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: long run, moving, nerves, off day, running, slow, struggle, Team
I’ll take a brief break from packing to talk about tonight’s run. It ended up being four miles instead of five, and it was brutal. I don’t know why – I’ve certainly run in hotter weather than this – but the sun, the humidity, and maybe the tunafish wrap I had a half hour earlier conspired to turn me into Sir Leadweight today. I reached the finishing point exhausted, dehydrated, and annoyed that not all runs could be like Tuesday’s run.
My last run with the Team is on Saturday: eight miles. Enter nerves again, especially after today, especially if it’s hot. The good news, though, is that I’ll be running my 9-miler with one of my best friends in the world, who will be visiting my new city the first week I’m in town.
My writing tonight is dull, and I’m sorry for it. I’m mentally and physically exhausted, and my apartment, which should be all packed and ready for the movers, is not even close. It’ll be a late night.
Filed under: Inspiration, Training Runs | Tags: dreams, endorphins, good day, healing, Inspiration, running, sadness, struggle, Team
I can feel the endorphins fading as the dusk comes in, so I’d better hurry up and write about this before I start getting mopey again. Today was the first of my five mile short runs. The weather wasn’t bad: warm with a slight breeze, sunny but not brazenly so. The team started off as usual, and I ran as usual. I don’t think I did anything different.
But as I settled into my stride, I began to feel something strange. Something that came bubbling up from a warm place in my heart, a rush of –
Everyday I wake up and drag myself back from the dreams. I have come to expect the sadness and helplessness, dragging at me in waves over the course of the day. Even during the better times, when I’m distracted by something, or doing an enjoyable activity, it’s been there. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, says a small voice, always there, always unfair.
- and I didn’t recognize it at first. It’s been so long. But there it was, unexpectedly, a gift from God, and I felt Him with me suddenly, inside, outside, in the rays of the setting sun that flashed out from behind the trees and glowed against my eyelids. Joy. Joy. And I wanted to shout, to laugh out loud, to sing, to praise, and of course I didn’t do any of those things because I was surrounded by a hundred Team members, so instead I let it carry me, let it well up in my heart and coarse through my arms and legs, and I ran that whole five miles smiling and laughing inside.
I tried to keep it with me. It lasted for a little while, but I have to admit that it’s going away with the day. And the sad small voice is still there, saying what it’s saying. But maybe if I felt it tonight, I can feel it again. Maybe I’m doing the right thing. I’m searching. I’m seeking. I’m running. I’m hoping.
Filed under: Dealing, Speedwork | Tags: healing, moving, running, sadness, slow, Speedwork, struggle, Team
…asked a friend from the Team. He was referring to my somewhat pathetic 800m PR. Tonight was my second speed workout. I ran the 400s much slower than last week, but managed to shave seven seconds off the 800. That brings it down to a very penguin-y 341 seconds. I’m starting to realize that I have pretty crappy endurance. This shouldn’t surprise me, as endurance tends to be a weakness in my instrumental playing, as well (yes, I’m a musician, but we’re not getting anymore specific than that). Yes, I can run for a long time, but I cannot, cannot run fast. I really want to, though!
After the run, we stuck around the park, talking and eating pizza and swatting away bugs. The pizza was an enormous relief, as I really wasn’t in the mood to cook tonight. Honestly, I’m not in the mood to do much of anything. I have a mountain of packing to do, and I have to plan the three-day solo drive to my new city. I’m procrastinating like mad and the fact that nothing was supposed to end up this way isn’t helping much.
I wish so badly that I could call you-know-who and tell him everything. You know, the details of my everyday life, things I need to do, will be doing, my general thoughts on things I saw, funny anecdotes, commentary on the news, musings on life and God. It’s a terrible loss. Running helps; it distracts, it bumps my concentration somewhere else, and it’s a good timeline: run the Pig, and when you do, nine months will have passed. And who knows what will happen in nine months?
But running takes up maybe ten percent of each long, long week. I know the deal: keep busy, think about other things, pray, etcetera. The pain will end, they say. You’ll get through it, they say. You’re strong, they say. That last one, now – that last one, I just don’t understand. I wish I were strong. I wish I were.
There were no coughing fits today, thank heaven. In fact, this evening’s run was fairly unexciting, except for the very end, when the Team couldn’t seem to figure out the location of the last turn. As a result, we didn’t do the full four miles. I think I heard someone say the number 3.82. Not really anything to be worried about.
There was also a noticeable change in the weather tonight. The humidity has lessened somewhat, and even now, a cool breeze blows through the windows of the apartment. It feels pleasant, but with it lurks a lonely, pervasive sadness. The summer is ending. Autumn is coming. So many hopes will be laid to rest, under the fading leaves.
