Oh Everest, My Everest

I joined PGRC yesterday since it was only $3 more to become a member than it was to run today's race as a non-member. I think it was well worth it since there is at least one weekly run that starts practically outside my doorstep and the people in the club were all nice runners who were there for fun and camaraderie instead of ignoring everybody and trying to PR every other second.

It was a chilly morning, but most of that was the dew since I was getting on the road at 0615. When Coach and I got to the gym where we picked up our bibs, the sun was out and I predicted a lot of sweating in my two long-sleeve layers. I ditched the under armour before the start, but then ended up mildly uncomfortable because of the cold for the next two hours. Oh well. I'm still trying to figure out if that had anything to do with my left forearm going numb and then hurting for the last mile and half. My watch wasn't on any tighter than usual, but when I reached for my numb arm, it felt tight around my flesh - at least to the touch of my good hand. I loosened the watch a notch to see if it would help, but that did nothing. It started to really hurt as I came down the last quarter mile, but luckily it was only a quarter mile. Seems okay now.

The club picked up two stragglers to join the team so that we could compete (we needed 15 runners), but then I found out there was another rule I had failed to learn about beforehand. A runner had to finish the 10 miles in 2 hours or less in order to be scored. With me and about 2-3 of the other club regulars living dangerously on the cusp, I felt like I'd better try really hard. I imagined myself taking a nice easy pace most of the way and then seeing the race clock about 20 yards ahead at 1:59:57, knowing that I would miss the mark by mere seconds. Luckily, that thought kept me from walking too long during my increasingly frequent Gatorade breaks in the last two miles.

12 minutes per mile doesn't sound fast to most people, and in fact, it doesn't even sound fast to me these days with all the focus I'm putting on being able to switch modes as a runner so that I can score well on the PFT in addition to running marathons. Still, it was a great victory to be scored in that race, and with 4 minutes to spare! A sub-12 pace for 10 miles is a light year away from where I was throughout MCM training and about 67 light years from my actual marathon pace. I sometimes forget that I only started running last April (and that it was a false start with a sprained ankle after only a little over a week). Coach says that it takes about two years to mature a runner, so I'm counting on a lot of improvement this next year or so.

Next week is the real challenge. Well, it's the next one anyway. Every day I pound the pavement is a new challenge for me right now. As Samwise likes to say, this next marathon is to prove that the first one wasn't a fluke. (The next 50-60 will be to join the 50 states and 7 continents clubs.) Coach listened to me go on about all the people I'd get to visit whose couches I would shamelessly crash on in order to achieve these goals, and it reminded him of another marathon follow-up tidbit he wanted to share with MCP. Seems that most people run a marathon and then fall into one of two groups: the Never Agains and the Extremely Addicted. He warned against trying to run too many in the first year (or two) because that often leads to injuries, which lead to membership in the Never Agains. Makes sense to me.

While my current mental state definitely puts me in that dangerous group that wants to run as many as possible as soon as possible, I imagine there is an important lesson waiting for me in LA. The logical part of my brain that's still cowering in a corner trying to hide from the bullies who like it when I run all crazy-like? Well, that part managed to get a message out, convincing me to wait on registering for the Frederick Marathon until after LA. That way I will not only know what it means to run one's first 2-3 marathons too close together, but I will most likely also FEEL it. In my bones. In my joints. In my muscles. Everywhere. Early May isn't so far off and I admit that this might not be the best idea I've ever had. Still...

We'll see.

Labels: caffeine, race, shot blocks, swollen hands, taper, yellow gatorade

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

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

THE NEED FOR SPEED

Two key workouts in a row and two speed workouts in one week. That's supposed to be really stupid, but it can't be as stupid as not running at all. I just have to do what I can when I can, make sure I don't miss the long runs and hope for the best.

Still, my time was great, considering the shape I'm in! I maintained a 10:30 pace for the first two miles (give or take 4 seconds) and then dropped to 11:00 on the last mile because I tanked and forgot to bring water. The shot block I ate before the run was obviously spent as well. I was lucky to finish the mile at that point. And now my knees kill.

Am I anywhere near even the minimum PFT on my 3-mile run yet?

Labels: consecutive key workouts, knees, PFT, short run, shot blocks, speed run

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