When Life Gets in the Way

Seriously.

Went to the orthopedist several months ago, well before the summer 5k training season. Wanted to establish there was no serious knee injury and that, when the time came, I could increase my mileage to train for a half marathon and, if I chose, a 26.2.

He gave me some suggestions, including cutting back on speedwork and hill training for some time, and suggested that I train only four days a week for a few months. Eventually, as the discomfort disappeared, he said I could gradually add in all those components back into my training program, and be ready for a marathon, if I chose to run one, in January or February.

Fast forward to July. I’m writing out a training program for a half that has to have me running enough mileage by October that when I come out of my half marathon in November I’m halfway through a marathon training program, since my 26.2 race is in late February. I have to start upping the mileage before the 13.1. With that goal in mind, I decided to go add the fifth day in August. That went well, so I followed the plan and planned to add a sixth day in September by putting in an easy four the day before the long run, a decision made partly on the advice of more experienced runners and partly based on family logistics.

Well, guess what? I’ve yet to get in a week of six days running. Either someone in the house is sick, which makes it near impossible to go out at 5am for a ninety-minute run, or else a hurricane is blowing by, or it’s raining cats and lightning dogs, or we have house guests, or some other life event keeps me from running. I’m trying to make good use of our treadmill, but I’m developing a true allergy to the device. It destroys my pace and I can’t tell you what it does to my calves.

So, last night, Little #2 slept with us. Fever, chills, stomach cramps, the whole bit. I’m not 100% myself, and neither is The Boss, as the Littles call my better half. Alas, I dragged myself onto that dreaded moving belt, and ground out six. Hated everyone of them, mind you. But I gotta get five days of running in. It’s October, and the excuses are gonna get hollow, or I’ll be standing at the starting line of a 26.2 race wishing I’d put a hell of a lot more miles in.

So help me, it’s gonna be five days this week.

Brace Yourself

After the tightness in the calf late last week, and the return of that feeling that means the knee just isn’t tracking like it should, I played around with the idea of bagging today’s run. But yesterday was a rest day, and two rest days in a row do not a championship runner make. Instead, I decided to find and wear my old knee brace.

Good decision. My knee felt much better when supported by tight neoprene. As for the calf, Ben-Gay before the run does wonders. My pace wasn’t blazing or anything–I still ran this one in recovery mode–but I definitely didn’t feel that thing where my knee just isn’t in place on half my strides.

Good stuff.

Recipe for Recovery

Got my run in with Gwynne after all. She was running another 20-miler today, and I had 15 on the schedule. She runs her long runs at a 9:30-10-minute pace, which actually is pretty close to my pace, since I run my long runs too friggin’ fast. So we agreed to meet at the local donut shop, which is such a great place for the local runners to start their organized long runs (it’s actually next door to the running goods store) on Saturday morning.

One of the things I’ve always loved about running with Gwynne is that since she’s been running so much longer, she always introduces me to new routes. This time we went south on A1A first, running through Juno Beach and hitting some delightfully cold water fountains. Then we came back north, running up A1A through Jupiter, past Carlin Park, and around the inlet twice before returning southward. When we got back to our starting point, I had 15.35 on the old 205. We split up; I finished up the 16 and she rounded off her 20.

I was tired at the end of that run. I had to pass some runners who were walking off their run at the end and I could tell, as I was at the tail end, that I would probably finish the 16 exactly as I passed them. Sure enough, that’s when Garmie trilled. I didn’t care; I was beat. I said, “Ah, sweet sound of the 16, don’t mind if I stop right HERE.” I stopped for a second, then started a slow jog. The woman said, sweetly, I thought, “You’re running strong at the end of 16.”

Ah, dear lady.

I think for that length of run, for the conditions, I probably needed more than one pack of sport beans, and probably needed to get into them earlier than mile 8. Gwynne let me have two of her Hammer Gels, so I’ll try those on my longer runs too; I think the Beans will be practical for the half but for the 26.2 the gels may be better.

So, at the end of the run I’m tired and thinking migraine. Here’s the recipe for recovery that avoided the latter.

1. Got home, shucked the shoes and got into an ice bath immediately after getting the requisite “You stink!” greeting from the LO’s. Didn’t even get undressed–just threw ice in the tub with some cold water, just deep enough for my legs, gritted my teeth, and got in there. I knew my calves and knees needed it, since they’d been twingy since Thursday and the speedy long mileage had probably not helped.
2. After the ice bath, with the kids at the park w/Dad, I wrapped lower self in a towel and made myself swallow some juice and peanut butter toast while I watched the first half of an old NCIS. It wasn’t easy–I didn’t feel hungry–but I knew the body needed fuel.
3. Halfway into the mystery of who killed the sailor, I finally got into one of my really beloved long hot showers. Sauna’d that bathroom right up.
4. Once dressed, back in the kitchen for a “proper” breakfast of eggs scrambled with corn tortillas (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it) with cottage cheese on the side and my cream with coffee (I know what I’m saying).

No migraine.

I’m still fueling better on the next long run.

Splits: mile 1-9:38
2-9:37,
3-9:41,
4-9:47,
5-9:36,
6-9:29,
7-9:23,
8-9:25,
9-9:23,
10-9:22,
11-9:11,
12-9:16,
13-9:01,
14-9:03,
15-9:03,
16-8:45

Intervals

Meant to go for a run with Gwynne, my most experienced running friend, on Tuesday. She had a 10-miler on her schedule (she’s training for New York), and I had intervals on mine. She’s faster than I am, so I figured I’d run my six as tempos, she’d tack on another four after dropping me off, and I’d do my intervals next week.

Alas, it was not to be. It was thunder that greeted me when I went to put my running clothes on, so we texted each other cancellation notices and that was that. She got her 10 in later; I, having a kid who no longer naps, was not so lucky.

Yesterday’s run was supposed to be an easy 6; but I thought instead, I’d better make up for the missed speedwork. When you have a time goal for your next race, speedwork might be important. And, since the tempo was out, might as well do the suggested mile repeats. On Gwynne’s suggestion, I kept to the mile intervals posted on my schedule, but cut the recovery intervals to a quarter-mile instead of the 800 meters; as for pace, I just really wanted to run them as fast as I could while staying in control of my pace and form. I knew, because Ben and I had Bible study, that doing 5 repeats was out of the question; I set out for 4.

What a run! Just to give you a place for comparison, the last time I did this workout, on August 6, I did three repeats instead of 4, with a half-mile recovery. My interavls were 8:33, 8:29, and 7:57.

My splits yesterday: 8:13, 8:11, 8:03, 7:32. That’s right. At the end of the workout, without even glancing at Garmie once, focusing on nothing but form and control, I ran a 7:32 mile. With shorter recoveries.

Yup, that’s a death march to some of you, but that’s a blazing fast mile for me. The fastest I’ve ever run.

Do you know what McMillan predicts you’ll run in the half if you run a 7:32 mile race? A 2:00:38. Now I ran a 7:32 at the end of an intervals session, so I have to believe I could run faster than that in a true mile race. Giving me another glimmer of hope that my sub-2 time will happen. If I have a good day.

Boy, this runner needs a lot of confirmation, doesn’t she?

Control

Started out with two miles over the bridge. Last time I did a long run, my second mile over the bridge I did at 9:34, which I thought was probably a little faster than altogether necessary. This time I really wanted to focus on my form. My word for the day was control. I really wanted to feel like I was dictating my pace, not the other way around.

First time over the bridge, I concentrated on making sure my legs felt strong, that my hands stayed open–not that I ever have a problem with that–and that my eyes stayed focused on a spot well past the top of the bridge. I noticed that heat rises up over the bridge–yuck!–making it feel like you’re running over a giant vat of soup. Be that as it may, I also concentrated on not pushing the pace, just charging the hill. Once I was over the crest, I worked on coasting down the backside of it and using the flat on the other side–probably a quarter mile–to get my stride back to a cruising state before turning around to do it again. I felt like I conquered the bridge well: first time over, the pace was 9:45; second time over, 9:43. Much more controlled and in line with what my overall pace should be.

After that, set out for an additional 11 miles. Felt just okay. Knew I’d have to break into the beans at the turnaround to stay well–it was warm (again). Now, taking turns with my focus word control was a new mantra: I hate Florida in September. (It actually fits quite well into I love Paris in the springtime . . .)

Ran into my sometime-running partner, Natalie, when I was almost one mile from the turning point. She told me I’d probably run into her later, since she felt like she was running slowly. Once at the halfway mark, though, I had to stop at the wc, so I lost some time there. Got going again, but at miles 9 and 10 conducted an on-the-run interview about a hydration belt with a triathlete training for an Ironman who was running a 20-miler. Earned me a 10-minute mile, and probably cost me any chance of catching Natalie.

Starting at mile 11, I thought I saw a glimpse of Natalie’s red shorts. I felt great, so I started picking up the pace. Passed the triathlete, who’d earlier left me at a water stop (people with hydration belts scoff at water stops). Passed lots of other runners. Me feel strong, and running negative splits. Still trying to shorten the distance between me and the red shorts. Mile 11 comes in at 9:21. Now all this time a runner in front of me keeps looking over his shoulder, seeing me behind him, and increasing his pace steadily. Now I’m not trying to get by him. I’m trying to get to the red shorts. He happens to be between us. Finally I realize, he’s not going to let me by.

People, I don’t race my long runs. But I have to admit I was a little annoyed by this huff-and-puff, look-over-my-shoulder, not-even-in-my-age-group, let-alone-my-gender runner who wanted to turn a training run into a race. Seriously. I’m still trying to catch my friend. Finally I realize I have two miles to go to get back to my car. The red shorts don’t belong to Natalie; she’s actually nowhere in sight. But now I’m fired up. I switch to the sidewalk and get back to my word: control.

Might as well find out what I have left at the end of a thirteen-miler, right? Hey, it’s the distance I’m training for. I did my absolute best, please believe me, to ignore said runner*, and just let it out, while still staying as tightly controlled as I could. I tried to channel my inner long sprinter. Mile 12 came in at 9:03. I felt fluid and like my form was tight and strong. When Garmie told me I had another mile left, I really pushed–not sprinting all-out, of course, but putting out my best mile-long effort, again thinking through control. Mile 13 came in at 8:08. I ran in an extra .1 to simulate the half and see what I had accomplished, with a 13.1 training run.

Did it in 2:03:52. Not bad for a training run. Oh, if I can break 2 on November 16.

*I don’t know what happened to the would-be racer. After I took to the sidewalk, I never saw him again. Which was my intention.

Now I Get It

The image was part of an advertising campaign for Adidas in 1999/2000. Not being a runner then, it probably passed me by. But I get it now. I’m out to get frames for my race bibs. Move over, family pics. Make room for the really important stuff. Another great image:

Check out the rest of the images from this campaign, and see if they strike a chord with you.

Oh, my running? Yeah, didn’t get out today. Great time at Bible study, though. Will hit the roads bright and early tomorrow.

Moonlight on the Path

One stretch of my eight-mile loop from our minor-league stadium is very (did I say very?) dark, and I’m usually thankful for passing cars, immediately after they blind me with their headlights, because they tend to illuminate the sidewalk long enough for me to see a few yards in front of me and make sure I’m not going to turn an ankle on something.

Today, the cars were an annoyance. You see, the moon was still high and full, and it cast this amazing, silver light on this part of my course, which happens to have the most unblemished stretch of sidewalk of my entire loop. It was beautiful! It reminded me that, were I to be doing my job well, I also would be reflecting the most beautiful light . . .

Cruise Control

Finally found it today during my tempo run. After several days of tough runs, I wasn’t looking forward to trying to succeed at what my training schedule called for: running 6 miles at a 9:08 pace in 77 degrees with 90% humidity. After complaining about running in stiff 20mph winds, at least today that was no problem–the air was obligingly still.

Set out with the left knee refusing to feel good about the program; walked longer than usual to warm up. Set out for my warm-up mile and felt like the six-mile race pace segment might not happen. Started planning for alternatives. So you run them like intervals, I told myself, but I knew that would be cheating, and I knew that next week’s interval run calls for 10 miles and I wanted to save the fun for that. I also knew that true intervals would call me to run the speed intervals at an even faster pace, and thought that was pretty close to insane.

In the end, as soon as I started pacing myself at race pace, I actually felt pretty good*. Unlike my last tempo run, I didn’t feel like I was struggling to feel on pace. I knew when I was picking up the pace; knew when I was lagging behind because of fatigue or traffic timing issues. Though at the start of the run I was tired and worrying about my endurance, by mile three of the tempo segment I knew I was pacing myself well enough for a finish, and by mile four I knew I was pacing well enough even for a strong finish. In the end, I managed negative splits and an overall 8:54 average: 9:08, 9:05, 8:56, 8:55, 8:46, 8:29.

*which is not to say I wasn’t working hard, as evidenced by the fact that, nearing mile 5, I scared a lady walker who heard my controlled-locomotive breathing and thought, I guess, that I was a heavy breather on the loose, coming to snatch her from the safety of the sidewalk. Not an altogether crazy thought since when I came upon her on her morning constitutional at 6:10 or so it was still pretty dark.

Today’s Wildlife Count

possums-1
raccoons-0 (!)
turtles-0
bunnies-1
owls-0
giant spiderwebs (5+ ft)-2
frogs-countless, including one that had to have been a tadpole yesterday

Spawn!

Ran through a field of minute frogs today. Seriously, they were everywhere for the first two miles of my seven-miler. They were hopping all around me, these quarter-inch specimen that must have just crawled out of the canals and lakes in the green areas that surround the housing development I run around. It was like round two of the Biblical plague–albeit more appropriate for a plague set in Madurodam. I kept having to run in zigzags to avoid stepping on them. Bizarre.

Then, at mile three, we lost the frogs, only to begin sightings of that other lovely creature, the never-evolved opossum. First one had the decency to notice me and amble on in the opposite direction; second one stood still; third one, close to mile four, looked at me and took a step toward me: “You wanna a piece o’ me?” Uh, no, I don’t. One day I’ll ask the Creator, Do these creatures have a purpose, other than making the bunny at mile six look even cuter by comparison?

Run today proves once again that my Florida-boy beloved knows what he’s talking about and I should not have bragged about running through June, July, and August. The summer in Florida is contained in one word: September. Never before have I been so tempted to bag this thing I call training. Right now, I hate it. I’m supposed to run five tempo miles tomorrow and I can barely stand the thought.