Confirmation Email . . . and more

Congratulations K,

You are registered for the Publix Super Markets Gasparilla Distance Classic 15K & 5K or Gasparilla Marathon & Half Marathon.  The following will provide you with your bib number, age, name and address.  Please review for accuracy and if changes need to be made, notify Race Management immediately at
<gdca.registration@verizon.net>:

Bib#: 14955
Sex:  F
Age:  34

That email, I received February 20, a week before race day. Today, I received a new email, which informed me that the Gasparilla Distance Classic will be using D-tags to time its runners and encouraging me to visit some links to familiarize myself with how to use the tag. Fortunately for me, the 13.1 Fort Lauderdale also used the D-tag, and I loved not having to remove a chip at the end of the race. I also found it very easy to attach the tag to my shoe, so I feel very confident about the whole process.

At the end of that email, an ominous warning:

2009 REGISTRATION NUMBERS ARE HUGE!

Because registration numbers have surpassed expectations, there will be a shortage of shirts and Finisher’s Medals.  Please know that the Gasparilla Distance Classic Association is committed to insuring that each and every runner and finisher receives a shirt and Finisher’s Medal.

Now, hello. I did not train for six months just to walk away with a paper coupon to go with my permagrin.

But I digress. I have a bib number and an email confirmation. Which I am printing as I speak (type), along with our hotel information and directions, etc.

As Zoomylicious would say, zoot!

Am I Mad Yet?

Found an article on Runner’sWorld.com titled “Taper Traps”, which outlines some feelings common to runners during their marathon tapers, distilling them into those that are likely to befall runners with three weeks to go, those with two weeks to go, and lastly, those one week out from their race. Wait, one of these sounds strangely familiar, and yes, it’s in the One Week to Go category:

Trap: Heavy Legs

Symptoms: A tired, heavy feeling centered in the legs, but affecting your whole body, that you get late in a taper.

Cause: “Tissue repair in the legs during recovery, coupled with the fact that you are storing more carbohydrate and water late in the taper, will make you feel like you do after eating a big meal,” says Dr. Smurawa. In other words, you feel like a slug.

Solution: Remember you’re not the only one feeling this way. “Just knowing that this is how tapering marathoners are supposed to feel can help curb your anxiety,” says Robert Udewitz, Ph.D., a sports psychologist and the director of Behavior Therapy of New York. Also, try a few strides (100-meter sprints) after some of your easy runs. Strides can help knock off the rust, leaving you feeling fresh and ready without overdoing it.

Unfortunately for me, I’ve been feeling those Heavy Legs for about three weeks, but I’m going to go ahead and take the comfort anyway, as if it applied to me. Yeah, I’m supposed to feel this way. That’s right.

Second One Week Out taper trap that definitely applies to me:

Trap: That Sinking Feeling

Symptoms: A feeling of malaise, depression, and hopelessness, which often accompanies the physical sluggishness that intensifies at the end of a taper.

Cause: “Generally, running counters feelings of anxiety and depression,” says Hays. “So as you run less miles, bad feelings tend to crop back up and increase.”

Solution: Take a short-term approach. “You only have to get through the rest of the taper,” says Hays. Do a little low-impact and low-intensity cross-training–like pool running–to generate the good feelings you normally get from running. Also, use your downtime to focus on other things that bring pleasure to your life, such as listening to music, cooking, and being with family and friends. And rent some funny movies or read a few joke books to lighten your mood.

Oh, this has definitely been me. I’ve been so blue and melancholy lately. And maybe that is because I’ve been lying around in bed more than usual, watching later-night TV than I normally would. Unfortunately, I’m of a melancholy temperament, not given to spending time with friends when I’m depressed but tending to withdraw instead. My wonderful running friend Sarah called to see how I was feeling and I couldn’t even bring myself to return her call! In spite of this, she did not rescind her invitation to use her elliptical and I did so yesterday while she juggled our four kids*.

Thankfully, the Boss has also been incredibly attentive. He sent me flowers on Tuesday, the day I tried to run and decided it was not conducive to the plan and walked instead, coming home dejected and close to calling race organizers to defer my race until 2010. He’s been playing the role of sports psychiatrist remarkably well, talking me off the ledge. He’s also been insistent on helping do the post-dinner kitchen clean up so I can stay off my feet as much as possible in the evenings.

Is it taper madness? Probably.

Today, this overachieving nerd printed out her packing list–I generate one every time we leave town–and will begin packing us up this morning. We have to do a grocery run as we’ll be out of town all weekend and I have a feeling I won’t be up for Publix on Monday**. Tomorrow, the Lamb has school, and the Monkey and I have a playdate. The plan is to leave town as soon as we pick her up from school, around mid-afternoon, and spend the night on Florida’s west coast. Saturday we’ll rise, hit the expo, and try not to do too much before we turn in for a good night in our comfy hotel room***.

Sunday, Marathon Day. We have to drive back to the east coast that day because the Boss has to be in the office on Monday–business managers have to count the beans on the first business day of the month, you know. I’m planning on lots of Tylenol, rest breaks, and riding in the back seat of the van. Thank goodness our state is narrow and takes only three hours or so to cross.

Okay, it’s the straightaway. As you can see, my to-do list is packed, so if you don’t hear from me until race day, rest assured that your encouragement and listening ears are much appreciated. Showers are forecast for Sunday, but at this point, I’m determined that I’m going to test my training and do my best to run twenty-six ten-minute miles.

I’ve trained for this, and I’m ready.

Crazy, maybe. But ready.

*The elliptical gave me, I thought, a perfect workout. Sarah set it on its easiest setting, so I didn’t feel like I was working hard, and needless to say, the machine didn’t have the impact of running on the road. The display told me the number of calories I was burning, and I’m pretty sure at the end of ten minutes I had burned a total of . . . 8. But that’s okay. I just wanted to stay kind of fresh without that terrible sinking feeling I get lately every time I tie my running shoes on. The other thing I did that I loved was run backwards. It was great!

**Publix Supermarkets are the major sponsor of the Gasparilla Distance Classic. I thought that merited them a plug on this blog. I got an email from the RD today saying due to a high number of late registrations, they will be short finisher’s medals. How’s that for encouraging you to run maybe a wee bit faster? Hey, you didn’t finish in under four hours? Sorry, we’ll have to mail you your medal.

***Yeah, we decided to bring the kids along. We did this for my first half, and I got up and got dressed in the dark. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it wasn’t that bad. The hotel isn’t far from the starting line, so it’ll serve as a nice warm-up, and I got my long-sleeve at a Goodwill, believe it or not, so if I have to ditch it it won’t be that bad. The race starts at 6 so the Boss plans to bring the kids down a couple hours later . . . hopefully when the weather’s dry.

One thing on my mind is that the last time we stayed in a hotel, the Lamb fell off the bed and started throwing up. We’d like to avoid that at all costs this time around.

Five Days Out

Apologies in advance for the unique stream-of-consciousness flow of what follows.

Here it is, Monday of Marathon Week. As much as I’ve put in the training, planning, and thinking about running 26.2 miles on Sunday, this is what it comes down to–a few days of eating wisely, sleeping enough, and hydrating well to get to the starting line as healthy as possible.

I looked very carefully at the course map, as it’s unlikely I’ll get a chance to run it before race day, and noted bridges, sharp turns, moments when we’ll be in parks and more urban areas. I noticed the great straightaway from miles 13 through 26, just up and down Bayshore Boulevard.

I wish I could bottle the sensation in my heart and stomach right now. It’s not fear, exactly–though there’s certainly trepidation mixed in with the excitement. I’m trying to keep my head in the game, busy with other things. Twice this weekend I had to take migraine attack meds, so sleep is part of my recipe for preparation.

I’m considering my future, too–putting some summer 5Ks on the calendar and encouraging other runners to consider training for our local marathon and half, which are run in December. Even if I don’t race them, it would be fun to run with some of these other runners who are me two years ago–who don’t think they could ever string together thirteen running miles.

Me, I’m thinking of stringing together twenty-six running miles. As the day gets closer, I find I’m less inclined to think of the clock, and more focused on reaching the finish line. The last two weeks have left me little to rely on in the way of pacing, and until I reach the starting line I’m not sure I’ll know what I have in the tank.

Maybe that’s part of what I wish I could capture forever–the unique excitement of your first race, something I fear I’ll never quite get again. It’s the untested waters, the wide openness of distance, the wonder of testing the training against the very definite possiblity of failure. It’s that electricity in the corral, bouncing in tight corners, checking your laces again, shaking out your limbs and pulling up your ponytail, then hearing the gun and shuffling, then walking, then suddenly your feet are striking out in that drumbeat of thousands of runners–all sizes and speeds but you’re one for just a minute as you spread out into an ocean of movement and color–

For twenty-six miles.

I don’t know. I’ve done the 13.1s and loved them, the fun and uniqueness of that long-distance “I’m going to race this in a measured, calculated way.” But not having tested myself at the marathon, there’s a fresh sense of respect for the distance, maybe especially when I see the course laid out.

All the same, I’m ready to try it. Not so ready I wish tomorrow was race day or anything, but ready.

Damage Control

That was the order of the day last week.

Altogether new legs would have been appreciated, but the Creator doesn’t work that way. When we don’t take care of what He has given us, many times we have to live with that, though He graciously doles out mercy on us.

Bad week of running last week, as evidenced by the low mileage and poor pace. I made the conscious decision to take it easy and not hammer through the prescribed workouts. I ran 0-3-6-6-0, instead of 9-9-6-8-4 as planned. My pace was snail-slow, and the running accomplished only by disassociating from the pain by running with music the entire week. On Saturday, long run day, I had 12 on the schedule and planned to run 10. Due to the slowness of my pace and the general fatigue of my limbs, I got in 8 and had to be satisfied.

I was of two minds about the whole thing, or maybe even three.

1. I knew my fatigue was grounded in a long run that had been run too fast, basically at race pace. It was a stupid, rookie mistake, but one I could not take back and could only learn and recover from.
2. Having been made just three weeks before M Day, the mistake might have been a critical one, and ruined my chances of running a good time at Gasparilla. I didn’t know if I had enough time to recover from it. It’s why, originally, I had the 23-miler scheduled, not as my fourth and final long run, but my third, giving me one final long run to practice race pace before taper. (Why don’t I stick to my own plans?)
3. Coming off that race-pace insane long run, I had three weeks to recover. Continuing to ignore said fatigue, push through the soreness, and pretend nothing was wrong would probably do more damage than good. Having done the damage, the best thing to do was to acknowledge the mistake and try to salvage what I could.

So, that’s what I spent my week thinking through. These three weeks (two, now) will have to be a true recovery period. I ran another eight yesterday, discovering with glee that I did have a bit of my legs back–the 8 yesterday felt much easier than the 8 just two days before. But following that, I plan to run nothing longer than 5 the rest of the week. There’s another 8 on the schedule Saturday, my last “long” run before the marathon, but whether I get it in may be a matter of scheduling as I have some church obligations that morning.

Next week, mostly three-milers, with one tempo six-miler thrown in. Hopefully my legs will continue to heal and rest. I have confidence in my ability to finish, if nothing else due to sheer stubborness, but I would like to finish at my prescribed 10-minute pace. It’s what I trained for, and I’d like to be able to salvage it in spite of my training mistakes.

sapped

That’s how I felt today.

I took yesterday off, figuring running 23 miles on Saturday, basically at race pace, merited an extra day’s rest. I went to bed later than I should have yesterday, reading A Race Like No Other, and though I didn’t bound out of bed, I finished my study on Leviticus and headed out the door fully intending to put in my 9 miles.*

Warmed up with my usual 3 to 5 minutes of walking, but as soon as the strides lengthened into the bouncier running stride I knew I was in trouble–my muscles were tired. Sore. By the end of the second block, they wanted to drag me home. Instead of the 9-mile turnaround, I decided to stay closer to home, just in case.

Lots of walking breaks later, just past the one-mile marker, I did it–I threw in the towel. I’ve never done that on a run before.

Don’t get me wrong–I’ve dialed back the pace on plenty of intervals, and traded speedwork days for easy days when I didn’t feel like pushing the pace. I’ve done six miles on days I was supposed to do eight. I’ve run 10:40’s when my training pace is supposed to be 9:30. But quit and decide to go for a walk instead? Never. Until today.

But you know what? I was tired. Just so, so tired. Tired of running. Tired of pushing myself. And every rationalization fit. I’m sore from too long a long run (why did I run 23 miles?). I’m tapering. I’d rather be able to run tomorrow. Walking is better than nothing.

So I walked. For about a mile. It wasn’t a great feeling; I passed more runners today than ever before. Sprightly, bouncy runners on their happy loops around the neighborhood. Thin, ponytailed runners on their incredibly fast treks around the lake. Muscled, baseball-wearing young men eating the miles with their biomechanically perfect strides.

And I was walking.

I felt like apologizing to the whole running universe. No, I really am a runner. I ran 23 miles on Saturday, see. I know. Broke every marathoning law. Stupid, I know, but I’m a rookie, what do I know?

After the humble walking mile, I clicked my Garmin and tried again. I won’t say it was easier, but it was possible, and this time my pace was closer to 10:30 instead of 12 minutes. Though I thought about adding another mile, I just couldn’t stomach the idea of any more running strides. I just ran home.

And that, my friends, was my humbling run today.

There are six miles on the schedule tomorrow. What will I accomplish? I’m not sure. I’m going to lace up my shoes and set out with no agenda. If I run, I run.

*This week’s original plan: 9 on Tuesday, 6 on Wednesday, 8 on Thursday, 4 on Friday, 12 on Saturday, for a total of 39 miles. It seems funny now.

more than you wanted to know

Set out for the 23 miles at 5am. I wasn’t sure I should; the Boss had arrived home from the office only about two and a half hours earlier, and had only been sleeping for about two hours. I was hesitant, to say the least, about leaving him home alone with two active preschoolers who, I knew, would have him up before seven, demanding breakfast (or, as the Lamb says, “breafkast”) and playtime.

In spite of his late arrival, he insisted upon sending me out. It’s my last long run, says he as we change Monkey’s sheets around 2:45 (yes, he chose this night of all nights to wet the bed)–thank goodness we were both wide awake! Jokingly, he chided me, “I want no excuses for you not to get your 4:30 at Gasparilla.”

Well, I don’t know about that 4:30, and it was tough to get up when that alarm chirped at me cheerfully at 3:15, but after one snooze, I got my patootie out of bed and got dressed. I made peanut butter toast, glided down, and headed out.

It was breezy and cold, as we Floridians define cold. A few other runners were gathering and beginning to set out–I’m guessing other marathoners training for late winter marathons who also had 20-milers on the schedule. Who else would start at 5? Most of us wore shorts, long sleeves, and hats; we knew the cool temps would be history in a few miles and Florida’s sunshine would be out in full force within a couple of hours. I walked to the end of the long block and started into a slow jog, turning south along the water, shielded by the winds by a line of tall condos.

Before Garmie’s trill at mile 1, I saw the approach of my favorite blinking safety light–Natalie, heading north toward me. I turned to join her. Her schedule that day: to run by time, not mileage: one hour north, one hour south. In the end, we were together for about my first 10 miles, which we finished in about 1:42.

We parted ways; I turned back north and started planning the rest of my run. I knew I’d be back close to my car at mile 12 or so, and I planned to finish the remaining 11 miles in a figure 8 pattern. Having decided that, I freed my mind to concentrate on fueling, form, and pacing.

Occasionally during the run Saturday, the three outer toes on my left foot hurt. It was like I was smashing them onto the pavement. Now I’ve felt that with my toenails before, and lost a couple of them. My podiatrist told me it’s a function of my flat arches; the foot seeks support by grasping the ground with the toes, resulting in an almost hammering motion. But I hadn’t felt it with the entire length of the toe before. Fortunately for me, I’d read my March issue of Runner’s World, including the article on running injury-free. In that article, the author describes a technique for insuring a mid-foot strike. He advises runners to visualize a cord running from their right heel (in my case it would be the left) over their shoulder, into their thumb. This visualization helps your footstrike become more natural, less heavy.

Believe it or not, though the focus of this visualization is not to take pressure off your toes, it helped tremendously. For the duration of the run, any time I felt my toes begin to seize up and hurt, I would concentrate on the feeling of that cord pulling up my heel. I might not have finished the run otherwise.

The other issue was an unexpected one: my body didn’t like the Accel Gel this time. I took one at mile 4 and one at mile 8, and by mile 10 I was feeling somewhat uncomfortable. I chose a Gu the mile 12 mark, though I returned to the Accel at mile 16. By mile 20 I only gulped down half of another gel–I don’t even remember which brand it was–because I couldn’t stomach the thought of the entire thing. During the first half of the run I took water only with the gels–that is, every four miles. After that 12 mile mark, though, I took fluid every 2 miles, at least a few gulps. I took water at the gel stops and half-water, half-Gatorade at the other stops if it was available (our running store usually puts it out).

I discovered that, late in the run, I had hiccups for a few minutes after every water stop. Bizarre.

I stopped to drink, and twice for a potty break–once at about mile 12 and once at about mile 16. Since I didn’t have a straight run, I had to turn at miles 1, 7, 15½, and 21½. At that last turn, I put my hands on my knees and gathered my strength for a second before heading home.

But other than that, I completed the near-four hour run in entirely running steps.

Who’d'a thunk it?

sweet taper

I made it.

Ran 23 today in 3:49:09, at almost exactly a 10-minute pace. Natalie ran with me for most of the first 10, and was faster than she’s been for the last couple months–she took last week off, so maybe she felt fresh. We ran the first 3 at a 10:30 pace, then took the next 3 at a 10:15, and were pretty much at a 10-minute pace the rest of the way.

After I dropped her off and was running alone, I couldn’t believe how much better I did at pacing than usual–between miles 10 and 18, my fastest mile came in at 9:51, and my slowest at 10:14 (and I only had one mile that slow). After that, I picked up the pace very slightly–my legs had caught sight of the finish. Mile 18 came in at 9:56, 19 at 9:50, 20 at 9:30, 21 at 9:36, 22 at 9:31, and 23 at 8:45.

I ran 23 by doing what I did before the 13.1 Fort Lauderdale–visualizing the last mile before the finish and telling myself to leave as much time on the clock as I could.

Didn’t hit the wall. Did have other mechanical issues that I want to talk about but I’ll save them for another day.

As of today, I’m officially in taper.

I’ll let you know . . .

. . . if I feel this way too.

a new shape: the octagon

from the Florida Driver’s Handbook, 2008:

Stop Signs are always octagonal (8 sided). A stop sign means that you must bring your vehicle to a complete halt at the marked stop line. If there is no marked stop line, stop before entering the crosswalk on the near side of the intersection. If there is no crosswalk, stop at a point nearest the intersecting roadway where you have a clear view of approaching traffic on the intersecting roadway before entering the intersection.

Now, I get it. You might not run into an octagon on a regular basis. You see this new shape and you’re totally blown away! What do you do? You go into overdrive! You freak out! You step on the gas!

Totally understandable. So I thought I’d just copy and paste this small paragraph from the driver’s handbook, just so we’re all clear that when you come to a stop sign–that would be the octagon-shaped sign you see so much at street crossings here in our lovely town–you are to bring your vehicle (that’s your car) to a complete stop. Now, when I was learning to drive, someone explained to me that meant I was to feel the car’s motion actually go back and rest.

Only then are you to enter the intersection.

I mention this because I find it interesting that, though I am an early-morning runner and cover most of my miles before sun-up, I’ve had my only close encounter with a car after sunrise.

I do everything in my power to avoid a collision with a car. I don’t wear an ipod most mornings when I run, and if I do, I stay on the sidewalk. I run facing traffic. I wear a bright light, and at least one brightly colored garment. I stick to routes that are well-lit.

On the morning of said encounter, I was running on the sidewalk, not listening to music. It was sometime after the sunrise, and light was full. The driver was on a one-way road, something akin to a driveway that leads out of the garages of about six homes and into a two-way street with a 25mph speed limit. Not only did the driver not come to a stop at the stop sign, she did not look to see if anyone or anything was in her path.

Guess what? I was. Her passenger, whose face was impossibly close to mine as this car came close to striking me, saw me, yelled, and struck her friend. Friend stopped, grinned sheepishly, and motioned, “Go ahead.”

No, dear, you go ahead. Please.

And just two days ago, a car pulled up on my right to pass me at a stop sign. I figured he had to make a right turn, but no, he took the right hand turn lane to pass me as I stopped at the stop sign.

Please don’t misunderstand. I’ve been known to exceed the speed limit once or twice, and it might even be on record somewhere. But drivers, please, keep an eye out for drivers and cyclists! The stop sign isn’t a suggestion, an inconvenience, or–alas!–a convenient place to pull ahead of the minivan in front of you that is actually doing 35 in a 30 (the nerve!).

Stop signs alert you to the fact that you’ve come to an intersection where caution is necessary. Stop!

last week before taper

Blazed into February with a good recovery run; had 8 1/2 on the schedule but rounded up to 9 since I felt fairly well, though tired, and I know I’m dreaming of 23 on Saturday.

My pace was good, considering the fastish 12 miles on Saturday. Rain was in the forecast and I thought about staying in and putting the miles in on the dreadmill but decided to head out–a little bad weather training is good for the soul. In concession to the coming rain, though, I did decide to leave the ipod at home.

Had a sprinkle at about mile 1, but no further rain made itself known during the run. When I got home and was getting ready for my post-run stretches, the raindrops began in earnest, and I hastened inside to do my stretching on the yoga mat. Great timing, huh?

Finished January with 207 miles or so, and a feeling that part of my accomplishment will be reaching the beginning of taper. It’s like its own little event on the way to the larger goal of reaching the marathon finish line.

Interestingly, if I put in my 55 miles this week, it’ll add up to 262 miles–exactly ten times marathon distance, run since January 1st.

Here’s hoping there’s some kind of magic in that.