My Left Foot

. . . eats my sock.

I always suspected this, but it was confirmed on my long run Sunday, when I wore a pair of new Thorlo Experia socks. I had to stop at mile 8 or so to pull the sock back up, and I could have done it again before the end of the run. It’s funny because the right foot doesn’t do it–just the left foot. Theories?

The knee held up for the longer run remarkably well, especially considering that I forgot the knee brace. I started the run later than I should have. It was player evaluation day for the Lamb’s youth soccer league, and she needed to be at the fields, decked out in full regalia, at 8:30. Which meant I really needed to be back at the house by 7. So I should have started the run by 5.

I did not.

I set out for 12 miles at an easy pace and did remarkably well at keeping an easy pace during the early miles. I took a gel at mile 5 and started heading north. I knew time was going to be tight, but I really wanted to put in the 12 miles. My turnaround for that mileage would be the 8-mile mark. When I got there and looked at the clock, I knew I was going to be tight on time, so I started picking up the pace, from 10-minute miles to 9:30. Mile 9 came in at 9:10. I took another gel there and decided to bear down even more. I knew it might not be the wisest thing for my knee, but I’d left myself no choice–I had to get back to get Soccer Lamb to evaluations. The last three miles were run at about half-marathon pace–about 8:30.

Amazingly, the knee didn’t hurt at all. I ran an easy 4 on Sunday and it was my legs themselves that felt tired–just very, very tired. In spite of that, my pace for that run was right around 9:30.

The new socks get a thumbs-up, I think. I’ll try them again tomorrow and I’ll let you know if my Nikes do a better job of leaving my socks alone.

Anyone else have hungry shoes?

Running week summary:
Sunday: easy 4mi, about 10:15 pace–knee okay til water stop @ mile 1, then achy and iffy rest of way.
Monday: rest day
Tuesday: easy 7 with Little G, about 9:30 pace, wearing brace.
Wednesday, rest day.
Thursday: easy 7 avoiding rain @ about 9:16, celebrating pain-free knee.
Friday, rest day.
Saturday: 12 mi in 1:55.
total mileage: 30 miles in 4:47:31

*The Lamb made it to soccer evaluations, on time, with shin guards, soccer socks appropriately pulled all the way up, pink water bottle, and pink soccer ball. She then proceeded to weep and refuse to participate in the first drill. She’d warmed up by the time the second drill came around, though, and was very proud of herself for “scoring a goal” every time she faced the unguarded net in the fourth drill. She’ll be assigned to a team sometime this week and play in her first match in September–four on four under-six players, no goalies, no score. Raising athletes is quite a thrill.

Isn’t it Ironic?

And, please note, it’s the second time it’s happened to me.

I’m running today–miserable. Mile repeats. Tough, probably because of the race on Thursday and the tough 12-miler in 92-degree heat index on Saturday afternoon (oh, I didn’t tell you about that?).

So, I’m wiped, even during my cooldown. I stop about halfway through it and decide, I don’t need all the water in my 10-ounce Sprint bottle. I’ll just pour a little over my head to cool off. Yum. Much better.

As I’m closing my bottle, I’m getting wet again. Think, Huh, that must be from the spout closing. Only the drops are coming from the wrong direction.

No, it’s rain. Yes, it started raining. Just as I decided to wet my head. Mind you, it’s perfectly clear. I can pick out constellations in the cloudless sky.

But, there you go.

Just like during the marathon, when I decided to pour water over my head at mile 20, just to have the sky open at mile 22.

Ironic.

Memorabilia

What do you do with yours?

I’ve run in few enough races that I’m still stubbornly hanging on to all my bibs–not just the PR, significan races but all of them. For a while they were on the back of our master bedroom door; then they moved to my desk. But eventually they got to be too many for that location, so I decided to make a virtual scrapbook of them and just stuff them in a drawer somewhere. After all, they’re just paper, right? I’ve got a few medals to display now.

Well, I missed them. So when the air went out and we got our new air handler, its clean and unadulterated surface gave me an idea. See, I get dressed quietly in the mornings, then go out to the garage and finish out there, putting on my shoes and letting Garmie find a signal while I lace up. So I taped up my bibs all over the side of the handler. Of course, the Boss’s first words when he got home from work that day were, “You’ve defaced my new air handler?” We’d had it for about 36 hours. But now my bibs are back out, and it’s kind of nice to have them where they can remind me that I’m lacing up my shoes for a purpose; even those races where I didn’t PR are important. Little G and I commented during our warm-up the other day that even for this race, where we did not expect to do particularly well–it’s brutally hot and our training has suffered as a result of both that and some additional stress we’re both under–we got that now-familiar butterflies in the stomach feeling of an oncoming race.

So I like to have the bibs there, standing over me as I lace my shoes.

As for my medals, they’re hanging on a bulletin board by the kitchen for now, as is a plate I got for my second-place age group finish in my very first race ever–as you can imagine, that means a lot to me. Some are just finisher’s medals, some are age group awards. I’m hoping to rack up a couple more of those really heavy medals that the bigger events are starting to give out. The bulletin board is anchored to the wall, so I’m not worried about it coming down, but I’m starting to run out of room.

What do you do with your memorabilia? Do you hold on to your bibs? How do you–or do you?–display your medals? Would you be willing to show us some pictures? (Yes, even if they’re piled in your sock drawer, I’m still interested.) I’m interested in your reasoning, too, if you would tell us about it–if you’ve given medals to Medals4Mettle (the organization that gives donated medals to people who’ve shown extraordinary courage), if you display them, if you chuck ‘em under the bed when you get home.

Just picking other runners’ brains again–thanks in advance for giving me a peek at yours.

Cutback Week?

Yeah, didn’t get that run in Friday. Just a bad week last week all around. Ended up running only three days, about eight miles each time. So I got in 25 miles, which isn’t bad for a lousy 3 runs, but isn’t the 30 miles I just said was my weekly goal while not in training. And running 3 times a week is far from my ideal 5 weekly runs. I didn’t get a long run in due to travel, which I knew would happen . . . and so it goes.

On the upside, it was the third week following weeks of 34 and 33 miles respectively, and maybe a cutback week was in order. I took my running shoes (new Brooks Adrenalines!) and clothes with me on our short trip, hoping to run either on the roads (though on our drive in to the hotel I quickly realized that WAS NOT going to be a possibility) or on the hotel’s treadmill*. But that did not happen either–the Lamb started complaining of a scratchy throat on the first thirty minutes of the drive, and spent the entire weekend with a tissue box in her lap. The Boss played a charity golf tournament on Saturday morning. By late that afternoon he was registering a temperature of 101 and had body aches and an overall yucky feeling. By that evening he had an upset stomach and feared his record of 10 years without upchucking was greatly at risk.

We headed home early Sunday morning, Mom trying to hold everybody together–Monkey and she still healthy, Boss still refusing to surrender the reins to the family minivan (it’s “his job” to drive as long as he is able, says he). I didn’t much mourn the loss of my weekend run. Three days of rest, while not in training, are not the end of all things.

Returned to the road today, planning to put in an easy eight. But, on the turnaround for the 8, I just decided not to do it–my heart wasn’t in it. And the beautiful thing about not being in training is that I can do that, pull the plug on runs that just aren’t coming together. I turned the corner for the 6-mile loop instead. Now, at the 5½-mile mark, I did feel good, and instead of turning for home I added another couple miles, so I ended up with a total 7½ after all, though they were slow, but it felt good to be the boss of the run for once.

Ran with my handheld bottle again. It was 75 when I set out and yes, summer’s definitely on its way. The beetles were out again, and, as the sun started to come up, so were the jays, the cardinals, and those big black birds that inhabit our suburban streets. Even a bad run is a great way to start the day!

In other health news, at my insistence, and as a nod to the little kids in our house, the Boss went down to the health center in his building–one benefit to working for a very large company. He described his symptoms to the medical staff and asked whether he needed to be seen. We were concerned that the spike in temperature was an immune-system response, because of his MS. Their response? No, since he only registered a fever on Saturday, and his temperature had returned to normal and he’s been recovering steadily since then, they don’t need to examine him. However, in the future, he is to “proceed immediately to the nearest urgent care center and” (this is the funny, CYA part) “not enter the building until he has been seen by a doctor.”

Yikes, are we a little freaked by the whole pig thing? Well, I want to understand their position. In fact, as a nod to the swine flu and its inherent . . . um . . . sensibilities, I kept the Lamb home from school today. She feels better, but her nose is still runny.

MTA: Oh, and now, other parts of her body are . . . um . . . runny as well. Good thing she’s home after all.

*That best human gift of mine, the Boss, specifically chose the hotel based on the fact that it had a fitness center. Is he a prize?

**Found my bestest favoritest running shoes of all, the Nike Structure Triax 11, on sale at the Nike Outlet, while we were gone. They were only $60, too, which is a real bargain. Okay, so I’m supposed to wear 9 wides on my super duck feet, and these are not wides, but I think maybe I’ll be okay. The last time I was fitted for shoes the running shoes guy said he wasn’t sure why I was fitted into wide shoes and said he suspected I could run in regular shoes without ill effect. Well, we’re about to find out! Me loves these shoes!

Beetles, Beetles, Everywhere

Starting with my Tuesday run, these small round golden beetles littered the first loop of my 8-miler, crawling all over the sidewalks and streets as I navigated the early miles. They were certainly alive, seeking shelter or food, I suppose. Are they out due to our unusually long drought? The rainy season is supposed to be starting soon, but experts tell us it will be arriving late, something we hate to hear as our plants are parched and in desperate need of moisture, as are our lakes and canals.

So–8¼ yesterday Tuesday, run in 5 mile repeats with ¼-mile jogs, with a mile warm-up and cool-down. It was tough to do so many long intervals, and my average pace was slow compared to where I was in the peak of my training season last year–8:10. But, meh, I’m not in training season, and I was purposely holding the pace down so I could get that many repeats in, and I was trying to get that many repeats in because I like to get in a decent number of miles in me, working on endurance and speed while I can.

This interval run was my last run, I think, in my marathon shoes. They’re my first pair of Brooks Adrenalines 8. They only have 287 miles on them but my knees are talking to me. Since I have two pairs of the same shoe waiting for me, it makes no sense not to move this pair out of rotation.

Skipped running yesterday–got to bed late and didn’t seem wise to squeeze in a run and risk a migraine.

Then last night I had a miserable night–actually laid in bed in that still-don’t-move-or-I’ll-throw-up state. When the alarm went off I got up and ambled into the bathroom. I didn’t throw up, though I didn’t feel great and my stomach was definitely upset. I wondered if I was maybe a little dehydrated, but I didn’t feel feverish (didn’t check because I didn’t feel warm to the touch, though I guess putting your own hand to your forehead isn’t as good a measure of fever as putting your hand to your child’s forehead, huh?), so I filled up my hand-held Fuel Belt water bottle and set out. The original plan was to get in a mid-length long run by setting out right around 5 or before then, say 9 or 10 miles, but with my stomach and everything else I got out closer to 5:30 and got in 8½ instead, not at great pace, and had to be content. I was very thankful for the water–stopped for sips at every mile for the first four and then every other mile thereafter.

For some reason, the holders I’ve been using to hold my hair back just aren’t working right now. I’m not sure why–I haven’t done anything to my hair recently–but I’m having to stop every mile or two to put my ponytail back in. After the windy days we’ve been having, I also have had to experiment with headbands as I’ve been getting some flyaway hair near my face that’s very uncomfortable to run with and too short to tuck behind my ears. I found some skinny ones from Goody that are doing the job very well so far. They moved around a lot during yoga but for some reason stay in place very well during running, so I’ll be wearing them for the foreseeable future.

No long run Saturday as we have a busy weekend planned. I’ve penciled in six for tomorrow morning; it should get me my 30 miles per week.

Sorry for the rambling stream of consciousness . . . let’s blame it on the lack of fluids, shall we?

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Good

• well-organized aid stations
• great support from random townspeople: if that’s how they show up to support runners on a miserable, wet Sunday, I can’t imagine how they would have turned out on a sunny day
• the flute player on Davis Island
• the mime in the back of the park at mile 18–her entertainment was random, but provided much-needed distraction at a tough part of the course
• the guy on stilts at mile–oh, who am I kidding, I have no idea.
• the guy that ran into a stop sign because he was running along with his relay-running friend; he was wearing flip flops, and that had to hurt
• the runner who was in socks; was he a barefoot runner who decided to don socks as a nod to the wet weather?
• the joggler! I can’t imagine the challenge of joggling in wet conditions!
• the runner who decided to run a marathon while dribbling a basketball; yikes!
• the 74-year-old newlywed who met his bride online, running his second marathon this year
• the Let Me Play kids who high-fived us at mile 24. True, for them, playing in the rain was probably fun, but still, they were an uplifting spectacle. I hope they stay well!
• the many homeowners who I’m sure spent their own cash to provide us with water, vaseline, jelly beans, bananas, and oranges along the course
• the musicians who entertained us with blues, rock and roll, and other genres along the course, especially those who had to deal with technical difficulties due to the rain
• little wait for porta-potties (always with TP!)–at least for me, and I took three stops along the course; I had the freedom to choose to stop at moments when I saw no wait (looking at my splits, my stops added about forty seconds to my running time those minutes)
• the runner in a pirate costume–ahoy!
• my long-sleeve race tee; it’s beautiful, and I might not take it off until this cold snap is over in a week
• the medal, complete with pirate theme, of course–it’s heavy and huge. Arrgh!
• though I know some will disagree, and I wasn’t sure myself how this would work out, but I thought the layout of the finish line/ runner recovery area was actually beautiful. It forced me to keep walking to get my water and banana, then walk a little further to get food–not that I wanted any. I understand some runners were disappointed because local hotels didn’t offer shuttles, but the five-block walk to my hotel was actually just the thing my legs needed, I think.

The Bad

• oh, I’m sorry–I didn’t mention that we ran in a Biblical deluge?
• as advertised, the course takes you through some of Tampa’s most beautiful neighborhoods, but man, is it ever loopy. As long as you don’t mind tight turns, I guess that’s okay, but be prepared for many of those.
• the course is advertised as mostly flat, and that it is, but there are several overpasses and bridges, and one, at about mile 9, is extremely slippery. For some reason, it’s also been chosen as an aid station location, not that it would have mattered once the rain started. Marathoners crossed this bridge twice, a dangerous proposition.

The Ugly

• my on-course pictures, for one thing–the ones that have been recovered so far are beyond ugly. See, they’re all from after the rain started, and . . . well, if you have any respect for me, you’ll avoid using my last name and bib combination to see if I’m right. Sadly, I looked so terrible to the Boss when he saw me at the finish that getting me food and coffee was his priority and I have no other pictures, so we’ll hope the pictures of me before I got to looking like a wet rat will be presentable.
• The amount of conditioner it took to unsnarl my long hair after the race. I tend to not cut my hair between the start of a training season and race day, but wow. It’s time for a fresh start.

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.

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!

in a good place

It may not last, but at this moment, I’m in a confident, good place in my training.

It’s true, every 20 miler has gotten progressively slower. But I think that’s a function of my running with Natalie, who’s recovering from her 70.3 (I can’t even comprehend that kind of endurance event). And I’m thankful for her company; she’s a steady pacer and good conversation for many miles, an unflagging, happy partner on the road.

I’m happy to do most of my training by myself. I pace myself, I recover and run slowly when tired, and run fast when I feel like it. I wrote my own training schedule , fitting it around my life. I also tweak it myself, doing the workouts when I feel like it, pushing myself most of the time but occasionally giving myself a break or swapping a rest day for an easy day when I need to.

But I’m blessed with happy running friends, too, with whom I can run on occasion. This switches up my training and helps me run faster without burning out. In addition, it helps me glean great training tips and keeps me motivated along the way to greater goals.

I’m one 50-mile week away from taper. Though I know some would consider 50 miles extremely light for marathon training, I’m going to have to trust them to do the job for me for my first 26.2. Anything higher would have risked injury–even this mileage level is leaving me close to burnout. And it’s my first marathon. I don’t intend to race it, but to treat it as a learning experience. I intend to put in more miles, more speedwork, and more varied training, if I ever decide to race another.

Though I intended to do more speedwork, I think in the final balance I was wise to shuck it in favor of easier miles that would be easier on my legs. Risking injury wasn’t worth speed, not for this marathon. Increasing mileage was the primary goal, and doing speedwork was an additional stress that I had to sacrifice to the higher purpose of running the race at all.

And I didn’t shirk on my long runs or my daily mileage, though it was more than tempting. The darkness is pervasive at 5 o’clock, even in Florida.

I’m thrilled that I scheduled four 20-mile runs, and I’ll be even more thrilled if two of them end up crossing the 20-mile threshold; last week’s was 21 ½ and I hope to make it to 23 next week. I’ve learned more about fueling and pacing from those runs than I can put in these entries, and the confidence that I’ll have at the starting line, knowing I’ve covered that distance, is intangible but real.

Finally, looking at my pacing for those longer runs is giving me the additional confidence to know that the projected times I’m looking at on the marathon pace band I intend to wear on race day might be achievable. To run 9:30 miles, then 9:15, and then sub-9 at the end of a 20-mile run is encouraging and instructive–pacing and fueling well are key.

Can I keep my mind from playing tricks on me during three whole weeks of taper? It remains to be seen.

Today, I’m in a good place: thankful for good training, good friends, for running.