Filed under: The Race, Training Runs | Tags: beginners, long run, marathon, nerves, running
C and I ran just under fourteen miles last night. The weather was stunning, with a light breeze and cool, dusky spring temperatures. Sadly, the run was not nearly as beautiful as the weather. We thought we were running a pretty good pace, but we kept on having to stop at red lights, and then C had to use the bathroom, and worst of all, it’s Passover and I’ve been consuming nothing but matzoh and my legs felt awful. I felt far worse after last night’s run than after my 18-miler! Luckily, bread-eating will begin again in 24 hours, so I’ll once more be able to consume my pre-run snack: Peanut butter on whole wheat toast, a banana, and a big glass of water. Oh, my calves can’t wait for that snack.
I have to admit that I’m in the midst of a big case of pre-race nervousness. Will one 20-miler be enough? What if I haven’t done enough hill training? What if I bonk at mile 22? Or Mile 24? Or any mile? What if I still get injured? What if I come down with a stomach virus? What if I don’t finish under 5 hours? What if I wake up late and miss the start time? What if I twist my ankle during the race? Or during my taper weeks? Or at work? What if I’m simply not ready? EEEeeeeeee…..someone throw me a rope….
Anyway, at least C and I ate frozen yogurt with strawberries after the run. It was absolutely delicious. It’s always nice to end a hard run with a good meal! Someone also asked me out for coffee while C and I were eating! I was wearing black running capris, muddy sneakers, mismatching socks, a paint-stained tank top, and a Phillies cap over my sweaty, limp hair. Apparently I should wear outfits like this all the time.
(I said no. Sorry, folks…)
Filed under: Longest Run Ever | Tags: beginners, fight, FIRST plan, half marathon, long run, marathon, races, running, running routes, struggle, Team
Today I ran fifteen miles.
This is very significant. It’s the longest run I’ve ever done. It also really hit home that I am training for a marathon. A MARATHON. It’s interesting, when you think about it. Running is becoming increasingly popular. Thousands of people run races, and many of them run marathons. You should have seen the number of people at Disney. It was as if the population of a small city was running down the road, decked out in thermal tights, hats, jackets, and that look that I’m finding is unique to the serious runner: something in the lines of the face, in the sinew of the calves, some strange determination in the eyes – and something else. A stubbornness, a doggedness. Maybe even a degree of mild insanity.
Fifteen miles is a little more than half of a full marathon. Supposedly, I will be able to run the twenty-six-point-two miles necessary to cross the finish line in thirteen weeks. My college girlfriends have bought plane tickets to see me. I have a hotel room booked in Cincinnati. Fifteen miles, according to the plan, will be peanuts in May.
Today, fifteen miles was really, really hard.
I mapped out a there-and-back route to downtown Wellesley. I prepared the way one would prepare for a race: ate pasta the night before, laid out my clothes, drank a lot of water, slept as long as I could. I filled a small water bottle with Gatorade, set my watch to zero, put my Craft hat on my head, took a deep breath, and went out the door.
There were a couple of long, steady hills, the worst of them at the end of mile 14, but nothing backbreaking. I kept my pace slow, about 11:23 minutes per mile. I stopped only for traffic lights, and there weren’t even too many of those.
The thing that surprised me, really, was just how long I had to run. Even with the Gatorade, I realized that I was getting profoundly fatigued. It was at mile 12 that I began to long for it to just be over, which I suppose makes sense, as my body has only trained to run 13.1 miles. It wasn’t pain, it wasn’t breathing, it was just…weariness. I was tired. I was thirsty. I wanted to lie down and take a nap, drink a gallon of chocolate milk, sit on a chair. Time seemed to be slowing down each time I looked at my watch. But still my feet went on, my forefoot striking the pavement, my calf flexing, my knee lifting, circling, again, again, again.
When I reached the top of the final hill and began the descent home, I felt vaguely like crying – not because I was emotional, but because crying seemed like it would be a soothing, relaxing thing to do. I didn’t cry, though, because there was the corner of my street in front of me. And look: there’s that old Asian man who collects bottles and cans every Sunday when the recycling is put out! There he is with his shopping cart full of junk! Smiling, miming my jogging, clapping! Holy crap, I have a fan at the finish line! I hit the lap button on my watch and slow to a walk, and he shakes my hand.
I go into the house, drag myself up the stairs. Chug two glasses of chocolate milk, oh sweet chocolate milk! Turn on the shower until it’s barely warm, get undressed, step in, turn the faucet slowly until the water is cold, cold as ice. No one is home so I shriek madly, letting the frigid water run over my muscles for as long as I can stand it. I get dressed, stretch, take a ten minute nap. Get back in the shower, this time to wash my hair. I let it get hot. Revel in the steam. Dry off, get dressed again.
Next week I am scheduled for the usual: a short tempo, a long tempo, and a long run. The long run is supposed to be seventeen miles. I am worried I won’t be able to do it. This is hard. This is really hard, folks.
I do remember one thing, though. I was training for my very first big race, a half marathon in my old city. I was running with the Team. We were going nine miles on a hot July day. I had never run nine miles before, and I was struggling. One of my friends on the Team ran with me for the last three or so miles. I had to stop to walk a couple of times, and I couldn’t seem to get control of the respiratory element of the run. I was hot and I felt like throwing up. It was awful.
After that, though, everything got easier. It was like 9 miles was some sort of wall that I had to break through. Ten miles was easy, eleven miles was easy. The race was difficult, but nothing like that 9 miler. I’ll never forget that run.
I have twenty-six-point-two miles to go. I’m not giving up now.
Filed under: Training Runs | Tags: beginners, days off, good advice, long run, off day, Runners' World, running
Yesterday I went for my second short run of the week. And folks, it was SHORT. The plan? 5 miles. The result? Yours truly gets lost in her new city, and in a series of strange turns, unexpected hills, and a hot sun, finally finds her way back. She’s only run TWO POINT FIVE MILES.
Lame, I know. I’ve decided to attempt the 9-miler, anyway. The folks on the RW beginner’s forum, as well as some friends here, have not expressed too much concern about the injury factor. Apparently, cutback weeks are good, even if they come by accident.
Details about the 9-miler to come later this weekend…
Filed under: Speedwork, Training Runs | Tags: beginners, fight, good advice, gym class, memories, moving, running, Speedwork, struggle, Team
Ok, so the title of this post is a little facetious. I’m not in any actual pain. I simply want to emphasize that speedwork? &$@!!%&&@!!! HARD! I arrived at the arranged place, and met a couple of people from the Team, along with a few others I hadn’t met before. One of them was eighty-six years old. He’d been running since he was sixty, he said, and had completed seven half marathons. His PR (personal record, in runningspeak) schools mine. We warmed up by running an easy quarter mile loop. Then we got to business.
Today we ran two 400s (meters, that is), one 800, and finished up with another 400. This adds up to about a mile and a quarter. There is a three to five minute break between each dash. The point is not to run as fast as you absolutely can, but to run at about eighty to ninety percent. The goal, eventually, would be to run the equivalent of a six-minute mile. Or less.
Let us keep in mind that throughout elementary, junior high, and high school, I was one of those people we call “Lasties,” in the infamous Gym Class Mile.
The guy with the stopwatch, who I will refer to as Stopwatch Guy for the purposes of anonymity and, well, my utter lack of ability to remember names, counted to three and, as they say, we were off! My first sprint was not bad at all: 90 seconds. It all went downhill from there. Second 400 was 123, and the 800 – oh, the 800! Was 348 seconds. And it schooled me. Readers, if you need a way to forget everything going on in your life, speedwork is the way to go. Three quarters of the way down that 800 stretch and I was grunting – no, moaning – to be done. The humid air seared my lungs, my arms whirled at my sides, and I’m pretty sure that my facial expression could have matched the contorted grimaces of some unfortunate soul subjected to a Medieval thumbscrew. All I could do was think about what Stopwatch Guy said:
“The point of the 800 is to fight! Too many people give up before the end of a race. Keep your head down, keep your arms pumping, keep your knees up, and fight, fight, fight!”
So I fought. And for those three hundred and forty-eight seconds, I didn’t think about my broken heart, I didn’t think about my loneliness, I didn’t think about the future, and how wide open and scary it was. Only the present mattered, and the present was the struggle of the physical body against itself, the struggle to get simply, beautifully, from one point to another. To fight.
After the last 400, we did a warm-down mile around the park, then sat around in the dusk, stretching and talking. These were some nice folks, and it made me almost sorry that I’m leaving this town in two weeks.
Tomorrow we’re back to normal: four miles with the Team. After this workout, it’ll either be ridiculously easy or completely brutal. I’ll let you know.
Filed under: Dealing, Speedwork, Training Runs | Tags: beginners, dreams, running, slow, Speedwork, struggle, Team
I woke up at an unbelievable 9:45 AM this morning. Not that I slept well; I woke up with my heart slamming in my chest at quite an unhealthy rate. It seems my brain had decided that last night would be a good time to explore the angry fantasies which were, apparently, buried in my subconscious. Last night I argued with, fought, punched, and slapped about five people. Yes, including him. You would think this would be satisfying, but it really wasn’t. I got out of bed feeling drained and crappy, with a couple of unsightly bags under my eyes.
Thank heaven the phone rang at that moment, jarring me out of my stupor. It had the area code of my new city, and it was a job offer. Halleluyah.
This evening begins a new addition to my training: Speedwork. One of my Team members informed me that a local running club was holding “Speedwork for Beginners,” at 6 PM on Mondays. I’m excited to start a previously unfamiliar facet of running. I mean, let’s face it, folks: I’m slow. I need to pick up the pace, and I was dreading the day I’d have to figure out how to do it myself. Now I won’t have to!
Check back this evening for a workout update.
