Oh Everest, My Everest

There may be a piece of my brain missing, but I sure do love a good long run in the rain. Last Sunday, I spent three and a half hours slogging through puddles and wiping Tropical Storm Hanna out of my eyes to keep my contacts in. I am fairly certain I complained a lot (at least in my head), and felt like giving up just about every other second. But then I felt guilty for promising to keep a newcomer from getting lost so I did my best to stay with her despite my internal protestations. I was watching her heels and jumping over (or through) enormous puddles most of the time, so my mind was sufficiently occupied. I am thinking they should create a new track & field event - the marathon steeplechase.

The highlights of the run were the ridiculously steep hills at the turn around (miles 8-10) and a group of fellow runners' reactions to a sign warning not to touch the water because the creek was a sewage overflow area. I decided to just keep it to myself that the sign was referring to the water in the ditch about 10 feet below and not to the stuff that was coming out of the sky. I guess that's a little bit evil, but if you don't have enough sense to know that sewage overflow doesn't come from the clouds, then you probably deserve to feel a little icky from thinking that the rain falling on you contains urine. If there were actual human waste getting on them somehow, you can be sure I would not stay silent.

In any case, I am very grateful to the saint who slowed down to run 18 miles with me in order not to get lost because I surely got the better end of that deal. I am also glad to have passed the test I made for myself today! I increased my mileage by 50% in one week, which is generally not advisable, but I didn't injure anything and even made record time. MCM, here I come!

Labels: blisters, GU, long run, purple gatorade, rain

Well, I'm no Ron Burgundy, but today I ran 12 miles at an 11:17 pace. That doesn't sound like such a big deal - it really didn't to me after I did it this morning - but it is. Let me tell you why.

While the whole Run For Kids team stood around me praising my victory, I had this the distinct feeling that I had done this before and couldn't understand why they were so proud of me. I was sure that I had done 11:15s on a long run at least once before, thinking specifically of the LA marathon in March. While I ended up finishing with a worse time than my first marathon that day, I stayed with my brother until mile 18 and I felt strong and fast up through the half and well into mile 15. I started to feel the pain around then and hit a wall (not THE wall, but it's unusually-painful-in-the-joints cousin) and slowed down drastically, eventually being reduced to walking by mile 19. It was walking the last 7 miles that did my great time in. So I must have been averaging 11:15s or 11:30s through the half, right?

Wrong.

I checked the records again and I was going fast (for me, at the time) but not that fast. I was averaging 12:45s through the half, and then the average dropped to 13:55s by the 30K (~mile 18-2/3). So I decided to sort my run log by average pace to figure out just how significant today was.

What I found is that the next best I've done on anything over 6 miles (and there aren't even that many 6-milers this high on my list) was the 10-mile club challenge in February, a week before LA. I averaged 11:35s, slower than today for two fewer miles, and that was only because I knew I wouldn't score if I took more than two hours.

Next on the list are the two Marine Corps half marathons: the inaugural Historic Half in May where I averaged 12:30s and the Quantico Half last September with 12:37s. I shaved off a full minute and a quarter from each mile today, and that's from my best runs. Not counting the handful of runs where I didn't wear my watch, today's run is tied for my 21st fastest run. Ever. And the one that ties it? A dinky 2-miler. Sure, it's possible that there are one or two times in life where I ran faster than that for maybe up to 4 miles, but I really wasn't a runner before last year and I could probably count on both hands how many times I had run a mile or more continuously before training for the 2007 MCM. Here's the breakdown of my 20 faster runs:

Best Pace - 10:03
Highest Mileage - 8

Frequency:
1 mile - 2
1.5 miles - 1
2 miles - 2
3 miles - 9
4 miles - 2
6 miles - 3
8 miles - 1

I would make you a histogram using R, but then I might be tempted to perform some kind of multivariate analysis to figure out what factors are correlated with fast running - and I don't have that kind of time. As it is, I can hardly keep myself from creating a frequency table. So I guess I should get blisters and feel like shit more often. Or, since one of those 6-milers (the other was the Butler Relay in March) and that 8-miler were in LA with Keith, I should find somebody to run with on this side of the country who is faster than me and doesn't leave me behind despite occasional pleas to do so as well as not-so-occasional verbal abuse. (People with virgin ears would do best to steer clear of me on the trails.) I seem to get my best results when feeling hostile. The overly talkative or cheerful need not apply. Oh, and I have to like talking to you for more than five minutes at a time without wanting to strangle you. Not everybody has the special qualities of a good brother-in-law.

(Gee, when I put it that way, it's a wonder people aren't lining up outside my door to go running with me!)

Labels: blisters, GU, hips, knees, liquid breakfast, long run, red gatorade

I don't really know what to say for myself. I haven't trained properly (or at all?) and I'm going to run this son of a bitch anyway. I eeked out 16 miles on Saturday as a last ditch attempt at training. I felt some serious aches beyond anything I felt during my six months of real training for MCM. At the same time, my knees did not bother me as much. Go figure. I nearly crippled myself and, as I lay sprawled in a twitchy "stretching" position in the parking lot post-run, I thought solemnly, 'Well, it's only ten more miles than that.' Part of my brain is still reeling from that sentence, but that part of me has already been relieved of duty.

Coach sent out an email yesterday about a 10-mile race this coming Sunday... I figure there is a greater benefit in running a longish distance a week out from the big day than there is detriment to my training program in doing so at the end of my taper. (Read: Who'm I kidding? I didn't do any of this properly from the get-go. Why start now?)

Labels: long run, MCM, reckless, taper

And how true it can be sometimes!

"Maybe you should just try a little harder."

I kept hearing that in my head as I gloated over an 8-mile run on Wednesday night at a whopping 11:15 pace. 11:15! That's 2 minutes per mile faster than my average training pace and over 3 minutes per mile faster than my actual MCM pace! Maybe I should have just tried a little harder?

Of course, I shouldn't delude myself. I went running with Keith, Mr. Super Trainer Man (also happening to be my brother-in-law) who never gives up on me even when I try to slow waaaaay down so that he'll just go ahead and I can walk or send him ahead without me so I can give up. It felt great particularly because it was my first distance run since the marathon almost a month ago. All that recovery time and no more than a month out from the six solid months of training for MCM left me primed for a great 'first' training run.

The six miles we did with my brother Jay yesterday at a slower pace did not feel as nice. But I guess that happens when you're not used to putting in all the miles you're supposed to and then BAM! one day, you run a total of 14 miles within 3 days after an extended rest period. I didn't like the dirt trail too much yesterday, either. It was too much like sand with the absorbing of all of my energy and my legs were already pretty sore. I wonder if I'll be able to keep up with Samwise and his merry group of hobbits so I don't have to train alone this winter...

Probably not, but I won't be trailing so far behind anymore. That's pretty good for now!

Labels: dirt trail, GU, long run

Last week's 12-miler brought on a surprisingly early bout of taper madness. Everyone was some kind of loopy during the run and it almost seemed like a mistake when we reached the end and we all felt so good. When I got home after today's so-so 10-miler, I realized that I should stop being surprised at the distances I am capable of running and also stop pretending that I am shocked about my training success in front of other people (most notably non-runners). I'm a runner, goddamn it, and sometime in the last 5-ish months this activity stopped feeling like that lark I had one night while scouring craigslist for things to do and it became who I was. This is who I am now. This is what I do.

I have definitely emerged from my personal funk; happycat has found her happy. The real challenge this next two weeks will be in staying gainfully employed despite my constant, intense urge to jump ship so that I can stop letting them run me into the ground and actually sleep enough to feel refreshed on the big day. If this week was any indicator, it does not look very promising for any people there who still think that the marathon and school are anywhere below my top two priorities.




...Also, I want to punch someone in the face because my knees only hurt right now thanks to the lack of sleep this week. Maybe happycat found some catnip instead of happy. It's been a while since I've felt like I could go for a good barfight.

Labels: aggression, bagel, knees, lemon-lime powerade, long run, shot blocks, sport beans, violent urges

I've been clinging to a moment, or maybe just not wanting to experience new moments. It's time to let go of that 20-miler. (Mostly because there's another one coming soon but also because I ran a race yesterday that I can't just pretend didn't happen.)

It was humid yesterday, so it sucked. I guess my time was good. I have a really bad attitude about all of this right now, but I can't seem to shake it (try as I might) because there never seem to be enough minutes in the day for me to get all the rest I need, let alone get through all of this physical and mental torture (not just running, but everything) with a big smile on my face.

I guess a pseudo-meltdown counts as rest week for me now? I'm going to expose one of my guilty pleasures by doing this, but this is really the best summary of how I'm doing right now:

Labels: lemon-lime powerade, long run, nsaids, Quantico Half Marathon, rest week, shot blocks, sport beans

WHAT THE HELL.

I hardly want to relive yesterday's run, but I need to get down some sort of record of my first 20-miler in life... if you can even count those last 6 miles.

Let's just say that I went to dark, dark places in my head. The Mile-14 onset Tourette's was mild, but my cognitive processes began to break down badly at that point. I played every game I knew to make the time pass and push through the pain: lasso the person running in front of me, lasso that kayaker on the river, look at that lady in front of me I am so faster than she is 1-2-3 go, wheels on the feet go 'round and 'round, just stay with Space Mountain Train the trusty pacer, count as high as I can in various languages, name the stops on the NYC subway lines I've lived on, name the stops on the DC metro, SCREW THE ALPHABET I WILL NOT SING THE ALPHABET, count again in japanese and pretend I'm doing push-ups oh look how easy this is without the push-ups, remember that day when I was running miserably for what seemed like forever thank god I am on a leisurely bike ride now just watching the memory of me suffer, if you don't stay ahead of at least one person in this group the lions will eat you... and so on.

I had to think of some new ones, too. The best one was magic shoes! Magic shoes come in two varieties: the kind with little wings on them that whisk you around like a little mythological courier and the kind that run by themselves and carry you forward as if you were amazingly fast and perfect and had to expend no effort whatsoever. The thing about magic shoes, though, is that they are only for gods and immortals to wear and the price to pay for greatness as a mortal is that they burn your puny mortal skin. But to be great you just live with the burning pain in your feet because you get to wear magic shoes and be awesome like gods and immortals.

Magic shoes only worked for so long. They got me through the rough spots up until mile 14. Then I had to play, OH GOD THIS HURTS SO MUCH WHAT COULD HURT WORSE THAN THIS SO I CAN BE THANKFUL I AM NOT DOING THAT INSTEAD? Answers included:

*Here is a wall made of spikes and now you have to kick it!

*Here take this knife and carve chunks of flesh out of your legs to put in this bowl.

*Hey let's play soccer and you get a penalty kick OH MY GOD JUST KIDDING IT WAS A GIANT UPRIGHT BLADE NOT A BALL and the lower half of your leg is now sliced in half!

*What do you think will happen if I put my foot in this blender?

Phew! Thank goodness I'm not doing any of that and I'm just here running these nice and easy 20 miles today. What a leisurely day!

That never lasted long either. I ended up in fantasy land a lot...

Oh my gosh I have to keep running or that ringwraith will cut me up and feed me to those nasty orcs. But when I almost dove into a ditch a few times to evade the dark lords, I decided I'd better try daydreaming about real life instead. I pictured myself approaching the end of mile 26 on marathon day and seeing mister-man standing at an oddly placed aid station there. I run over to kiss him and he says, "I'm coming with you!" and I grin and pick him up and go charging up that final hill to the statue where my friends are all waiting and take a glorious picture of me carrying my boyfriend and looking strong as a horse. Hey, man, that's totally unrealistic. Stop it. Okay, okay. So I get to mile 26 and there is that final hill to cover and there are all of my friends watching me and I can't feel my legs. I suck it up and I go charging up that hill and push some suckers out of my way for a glorious finish. Maybe that can actually happen. (Well, maybe I shouldn't push any suckers.)

Anyway, now that it's all over and I review my data, I see that there is a good possibility I will be capable of this. It felt like I completely broke down during the whole last five miles, but I actually stayed well within my target pace range on the last two miles, even with the stops to stretch and some walking. See, usually it's such a big hurdle to even get myself to run again that I run as fast as I can just to get more distance covered and "earn" some more walking (or limping or crying), which I do for as long as I can stand myself. Then when I am thoroughly disgusted with myself again, I run fast some more. Every time this happens, it FEELS like I'm actually going to make good time when I average out the walking and running, but I always still come in at at least 2-3 minutes slower than my normal pace.

Maybe I can thank my week of Army ROTC PT, but somehow I actually ran fast for long enough to bring my average pace back down to normal. I'd look at my watch in the middle of it and see I was doing somewhere between a 9- and 11-minute pace, which was remarkable for how crappy I felt. Then I'd remind myself about every other time I use this technique and how I always end up taking too long anyway. I really didn't expect to see any good news in the data, but darn it if I didn't run miles 19 and 20 in 13:20 and 12:08, respectively!

I didn't exactly achieve a negative split, but I ran my 19th mile faster than I ran 11 of the other 19 miles, and my 20th was the fastest mile of them all! I do recognize that this is some kind of victory, but I'm still in too much shock (and pain) to actually feel happy about it.



...Also I had my first chafing experience (WTF) and now I have to buy body glide (WTF). I don't want to talk about it. >:(

Labels: Army ROTC, caffeine, chafing, long run, magic shoes, mind games, nsaids, PT, shot blocks

With us. All of us who are training for the marathon. We do this thing that is painful and drawn-out for extended periods of time, while every part of our bodies is screaming for us to quit.

...And we don't. Not for a while longer anyway.

Guess I had a "good" run yesterday. That's one of my fastest average paces on a long run, even though I didn't run a lick since the last long run. I guess my fitness is still improving, even when I feel like crap and don't train enough.

Luckily, that is going to end, too. I signed up to PT with the Army ROTC on campus so I'll be getting some form of working out at least three days a week, which must include running, not to mention the cross-training that I haven't exactly been doing. With this latest development, my pace may actually improve more before the big day! My first marathon time may possibly be slightly less pitiful than I expect!!

I look back and see that I guessed poorly at what a decent beginner time should be when I set my "goal" time in April. Er, I should say, I guessed poorly at what MY beginner time would be. 5:00? Yeah, right. I'm just praying I'll break 6:00. Anything under 6:00 means I kept a decent pace and did not have any major breakdowns. Finishing much later than that means I gave too much just to beat the bridge and gave up on myself for the last 10K. I know that this is my first one and I should just aim to finish and everything, but I'd rather not look back on this experience and regret giving up on a measly 10K (forget that it's after 20 miles) and having a 6-hour+ finish time looming over me for the rest of my life.

Labels: lemon-lime powerade, long run, PT, shot blocks

No moping today! I just ran 18 miles and I feel like having a good ol' victory bar fight as soon as I finish icing my knees. (Too bad I know better than that.) That was a damn good run. I'm feeling violent in the good way!

I used a number of mental tricks on myself today, but the most effective during the clinch was ramping up the speed in the last mile and thinking about how embarrassing it would be to give up so close to the end in front of so many Marines. I thought of mister-man running the 5+ mile endurance course this last week with his load-bearing vest and a pack and rifle. The Marine Corps, being the Marine Corps, planned for the E course to end with an obstacle you have to hurl yourself over... atop the final hill...

...where everyone is watching you.

Gee, this sounds a lot like the marathon course, whose elevation map (just recently released) looked pretty brutal, involving running PAST the finish only to come back around to it a second time... managing to be uphill both ways. 10 miles of hills, relatively flat course, and then 1.2 miles of utter torture. Not to mention that this is in front of probably the largest concentration of spectators. You know, the Marine Corps being the Marine Corps. Sometimes I stare at that elevation map just to meditate on it bit. Without fail, I end my meditation by saying to myself, "Yep, this route was definitely planned by a Marine."

Anyway, I tried to sing the Marines' Hymn in my head as I started running hard. I mixed up the verses a whole bunch and ended up running out of song before the mile was up, but then I imagined mister-man running up from behind all weighed down like a mule and completely schooling me in that last half mile. I almost started crying because my mental image was too real and I was *so* close to giving up on my dreams and even life itself. But before I knew it, my Garmin bleeped at me and made the 18 miles official. Of course it was almost another quarter mile to the parking lot so I kept going and even sped up a bit because I felt SO DAMN GOOD to be done.

I remember turning my left ankle on a rock somewhere in the last half mile but I didn't notice until I was stretching and my left ankle was too tender for me to balance on that leg so I could stretch my right quads. Already feels mostly better, though I'll have to ice it a bit and not do anything stupid to it. I'm just glad it wasn't like The Great Sprain of April, which took me out of commission for a loooong while. That would be pretty devastating at this stage of the game.

Wait, why am I even talking about that shit? I effectively dodged the bullet, and I just ran 18 miles! Fuck everything else! Time for ice packs and a victory nap.

Labels: ankle, caffeine, canal towpath, long run, shot blocks, violent urges

This morning was pretty brutal. I itched all night from the score of bug bites covering my legs (again). I have no idea where these little fuckers even are! When are they getting a shot at biting me? I only ever go outdoors to run or go to my car and I always put on bug repellant when I run! >:(

I smelled like a walking Vicks factory when I finally got in to work. Then when the Vicks kicked in and made my legs stop itching, I realized that there was another reason I had a hell of a time waking up this morning: I had the beginnings of the SICK. The mildly irritated throat, the slightly warm temperature, the full body aches...

I used to get sick all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. Frequent and recent enough to know that I have to head it off at the pass with a bunch of zinc, vitamin C, food and sleep. If not, it usually takes me out for a whole week. I mean, I stay sick for almost two weeks as it fades away in that annoying sniffly-coughy way, but I am down for the count for a good long week at the beginning.

Looking ahead into my work week and the fact that school starts tomorrow (no small deal right now), I thought maybe I should do what I could to head it off at the pass. So I called in a solid you-owe-me from all the people at work who have been benefiting from my usual run-myself-into-the-ground-to-get-things-done approach for the past 1-10 months. I didn't feel quite right doing it, but once I laid down the facts (especially the part about having to be OUT-out for a couple of days if I let it get bad), well, let's just say that they all decided to just bite the bullet and help me out.

A little after 3pm, I grabbed the lunch I had had delivered 2.5 hours earlier and ran upstairs to eat, take preventative meds and sleep. I put in Little Miss Sunshine (great flick!) and slept through it. Then I woke up to the main menu screen and switched over to cartoon network where, to my delight, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends was on. More sleeping and sleepy watching. Then around 10pm I was awake.

Remembering Coach's words of warning as he rode his bike alongside me this last weekend - making sure I wasn't going to pass out in the humidity - I decided to go running and tire myself out for bed. Two birds, one stone. I need to make sure to do at least two short runs during the week. I am not even doing the minimum. How am I supposed to run this bitch in October if I can't even make time for little 3-milers and such during the week? I won't. That's how.

So out I went around 11pm (it took an hour of self-coaxing to get around to actually dressing and going out for a run at this hour). It was relatively cool and nice. I reek of Off!, but I don't have any new bites (thank goodness). It was a mediocre speed run. Miles in the bank. Forward motion. One foot in front of the other. I guess that's all a person can do when her body is screaming for her to quit. Anything it takes to not give in.

Much as it pained me to abandon a bunch of people at the office who needed me to be there, I'm glad I slept off the sick today. When my body calls in a you-owe-me, I'd be stupid not to deliver.

Labels: bites, cartoons, lemon-lime powerade, long run, movies, short run, sick, speed run

Yesterday was a rough one, but I did it! I ran 16 miles! 16.4 to be exact. I don't particularly feel like reliving it, but I will summarize it by saying that it was long and arduous and my knees hurt the whole damn time despite the Tylenol I took at the beginning. I developed a case of tourette's just as I hit mile 14 and I think I'm just now shaking it. (Maybe not. I still have a few choice words in me.) I also had a great desire to spear the people running in front of me. They just looked too damned chipper. Good thing I didn't actually have a spear or any functional substitutes handy.

Mister-man had some good advice for me after I vented to him yesterday. He said that I should try doing some jumprope warm-up and a stretch before I run. This is usually not necessary for long runs since we run the whole thing slowly and do the warming up by attempting to negative split and running especially slow the first 3-5 miles. But it did make me realize why my knees hurt so much: I should have done exactly that before my two short runs this last week, since I chose to do speed runs for both. That's precisely the kind of workout that requires a warm-up and stretch. My knees hurt since that first speed run and only got worse through the end of the week, culminating in a world of pain for over 3-1/2 hours yesterday morning. (Who am I kidding? I'm still in a lot of pain.)

Anyway, I was going to go back to my usual wimpy 1-mile recovery run at a whopping 14-ish minute pace, but the thought of being on my knees for that long and only accomplishing one mile wearied me. Plus, I need to add miles during the week as we stay in the double digit mileage from here on out. I decided that from now on, no matter how tired I am, I should be shooting for runs that are no shorter than 3 miles. I mean, am I just going to stop before I get to the end of that marathon because I'm tired? Hell no. So, I took off into the nice misty day for a jog around some different parts of campus.

The cool weather felt good, so I just sort of took off with nary a care. My recovery run morphed into a speed workout. There were no sprints involved, which I typically like to incorporate into speed runs, but then neither were there any during my last two. I guess it's a good sign that I didn't notice until I finished, all out of breath and feeling accomplished. If I had gone just another half mile, I would have logged 20 miles this weekend. (!!) Given how beat up I feel, I'm perfectly happy with 19.5. That's a big enough deal for this little chicken.

Labels: consecutive key workouts, knees, long run, nsaids, recovery run, short run, shot blocks, speed run, sport beans, violent urges

After nearly two full weeks since my last run (a short recovery run the day after the infamous Riley's Rumble), I have to say that the long run yesterday felt like a renaissance... complete with a second trip through the metaphorical birth canal.

It was the same 12-mile route we ran at Belle Haven a few weeks ago, when it was my first time running 12 miles. That week, I had done extra credit and ran 12.75 in pursuit of a comfort station. Yesterday I was lucky to run exactly 12. (Well, I did decide to throw in the extra .02 when I sprinted to the next big tree after I heard the little beep from my watch telling me I'd just finished my 12th mile. It meant getting to the food a few seconds sooner.)

Clearly I hadn't lost all my strength or resolve during the long hiatus. Nor had I lost my will to get up obscenely early on a Saturday morning (and only on Saturday morning) to drive out and meet the group on a beautiful trail. It helped a lot that the weather was disturbingly reminiscent of May (when the actual May was disturbingly reminiscent of July). There was a cool breeze and I actually shivered a touch on my walk to the car at 6am. The sun came out later, but it never felt oppressive.

What felt oppressive was the imaginary slave driver on my shoulder, cracking the whip against my tired heart. Of all my aching parts, my cardiovascular system labored on the most painfully. I was in pain throughout the first mile and thought, oh god, I feel like this after one mile? The second mile felt twice as bad and I thought for sure that little engine in my chest was going to stall and I'd find myself lying on my side, huffing and puffing like the song from a wind-up music box coming to its sad end.

Yet I continued on into an equally painful Mile Three, with members of my group finally catching and passing me. I'd left early to shorten the amount of time the coaches would have to wait for me to come back at the end, knowing I'd be stumbling in at a much slower pace than usual. Mile Four was surprisingly pleasant. I started to feel the strength and confidence I used to feel throughout most of my long runs. I felt like I could go on like that forever.

Yesterday, forever lasted exactly 1.5 miles.

I wanted to push on to run at least 5, but I had to slow down a bit. Then I got to 5 and wondered what all the fuss had been about, deciding to just go for my old routine and not make any significant stops or walk breaks until I hit the halfway mark. I did stop at each water fountain along the way (probably 3 or 4 of them?), but only long enough to take two long draughts and a careful final swallow. Those were more like pauses than stops. In the end, I never took any extended walk breaks like the ones I used to take midway through a run and then again three-quarters of the way through. I think this is because of my new fueling technique.

For the first time since I started this running business, I left my Clif bar at home. Instead, I brought with me a pack of sport beans and two packs of Clif shot blocks. (This was the recommended amount for a workout of that length.) I ate half of the pack of beans before the run and then the rest in 3 more doses of 4-6 beans along the way. I ended up eating only two shot blocks, and I even spit out half of the first one when I couldn't swallow it or keep it in my mouth any longer. The shot blocks were really helpful because I love (and I mean *love*) the texture in my mouth. (Just like my favorite gummy candies.) Of course, there's a lot more to them than just sugar, so the first one early in the run (after mile 3) was a little too much for my system, thus its unceremonious end on the grass alongside the trail. I sucked on it for a while, drank some water, more sucking, more water... got hungry and bit it in half and gobbled a little chunk down, lots more water, and then more sucking for as long as I could stand it in my mouth.

I don't remember when I ate the sport beans, but it was pretty much whenever water was tasting too watery, gatorade wasn't giving me enough of a kick, and shot blocks seemed too substantial. I think between these products, I may have a winning combination of fuels for the big day. I also still have some other gummy sport candies to try next week. I picked up these candies called sharkies when I went to REI for the sport beans and shot blocks. I like them because they remind me of childhood (at least from what I could tell from the packaging). I'll throw those in my little pouch for next week instead of the second back of shot blocks and I should be good to go.

I know I should have done a recovery run this morning, but I skipped it to catch up on sleep. Since I had a late reservation at the Prime Rib on Friday night for restaurant week, I only had about 3.5 hours of sleep before the run. I made up for it with a shameful amount last night/this morning. There could still be time for a little recovery action this evening, but I've got my other restaurant week dinner date and I'm not missing out on the hot culinary action and fine wine. I'm even taking the metro so I can actually drink tonight!

Incidentally, that prime rib was the best pre-run dinner I've ever had. I wish I could do that every week!

Labels: long run, prime rib, restaurant week, Riley's Rumble, shot blocks, sport beans

I feel worthless today for postponing my run another day when I had planned to do Monday-Wednesday-Friday this week in preparation for Riley's. But Monday brought on the most painful four miles of my life. I felt like I had heartburn the whole time. I brought water with me, though no beans or gatorade since the workout was only about 45 minutes. I threw up some water right at the end when I could feel my body running out of something after about 3.5 miles (was it dehydration? did I use up my glycogen stores? who knows?) and I pushed my limit and made myself finish the four miles.

The second I stopped running, it felt like that was the worst decision I had made all week... only I couldn't tell if the mistake was making myself keep running to that point, or stopping when I needed to keep going. Either way, after that first step I walked, the damage was done. I swirled some water in my mouth and spit out some kind of nasty goo that had formed in my mouth and the tried to drink some only to wretch it back into my mouth. Gross.

I had eaten a buffalo burger for lunch that day and it was slightly undercooked, but you'd think if it was that it would have bothered me sooner than seven hours later! What's worse is that I didn't wake up feeling better yesterday. I've been feeling queasy and heartburn-y since then and my body just doesn't feel like it's recovered from Saturday, let alone the second beating I gave it on Monday. I scheduled my first massage for Monday night, so I know that will be well deserved after I have a go at the Rumble on Sunday.

All this and those 10+ miles on Saturday felt like such a breeze at the time! Eesh.

But the real point of this entry should be that I looked back at my last few entries and--lo and behold!--the last time I felt this kind of a bodily funk was exactly a month ago. Fancy that! I guess I haven't taken a cut-back week since then, and my body is hollering at me for it. It's too bad Riley's falls on this week, but I guess this will just make into that much more of a test for me. At this rate, MCM might be falling on my off week! (Please no, please no, please no...) I think it will actually be a week after the off week if it keeps going exactly every 4th week, but I know that sort of thing is never predictable.

I don't know what else to say. The more I sit here to type, the more opportunity I have to whine, and that ain't helping no-one.

Can it be Monday now?

Labels: got dat funk, heartburn, long run, massage, race, rest week, Riley's Rumble, short run

I keep meaning to go back and write out the details of each run so I can benefit from my notes about all the variables later on down the road (say, in about 16 weeks), but I've barely even had the time or energy to run, let alone document all of the little things that happened or even update my run log before today.

Let's just say it's been a rough 3 weeks at work, and it isn't over yet. Overtime really sucks, but some things just need to be done. The source of my livelihood has to come before the source of my liveliness, much as I'd like it to be the other way around. My boss swears to me that we're hiring someone this week so I can have help by the 16th at latest. I'm not holding my breath, but I think it will be safe to start asserting my own personal needs that day in case the inhuman workloads continue, whether a person is hired or not. One more week of a crippled training schedule, I can handle (barely). More than that, not so much.

I guess the thing for me to keep in mind is that it is also JULY and not just that I am "losing conditioning" by skipping out on my shorter runs during the week. Every time I do get a chance to be out there, it is between 5:00 and 10:00pm, and hotter than Hades. I have also been too self conscious to wear my fuel belt to run around campus because all of the college students will laugh at me, but I'm beginning to realize that I just don't care (and they probably don't really care enough to laugh either). I'd rather run than not run, and I'd rather look like a dork than have my body overheat so that I have to cut the trip short every time.

Last week's long run was pretty much agony. I started out with the best attitude I had, but I clearly didn't eat enough the night before. In fact, I had fallen asleep without dinner. As important as it is for me to get proper amounts of sleep in order to feel good while running, I discovered that filling up the old gas tank is more important. I need to have a big hearty dinner the night before a long run and there ain't no bones about it.

This Friday, I ate like a champ and drank so much water I thought it was going to start leaking out of my ears. I woke up 3 times in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Then I woke up and had an apple before I went on my way, feeling pretty damn good. I brought just enough water and watered down gatorade (4 of water and 2 of 1:4 diluted gatorade), half of a clif bar and some sport beans. I probably could have eaten a bigger breakfast or brought 3/4 of a clif bar, but that was okay. I didn't get really hungry until the last mile and I just had to squeak that one out. Thank goodness for the bananas at the end. It's nice to have food and cold drinks waiting for you after you clean out your supply during the long run.

All in all, this 10 miles was breezy and I am in fine shape, considering how little training I've been doing for going on a month now. Last week I tried a walk break every mile (probably added to my agony) but this week I went back to my halfway rule. I try to break down the distance and get "just past halfway" before taking any significant breaks. I ran the 5 miles with no stops, only slowing down near mile 4 to digest some clif bar and let the water soak into my system, then I stopped to walk after the aid station at the turn around. Here, I really needed to hit the 'reset' button. Even though I would like not to walk more than a tenth of a mile at a time, I had just run 5 straight, so it seemed the thing to do.

I walked for about three tenths of a mile, drinking up and letting my body cool down and my joints rest. I lengthened my stride and took exaggerated steps to let some different muscles get in on the action. Then I started up again and felt pretty good. I knew I'd need to walk another 1-2 times so I stuck with my halfway rule again and said to myself that I'd walk after mile 7 and then again at about mile 8.5 in order to break the last 5 miles into a 2-1.5-1.5 deal. When I got to 7, I felt a little shameful since I'd walked more than a quarter mile at my last break, so I thought I'd just hold out for mile 8 and then walk.

A quarter mile before I got there, my stomach started to seriously devour itself. So, 7 and three-quarters it was! I chowed down on the last big bite of clif bar, munched a sport bean and drank down most of my fluids leaving just one bottle for the last couple of miles. It felt sinful to walk, but at least I knew I'd earned it (unlike the multiple, truly sinful walk breaks I'd taken last week). I was surprised to discover today that I averaged under a 13:30 pace. I had set my forerunner to yell at me if I dropped below a 14-min pace and that wretched little thing kept beeping at me every time I paused to sneeze! Harumph.

Labels: body fuel, food, long run, sport beans

Yesterday I participated in this event, except obviously it is now 2007. Tom's Run started out as a team-building exercise in honor of CWO-4 Tom Brooks of the Coast Guard and has become an annual tradition, even after his death. I wish I had known all of this before I rented a car and drove a couple of hours into the boonies to have this adventure... it means a lot more now that I know. I also learned a lot about how to be better prepared for next time; namely, to prepare.

Sadly I missed the big finish today because I slept like a rock until noon, but I will say that that was the most beautiful adventure I've ever had. Ever. I can't wait to do it again next year.

I sort of lucked out and un-lucked out at the same time. The day started out at probably 90 degrees at sun up and was 97 once it got warmed up a bit. It was like walking through warm soup when I left the office to grab lunch and I wasn't even running then! I think the coach almost died a few times during his 1000-mile leg in the middle of the day. He sure looked like he wanted to die as he finished it and I prepared to start my leg.

I started around 6:30 or 7 or... hell, I don't know what time it was anymore. I was hot and I had taken a nice detour through downtown Hagerstown (15 miles from where I needed to be) by taking a wrong turn. Turns out that the area by the C&O Canal out there is simply beautiful. I might like to live there one day and have some horses and a cat that chases mice in the night. Yes, a nice little farm house and farm pets. *Ahem* As I was saying...

Most of the stretch from Cumberland to Bethesda is on the path that runs along the canal, but my leg included the 5-mile stretch where you have to run on the road... the narrow, narrow, two-way road that is like a maze connecting all the big pretty farm houses. I was told that the locals don't all like having us around when I was getting ready to start my run, but I already knew this from the tail-gating and dirty looks I got as I took another few wrong turns on these narrow, narrow, rolling roads.

The sky turned cloudy about five minutes into my run. That was lucky because I spent that first five minutes negotiating a hill. (Not the best warm up, but it was too early for me to start out with smaller steps... I would have just wanted to stop and walk.) My biker turned out to be the MCP jokester himself, so that helped a lot. I think I stayed pretty much on pace (maybe? still standing by for the exact numbers) and that is pretty remarkable for such a hot miserable day and for sooooo many hills. He was a very good distraction and I owe him a lot for getting me through that. (Thank you.) Anyway, then we heard the thunder.


Wait, thunder?


Yes, thunder.


There was a thunderstorm coming. It was still a ways off, we could tell. There was about 20 seconds between each flash and boom. But it was definitely coming. It started to rain on us. I wouldn't call it a downpour, but they were the big drops that make a little *thud* on your head and soak right through your clothes (not that I would have minded being soaked). I was a mixture of happy and terrified. Isn't there something about not running in a thunderstorm? Pretty sure that's what you're supposed to NOT do. At this point, I was possessed and running faster than my normal pace because my madness had me convinced that I might somehow beat the storm to the end of my leg (yeah, right... 10 miles? Pshh.) Jokester friend helped out by reminding me that I still need to drink and handed me my little fuel bottles every now and then. We plugged along the road in the intermittent rain and dodged a car every so often. (Not everybody on the road was happy to see us and some didn't pull away from the side of the road much - or at ALL - when they zoomed past us.)

The rain sort of tapered off and I was sad to have experienced the beginning and end of my first rainy run without getting wet enough to feel good from it. Those drops seemed to soak through the shirt and then get lost somewhere before actually touching my skin, and my overheating arms and legs certainly didn't feel any relief from them.

Eventually, we hit the towpath and made our turn into the trail that mirrors the canal. What a happy moment! That meant I was more than halfway. "So I did 5.5 miles right? Only 4.5 left on this path and I'm home free?"

"Uhh, well..." [beeping sounds from the Pacerunner305 on his wrist]

The trail was a lot darker than the road because there was a thick canopy above us. I started to feel like Frodo with my Sam (on a bike) trying to stay one step ahead of the ringwraiths. Then we came up on some delightful hillbilly locals. (Tom Bombadil, is that you?) "Haaay! We saw yew 'bout three mah-les back!" one drawled incredulously. The other looked at him, as if to confirm that I was crazy enough to be that person they passed on the road earlier. I smiled and said, "Yep!" as I flew past them. The cooler temperature under the shade of the trees had me feeling good and I was at a pretty nice clip.

"So, now that I'm past halfway, I want to know how far I've gone." More beeping from Sam's wrist.

"Well.... let's just say you're halfway right about now." What??!

"WHAT?!?"

"Yeah, but we don't know if this is actually going to be 10 miles..."

"WHAT!?!"

"Let's just say if this leg really is 10 miles, you're halfway now."

"WHAT?!!"

And so I went, ploddingly. Nature was calling insistently by this point because I had overhydrated in the car during the 97-degree drive and I really didn't sweat much in the rainy, cloudy weather that came when I started. It had been damn hot, but I didn't have sunshine to beat me down. I didn't go slowly for too long after the bad news; I had to hurry in my quest for a port-a-potty.

When we finally got to one, it was damn dark. The sun must have set. I still had no idea what time it was. I took a flashlight in with me and was delighted to find that it did not smell. Not even a little bit. (A dash of good luck, at last!) I didn't worry about my hands being unsanitary as by this point, my whole body was covered in a slime consisting of sunblock & insect repellant lotion, sweat, rain, hay particles, dead gnats, spiderwebs, mud and gatorade. (Mmm!)

Taking a walk break to let my body catch up to me, I found that the bugs had more time to land on me and die in the slime. I could feel the impact of each tiny bug that made the mistake of landing on me. Eww. I started running again.

Pretty soon we reached a small clearing where the trees didn't completely block out the sky. "It's still day?!?" It was.

We passed a few more little clearings and Sam rode ahead into one to snap a picture of me in action, taking advantage of the natural light. I'm sure I looked exquisite in my slimy coat. We'll see when he sends it to me. (Right? You're sending it to me? Don't be offended I'm calling you Sam. This is me protecting your identity from the masses on the internets.)

It wasn't long before we came up on a bigger clearing, and just then we heard a honk and looked up to the road on the other side of the path from the canal. It was the coach and the team captain making their way to the next checkpoint. They yelled some encouragement and my instinct was to throw them the metal horns as I tried to yell 'Rock on!' but instead let out some kind of ungodly grunt. Or maybe I was even yelling. Who knows? The adrenaline got going again and I was trucking along nicely. Not a minute later, we passed some more trees and saw a parking lot up ahead.

I didn't want to get ahead of myself and I certainly didn't feel like I had run 10 miles... so I told myself that it wasn't the right one. "There must be 4 more parking lots, we have to pass, right?"

"Yeah, sure. That's the coach waiting up there waving his arms at us."

"REALLY!!??"

"Really."

I was pretty proud of myself. 10 miles... or so I thought. Sam checked the trusty Pacerunner305 and it turned out to be just shy of 8 miles. 7.86 or something like that. I felt pretty cheated. I didn't even do the distance I would have otherwise done at the group long run this morning! Cheap.

I stretched a little and sucked on some watered down gatorade. Coach and Sam took off on the next 4-mile leg. We had to move two cars, so I got to joyride in Sam's fun little Subaru. It's a stick shift with turbo, so you can bet it was a fun ride over to the next checkpoint. Those rolling hills and narrow, narrow roads were a lot more fun this way. (A lot of things are more fun when you're not running anymore and you're driving a fucking CAR, no?)

The coach was supposed to also run the next 4-mile segment that I would bike, but Sam and I were both feeling good and Coach still looked like he needed to hurry up and die to end the misery. So we volunteered to run it for him and each took two miles running and two miles on the bike. It was very dark by this hour and nowhere near a real city, so there was none of the ambient light I am accustomed to. I was fighting off the spooks the whole way. Sam decided it was a good time to joke about the Blair Witch Project. Ha.... ha. Not funny. I just focused on the spot my headlight lit up right in front of me and tried to concentrate my attention on taking the next step and not twisting my ankle on a camoflauged twig. (I twisted them both 2-3 times each, but no sprains or anything, thank goodness.)

The bike was a bigger adventure because I was supposed to be the steady helpful one, but it was too big for me and I probably almost rode off into a gully (or the canal!) about a dozen times. Man, was it dark.

When we came upon the next checkpoint, our car caravan of relief wasn't there waiting for us. We tried a cell phone but kept getting voicemail. Reception is spotty out that far. We checked the parking lot signs. That's the one. Where are they? Another guy asked us who we were with as he was waiting for his own team to arrive behind us. We sat around in the parking lot waiting for quite a while. My stomach started eating itself. The asphalt was bruising my tired ass. Where the hell were they? We saw a couple of bikes fly past along the trail and wondered why two people would be riding at this hour and not be part of Tom's Run.

Finally, after about half an hour, we got them on the phone. There was another lot--same number--about a quarter mile further down the trail.

Oh. God.

So Sam took off running and I mounted up again. We finally got there and figured out the whole mess. We thought something might have happened to them. They thought we must have been injured. Those two bikers we saw had been looking for us in case we needed help. Then we had to wait for them to cover the whole 4 miles and back and explain what had happened all over again. We had lost the half hour we gained during my surprise-it's-short segment and then some. Everyone had been awake for hours. I had been at work all day and Coach and the captain has been at this since midnight the night before. I was finally headed home, but for them the night was just beginning.

Sam drove me back to where my rental car was parked as I munched on two dry cheese topped bagels. They were officially the most delicious thing to ever touch my lips. I'm sure it was the delirium making me think that anyway. Then I drove the hour and forty minute drive home with the music blaring to keep me awake. My ass and lower back were aching and I couldn't seem to sit comfortably. When I returned the car to its spot, I had to walk ten minutes past a bunch of drunk, happy college students to get back to my building. I wanted to punch all those jolly drunkards in the face, but that's just me and my jealousy. The pain in my legs may have contributed to this feeling as well. Regardless, there was definitely ten minutes of wanting to punch faces and then home sweet home.

Of course I still had to clean out my fuel belt bottles and then take a shower so I wouldn't gunk up my bed. The shower was difficult. I just wanted to stand under the water, but I had to soap myself. My knees and ankles were raging at me and I could barely stand anymore. I finally collapsed into bed right around 3am and woke up to a call from Sam at noon. He was waiting for the others at the finish and just wondered if I was there.

Walking is painful, but it was all so worth it.

The ibuprofen and ice packs help, too.

Labels: aggression, beautiful place to live, canal towpath, Coach, long run, Sam, Tom's Run, violent urges