run, but my running partner threw her arm out in front of me to stop me. 

I walked the rest of it, which wasn’t the best judgement call in hindsight.  I should have just gone home and hit the ice.  I guess I’ll know more tomorrow.  I’m trying hard not to get ahead of myself, but there were some tears today. 

Can I bore you some more? 34 days to marathon day

So I got back from our pre-anniversary vacation at 1 AM on Saturday, and I got up at 6:30 to go run 18.6 miles  in really hot, nasty weather for this time of year.  It was a rude awakening to go from perfect running conditions up on Madeline Island in Lake Superior to southeastern soup.  Trading soft, rolling hills on dirt roads for tough hills on asphalt was no picnic either, but a 5 day break from paved roads did my legs a world of good.

Oh, and I also witnessed a piece of sports history–I was in the Metrodome when Brett Favre broke Dan Marino’s passing record.  Fantastic.

Anyway, I finished my 18 miler with little fanfare, took an ice bath, did some chores, then sat down to watch a little of what the TIVO recorded for me while I was vacationing.  One of the episodes of The Soup, my weekly guilty pleasure, had a bit on problem drinkers.  I can’t remember quite how it went, but it did have a list of things they can do once they quit.  Number five was “Bore other people with tales of your marathon training.”

God, it really is fucking boring, and at the same time, this training has taken over my life.  I’m going to have so much spare time once I’m done and my weekly long run is 10 miles. 

So not much to tell at this point.  After running 18, I’m confident I can run 26.  I was kind of sad at the end of it though, yesterday was the longest run I will do with my training group.  I’m going to be at a conference in Omaha two weekends from now when they do 20, so I’m going to have to come back and knock that out on my own.  Fun. Oh well, I’ll finally get to see the Omaha Zoo.     

Seven Weeks Until the Marathon

Man, I’ve been slack about writing.  I started my new job the week after the half marathon and it’s been non-stop ever since.  I’ve slowed down a great deal in the last week.  I’ve been holding steady at 9:30 for months, but my mile pace  is much closer to 10:30 these days.  I hear it’s normal, but it’s kinda frustrating.

This past Thursday, I passed a dude running down a hill barefoot, carrying a broomstick in his left hand.  I said hello as I passed him, and then 30 seconds later, he comes zooming past me. 

 I let him stay ahead, because whichever way he was going to turn, I was going the opposite direction.  A cop pulled up to the intersection just as ole barefoot reached it.  As I approached the cop, he was hanging out his window, looking back at barefoot broomstick dude. 

Cop looks at me.  I shrug. 

“Is he running barefoot?”

“Yes.  With a broomstick.” 

I ran on without any further discussion with the cute, 23 year old cop, but the whole situation made putting my shoes on that evening worthwhile. 

Today was 16.  It was hard.  I guess they’ll all be hard from here on out.  The last 2 miles, I had the tunnel vision thing I got during the second half of my half marathon.  It’s very peculiar, but I really lose touch with my surroundings.

I took an ice bath when I got home.  I’ll give the verdict on it tomorrow, but for now, I’ll just say it was cold, and I still hurt.

 I’ve been so tired lately, bagging social engagements, scaling back volunteer work, and I ask myself on a regular basis “why are you doing this again?” 

Answers:

1.  Pride–my brothers and I decided to do it over Christmas last year, and I am the only one who is training.  So maybe Jamie is right, maybe I’ll be lucky to beat Oprah’s time.  But he’s not beating anyone’s time

2.  It’s there, and I always thought in the back of my mind that I’d like to do one.

3.  I’ve gone this far, what am I going to do, quit?

4.  Tired or not, I love the way running makes me feel and the discipline it develops in me.

That’s all I can think of now.  Running long distances really does make me stupid. 

The Historic Hell Half-Marathon

It was hot when I walked out of the house this morning.  According to my sources, it was around 76 degrees, 84% humidity.  That’s not the kind of weather you want at 6:30 in the morning when you’re planning to run 13 miles and change starting at 7:30. 

Oddly enough, I didn’t really think about the weather.  I left late after giving up on finding the strap to my heart rate monitor and showed up about 15 minutes before the gun (or cannon, as it were!) went off. 

Packet pick-up was today, so I was running late even when I don’t factor in what ended up being a mile-plus hike from my parking spot to the start.  (I’m not sure where I acquired the good sense not to go running willy-nilly to packet pickup, but that absolutely saved my race.)  I chatted with some fellow racers as we rambled toward the start, realizing quickly that should the gun go off, we were directly in the runners’ path.  We moved to the side, found our packets, and I trotted on back to the secret porta potties.  

The cannon went off when I was 10 yards from the back of the starting pack, so I knew I had sealed my fate for the first 2 miles.  I’d be running them super slowly.  Since I forgot my Garmin in the car in my hurry to make the starting line, I wouldn’t know how slowly.  In the end, I’m pretty confident the slow start and ignorance of my pace were very good things. 

The course was marketed as well-shaded and flat.  It was neither.  The first miles were sunny, exposed, and brutally hilly.  By the time I saw the marker for mile 3, I was out of the pack and on my pace and it was already hard.  I really don’t remember the first 5 miles or so very well.  I do remember seeing the clock at the 10k mark.  58:28.  2 minutes off my 10k chip time from April when I wasn’t nearly as well conditioned.  I realized a bit later that my start had to be over 2 minutes after the gun, and it was indeed, so I wasn’t breaking any land speed records, but I ran the first 10k a little faster than the race in April. 

I caught up to the 2 hour pace group and we leapfrogged for a few miles before I lost them for good around mile 9.  Right about that time, the guy next to me started talking to me.  It was Rick, my Wednesday morning running buddy who has run 2 halves and the Chicago Marathon.  It took me a minute to figure out that a.) he was talking to me, and b.) I knew him.  Running really does make me stupid.  And clumsy.  I’ve spilled three drinks since I’ve been home and none of them were alcoholic.

Anyway, Rick bonked.  He should have finished a good 10 minutes ahead of me, but I left him behind a mile later.  He must have gone out way too fast to be walking that early in the race.   He was pretty down, talking about how he was just going to run around the finishing mat so there would be no record of his ever being at this race.  After I ran ahead, I thought about that.  I knew I could do a half marathon in under two hours, but not today.  I think I made my peace with finishing with whatever time was on the clock somewhere between miles two and three.

I saw my marathon team’s coach at around mile 10.  It was great to see a familiar face.  I also got my Gu around that time, or maybe it was mile 8.  At any rate, the one moment in this race I wish I had caught on film was me trying not to barf after eating my Gu.  So disgusting. 

By mile 8, I had fully committed to walking through the water stations.  By mile 11, I made the promise to myself to walk ONLY through the water stations.  I kept repeating this to myself:

“You can walk for as long as you want, but just wait until you get to the water station.”

It worked.  I kept my promise, I walked to the very end of the trail of blue cups on some of those water stops, but I didn’t walk anywhere else.

Part of mile 13 was through a pretty, wooded trail.  I saw a $10 bill someone had dropped.  I considered bending over for it, but I really wasn’t sure I’d be able to get going again, so I alerted a dude on a bike that someone had lost ten bucks and kept running. 

The final half mile was in full sun, but I didn’t care.  I was almost there.   There was a coach for some team looping around and dishing out advice to her people.  She yelled at the person behind me “catch her!  you can beat that girl!” 

I was struck by the absurdity of that type of competitive nature.  We’re not running to win or qualify, we’re running to get across the finish line.  So she gets 454th place and I get 455th place.  Who cares?  I didn’t. 

It was approaching 90 degrees by the time I finished.  I’m keeping my time to myself, but it was under 2:10.  Yay!  It’s funny, I’m more proud of letting go of my “goal time” than I am of finishing the race.  In the past, I imagine I would have been much harder on myself.

Marathon Training: Hitting the Wall

I’m going through the motions this week.  I had a completely joyful run last Wednesday, Saturday was tough but fine.  Since I skipped both my short weekday runs, I ran a hilly 4 on Sunday which came within 1 mile of making up my recommended weekly mileage.

 Yesterday,  I procrastinated the hell out of my 3 miler and stopped as soon as my watch beeped for three miles.  I never do that.  This morning, I just went through the motions on my 7 miler.  I got up and gutted it out, 9:33 pace.  Not fast for me, but not terrible. 

I got a good laugh though when I came home though.  I told my husband that “it’s misty and it’s raining” in reference to the weather.  As soon as I said it, I was puzzled.  Those words sounded so familiar and yet I couldn’t place them.  “Where’s that from, hon?  ‘it’s misty and it’s raining…”

He howled, incredulous.  “You really don’t know?”

“I’m dumb after I run, you know that!  Oh wait.”  I shook my head, feeling like a complete moron for quoting Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” and not realizing it. 

I’m skipping today’s run.  The half marathon is on Saturday.  Everything from here on out is an automatic personal record, so time to get my motivation back.

Marathon Training: Week 12

The past week was a lazy one.  I skipped two of three weekday runs.  I got my 7 in on Wednesday morning, and what a glorious run that was.  At 5:30 AM, it was chilly. 

Saturday I got a little off route and my 12 miler turned into a 12.5 miler.  Very nice run also.  I felt strong, and I’m not the least bit worried about my half marathon this weekend.  13.1 will be a piece of cake.  I won’t go out fast, it’s a hilly course, so I’m just going to finish.  Any finish will be a personal record for me as it’s my first half. 

Yesterday, I tried to keep my heart rate under 155.  That’s pretty hard.  From what I understand, if you do this consistantly, you speed up while maintaining a lower heart rate (and using oxygen more efficiently or something).  My first mile was a 9 minute mile, and they slowed down steadily after that. 

Oh well.  It’s not like I’m going to win a race, and from here on out, any finish is a record for me.  So I’m going to keep training smart.

One first for the week:  I tried Gu at mile 8 or 9 of my 12 mile run.  It tasted like the grossest frosting you can imagine.  I hate frosting, but I really hated vanilla gu.  Though I did run the hell out of the mile after eating it.  It may have been my fastest mile that day, but I’ll credit the rest at the water stop and not the gu.  Yuck.

Overall, my tummy has been much better since I started eating bland and starchy foods the day before a long run. 

Gut it out

I talk to myself when I’m running and climbing.  I don’t say anything aloud when I’m running, but during the hills, the heat, and the bad miles, I’ve got a near constant mental dialogue going on between the part of me that wants to quit and the part of me that will push through:

“Come on, you’ve only got 3 miles left.  You could do that in your sleep.  One foot in front of the other.”

“But that hill!  That hill!  That’s going to suck so hard, maybe just walk that hill.”

“The hill isn’t for another 2.5 miles.  You’re not going to quit .5 miles before you’re done.  Just gut it out!”

And I do. 

Last weekend I climbed on beautiful limestone cliffs overlooking a manmade lake.  On some of the spots, one could climb without ropes and drop harmlessly into the lake as long as the Army Corps of Engineers wasn’t lurking about handing out $5,000 fines for “cliff jumping.” 

It was a gorgeous spot, the climbing was challenging, and more than once, I found myself rocking the Monica Seles grunt on particularly tough sections.  Once I found a spot where I could catch my breath and shake out my arms, I would talk to myself under my breath. 

“Come on.  You’ve got this.  Gut it out.  Just gut it out.” 

I’m not sure when I adopted that phrase, “gut it out.”  It’s perfect though.  When phrases like “you can’t do this,” “this is too hard,” or “what does it matter if you quit,” “who will know” start creeping into my head, a simple redirection to encourage my gut to take over where my head is failing me works wonders.

On my miserably hot run yesterday, I started thinking about what “gutting it out” meant to me.  I decided it’s simply refusing to engage negative thoughts and tapping into a primal instinct.  When I don’t push, nothing bad happens.  When our distant kin didn’t push, they went hungry and/or ended up prey. 

My running hasn’t changed much since I adopted “gut it out” as a physical mantra of sorts.  (Though I’m eager to find out what kind of times I’ll run once the weather cools.)  It’s moved my climbing forward in a huge way though.  I climb less now that I’m running 4 days per week.  However, in 2 months, I’ve improved from a 5.10- climber to a consistant 10+ climber.  I’m even projecting 5.11s.  There hasn’t been the feeling of a huge jump in skill that I felt when I started climbing 5.10s, simply a shift in balance, attitude, and confidence. 

It doesn’t hurt to try.  And once you start, there’s nothing left to do but gut it out.   

Marathon training: Week 11

I can’t believe I’ve been at this for 11 weeks.  My past two long runs have been on my own.  I knocked out a miserable 9 the weekend I spent at a music festival in the hills, and the next weekend I did 10 at a 9:30 pace in miserable heat.  (And I didn’t stop my watch for water breaks.)

This past week I got up at 5 on Wednesday to do 7 with my partner and the local running group.  It was 80 degrees and around 100% humidity at 5:30.  I think we were a good minute/mile off our normal pace, but we finished with smiles on our faces. 

I skipped the Thursday hill workout and did it yesterday.  Still miserable at 80-something degrees, but much better than 105.  At the top of my final hill, I ran past one of my neighbor’s garbage cans.  Apparently, they had shrimp recently.  I was about to barf from exertion, and that smell nearly put me over the edge. 

 Saturday’s 7 was a piece of cake.  Only the mile I stopped for water was over 9:00.  My half is in two weekends!

Shitty Parent Stories

My family moved a lot.  “Rootless,” get it?  Yeah, pretty subtle. 

I attended two high schools, but my youngest brother Peter attended three.  Yes, my parents moved twice during his high school years.  The moves likely cost him a division one athletic scholarship, among other things. 

Peter has been visiting, and one night last week he told me about his first day at the third and final high school.  For whatever reason, my parents decided to move two weeks before his Christmas vacation.  According to family lore, the rationale was that he could make some friends before Christmas break.  As you might guess, my parents never moved during their respective childhoods and had no first hand knowledge of the ins and outs of being a stranger in a new school. 

To ease this awkward transition for Peter, my father offered to pull Peter out of school and take him out to lunch.  This would have been a kind gesture had dad arrived on time.  He showed up 10 minutes before Peter’s next class. 

“Where the fuck were you?”  Peter yelled at him.  This was the only time Peter has ever said “fuck” in front of a parent.

“Now, don’t use that language in front of me, young man.  I got caught with the realtor, I’m sorry I’m late, but that’s no excuse to use disrespectful language.”

Sorry Dad, it was a perfect excuse to swear at you.   

Marathon training, lost track of the weeks

So it’s going great.  I’m getting most of my miles in.  I think I’ve skipped no more than 3 short runs.  Tomorrow I have to knock out a niner on my own.  Should be fun.

 I’m getting faster.  The limited hills and intervals I’m doing seem to be paying off.  I’m edging much closer to a 9 minute mile.  I’m running a tough course tomorrow with a good deal of hills, and I’m  hoping to knock it out at a 9:15 pace.  We’ll see. 

 In other news, I’m obsessed with Madonna.  Why didn’t anyone clue me in that “Hung Up” is fucking awesome when it came out 2 years ago?