One of my most vivid memories of moving to America 11 years ago, was how staggeringly enormous the quantities of food were. Wandering into a diner during our first few weeks of living in the US we naturally ordered that great American staple, the pancake, a short stack to be precise. Like many tourists, we all thought my daughter's order was for the entire table, and when we realized our mistake, we photographed the steamy stack of carbs in awe! We adjusted frighteningly fast, and for a while it didn't even register as a shock. We also learnt to order more intelligently and do 'take out' bringing half the food home. Now if we go for fondue at the Melting Pot on Christmas Eve, we know to resist the wait staff and recommendations and instead order the set meal for two as it feeds four of us really well. The combination of Pennsyvlania's delicious cheap eats, vast portions of fries and cheeseteaks, and no pavements to walk anywher, made me realize a future of obesity lay ahead of me in this new land of plenty. I had always done some running, for fun, enjoying the company of friends, jogging round the Heath in England, now it became more of a mission just to burn off the vast amounts of food that lay ahead and a more serious intent set in.
Running still keeps me on the straight and narrow in many ways, but it goes way beyond just food. Giving up a career at a similar time also made me realize there was a gaping lack of structure to my day - I could literally lie on the couch and eat bon bons all day if I felt like it. I needed some rules and purpose to my routine, other than just making dinner, laundry and running kids around.
I have found that a good training plan makes me happy. I know from the minute I get up what the work out is for the day. Regardless of how many boring or exciting plans I have for the day, the run is foremost in my mind, whether it is the track, a trail or the road it is probably the most difficult and also fun thing I will do that day. A weekend is not a weekend unless I have tackled my Friday long run, Tuesday is an excellent day for intervals as it is the hardest working day of the week and my favorite run, the tempo, is often on Sundays.
So finishing up my fall race and taking a three week hiatus in training has been interesting and challenging. I know that mentally it is critical to take some time off, and my legs were about to drop off, so it was long over due. Waking up and having to choose my workout for the day with no map or plan to buy into has been interesting to say the least. Choice is stressful - should I rest, should I take a class, should I do a social run with people I don't get to spend time with normally, should I try a new destination - what do I feel like? All of those thoughts require energy, and then you second guess them, which takes even more energy, and before you know it the day has ended leaving you dissatisfied with what you chose to make of it.
In addition to the tyranny of choice of work out, there is the rest of the 'plan' to worry about. If I haven't decided what I am running the next day that means I can eat a super spicey curry and not worry about burping all through my run, I can have as many glasses of wine as I like and not suffer the consequences, and I can stay up past 9 pm and watch mind numbing tv if I really want to. Truth is that is fun for a while, but then it gets old - I haven't even made it to New Year's and being 'free of the plan' is losing its allure.
After three weeks I simply can't take it any more! All this choice is unravelling me so when I signed up for the famous costume fest of Bay to Breakers, the electronic coaching plan that came free with registration simply called my name - whispering through the ether of the internet 'Ruthless, I need you like you need me". Before I knew it I was unconsciously sucked into entering some basic parameters, previous race times, miles per week and there it was - in glorious black and white, the creation of a new week, a new life. Now the race ain't until May, I really don't need to be training until mid February, but there is something about the structure of a week with its blend of long run, tempo and interval that I just can't resist - it feels normal and comforting and I find it makes me happy.
I have coached myself for the past year, written my own training plans, and not really shared with any runners due to moving house, different pace goals etc. So when an email popped up today with my suggested 5k/10k maintenance plan for this week I realized that I was hooked and ready to do exactly as it said without dispute. Finally being told what to do is perversely freeing, now I don't have to spend an hour arguing with myself about what to do. I can grumble at the coach if I don't like it, but I know I will be a good girl and do as I am told and be happier for it. If you can't afford a real coach, get an online friend, I promise you it is very soothing - already I am fast forwarding to the moment when I will fill in my training log on line and get that wonderful satisfaction of once again 'following the plan'.....
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
She's Behind You!
Coming off a long cross country season, number one son whimsically decided to join me for what would be his half marathon debut. More of an endurance than speed merchant he was curious to see how he would do. I tenderly explained to him the eve of the race, that as I had trained religiously for the past three months, I had goals to achieve, and would not be derailed or lose focus by my favorite son joining the party late in the day. I was not anticipating any feel good mother son experience on race day. To further ampifly my point, I made it clear that even if both his legs were dropping off I would not be speaking or engaging with him during the race - motherhood is a strong bond, but racing was racing after all.....
The corner stone of distance training is of course the weekly long run that steadily builds in distance or pace. The the boy hadn't done any ten milers since the start of the season, and he had certainly never made it beyond those easy ten. For most of the season those long runs had instead been hilly 8 milers on the trails, but he had been frustrated at paying his dues running the Frosher 2 mile courses, spending most of the race playing catch up in these races due to his slower start so he was curious to see what a longer race was like. The normal progression would be to sign up for a 10k to figure this out....but the race organizers had eliminated that option, just leaving either the 5k or half to choose between.
My only maternal advice took place earlier in the week, when I was feeling benevolent and caring. I patiently told him to go out conservatively, then to run relatively easy on the hills as they would feel gentle compared to some of the courses he had run, but to pick it up and really start racing at the 10 mile mark as that was a 5k to the finish; a race he would understand and could run by feel.
The flavor of a major race in a very small city was interesting. The Walnut Creek International (yes International I hear you say!) half marathon had all the trappings of sophisticated chip timing, umbrella arches to run through and pace corrals, and of course the aura of the famous Olympian Lopez Lomong to draw the crowds. Except there were no crowds, it took us ten minutes to get there and I didn't have to visit one porta potty.
Lining up in the 7 minute pace corral felt different, as there were less than 2,000 runners in this race, unlike the 40,000 who run Broad Street or the big races in Philly. I enjoyed the feeling of space and ran some strides with the boy, feeling surprisingly relaxed as a week of various aches, pains and incipient flu symptoms had done their usual job of evaporating as they often do at the dawn of a race. Neither of us bothered to discussed strategy or expectations, we just enyoyed the buzz of the race atmosphere.
After a couple of strides I returned to the start and noticed the extremely impressive presence of Lomong, dressed as if for winter in full length tights despite the balmy 42f temperatures. Standing surprisingly alone and unmolested by fans, he was due to be leading a pace group and as he was an 800m- 5k runner, and trained at a much faster pace, was bundled up in hat, gloves etc. Like a giddy teenager I whipped out my sharpie and asked him to sign the back of my Running Housewives of Blue Bell vest which now I can not wash and is crisping up niceley, but surely a collectors item. Lomong merrily obliged and was exceptionally charming when I also asked for a photo op. The boy looked on somewhat long sufferingly but was nice enough not to mock me, I think he was somewhat in awe of Lomong himself, but was much too cool to show it.
Within minutes the starting line assembled and in such a small field we found ourselves relatively near the front. Being careful to establish my pace from the outset I set off conservatively, at about 10 seconds faster than my goal race pace. I watched in dismay as Laurence had his fastest start of the season, running alongside Lomong like a happy puppy, as he quickly disappeared into the light fog. The boy had a chance to run alongside an Olympian in the face of which his mother's advice was of course total garbage!
I tried to focus on my pace, and not to think about what I was going to do when I found my progeny crumpled by the side of the road or limping on in pain at mile 10. Going out too fast in a distance run is not a winning strategy, for some reason that additional early effort draws on your reserves of energy much more than you think, and most runners prefer to attempt a negative split for such a long race. One of the things I like about distance running is the strategy and I made sure that the first part of the race felt easy, my legs were feeling tapered and eager to turnover. Then, just at the point in a race when normally I would have been in danger of going too fast, as it takes about 4 miles for the middle age muscles to start activating, the hills began. The looming presence of each hill was strangely muted, eroded as it was by a now blanket of heavy fog. Being able to see only four feet ahead had its advantages, you didn't need to stare the hill down or worry about what was coming, you just worked at it.
Turning the corner onto Ygnacio saw yet another climb and it was a point at which I started to labor into the beginnings of a side stitch. Attacking the hill hard enough so as to not lose too much time, but not so hard you were finished too early on in the race was a tricky balance, but that side stitch at the end reminded me to keep my breathing more even and the effort more relaxed.
The dramatic zig zag down the hills of Ygnacio was a hoot - I have always loved a good downhill, my quads are defnitely more up for it than the hamstrings and it was fun to pass all the people who had in turn passed me on the hill. Every mile that passed, that I failed to see the boy, actually cheered me up, as I thought he was probably doing just fine if he was no where in sight.
At mile 7.5 I started to glimpse a familiar arm action and grey tee shirt up ahead; and there he was. He was clearly slowing down, hitting that no mans land of getting tired but no hope of finishing soon; two thirds of the way done and he was running out of gas - he had clearly gone out way too fast! I maintained pace and subtly drew alongside long enough to break my own rule and said 'hello' in the way only a mother can - loaded with meaning. Without even a sideways glance the toe rag shot off and put 15 seconds of daylight between us. He clearly did not want my company either, or was anticipating 'helpful' coaching tips about how he had probably mispaced his race.
At mile ten many runners seemed to be lagging, and I watched as the boy surged forward again, passing a few of them, now totally lost in the fog and turns of the Heather Farm park section. At mile eleven and a half I saw him again, slowing slightly and, again, came within 15 seconds of him, it cheered me up that he was at least hanging in there and wasn't by the side of the road whimpering. It was also tantalizing as I realized I couldn't quite catch him after his fast start.
Miles 12 to 13 were more challenging, we hit a very muddy trail that slowed everyone down and made it hard to summon the energy for lifting the leg higher. Running up the final short hill on the bridge crossing Ygnacio I could still see him and decided now was the best time to add any kind of kick, wouldn't it be fun to cross the finish line together just like when he ran me in for 5 miles at the Philadelphia Marathon. Coming off the hill I powerlessly watched him disappear from view as my burst of speed proved to be somewhat flat, and watched him cross the finish line as I tried to power towards it - still with that same 15 seconds ahead of me. We finished 69th and 70th in the race.
A large placard with 'Run Like Your Mother is Behind You' will be waved in the air anytime I need my kid to go faster. The familiar thud of my foot fall and irritatingly heavy breathing was so well known to him that he didn't even need to see me, it had made him speed up with an almost pavlovian response, which no words of encouragement or advice could ever come close to replicating. Even in his finish line pictures you can see my looming presence rounding the corner behind him, emerging from the thick blanket of fog to impinge and possibly photo bomb his moment of glory.
Texts and emails and phonecalls from running buddies congratulated me on a lovely mother son experience, how nice they said that you could enjoy it together, and how nice of you to let him beat you at the end! If only they knew.....
Later that night he sidled up to me and said one thing 'guess that just leaves the marathon I haven't beaten you in yet then....'
The corner stone of distance training is of course the weekly long run that steadily builds in distance or pace. The the boy hadn't done any ten milers since the start of the season, and he had certainly never made it beyond those easy ten. For most of the season those long runs had instead been hilly 8 milers on the trails, but he had been frustrated at paying his dues running the Frosher 2 mile courses, spending most of the race playing catch up in these races due to his slower start so he was curious to see what a longer race was like. The normal progression would be to sign up for a 10k to figure this out....but the race organizers had eliminated that option, just leaving either the 5k or half to choose between.
My only maternal advice took place earlier in the week, when I was feeling benevolent and caring. I patiently told him to go out conservatively, then to run relatively easy on the hills as they would feel gentle compared to some of the courses he had run, but to pick it up and really start racing at the 10 mile mark as that was a 5k to the finish; a race he would understand and could run by feel.
The flavor of a major race in a very small city was interesting. The Walnut Creek International (yes International I hear you say!) half marathon had all the trappings of sophisticated chip timing, umbrella arches to run through and pace corrals, and of course the aura of the famous Olympian Lopez Lomong to draw the crowds. Except there were no crowds, it took us ten minutes to get there and I didn't have to visit one porta potty.
Lining up in the 7 minute pace corral felt different, as there were less than 2,000 runners in this race, unlike the 40,000 who run Broad Street or the big races in Philly. I enjoyed the feeling of space and ran some strides with the boy, feeling surprisingly relaxed as a week of various aches, pains and incipient flu symptoms had done their usual job of evaporating as they often do at the dawn of a race. Neither of us bothered to discussed strategy or expectations, we just enyoyed the buzz of the race atmosphere.
After a couple of strides I returned to the start and noticed the extremely impressive presence of Lomong, dressed as if for winter in full length tights despite the balmy 42f temperatures. Standing surprisingly alone and unmolested by fans, he was due to be leading a pace group and as he was an 800m- 5k runner, and trained at a much faster pace, was bundled up in hat, gloves etc. Like a giddy teenager I whipped out my sharpie and asked him to sign the back of my Running Housewives of Blue Bell vest which now I can not wash and is crisping up niceley, but surely a collectors item. Lomong merrily obliged and was exceptionally charming when I also asked for a photo op. The boy looked on somewhat long sufferingly but was nice enough not to mock me, I think he was somewhat in awe of Lomong himself, but was much too cool to show it.
Within minutes the starting line assembled and in such a small field we found ourselves relatively near the front. Being careful to establish my pace from the outset I set off conservatively, at about 10 seconds faster than my goal race pace. I watched in dismay as Laurence had his fastest start of the season, running alongside Lomong like a happy puppy, as he quickly disappeared into the light fog. The boy had a chance to run alongside an Olympian in the face of which his mother's advice was of course total garbage!
I tried to focus on my pace, and not to think about what I was going to do when I found my progeny crumpled by the side of the road or limping on in pain at mile 10. Going out too fast in a distance run is not a winning strategy, for some reason that additional early effort draws on your reserves of energy much more than you think, and most runners prefer to attempt a negative split for such a long race. One of the things I like about distance running is the strategy and I made sure that the first part of the race felt easy, my legs were feeling tapered and eager to turnover. Then, just at the point in a race when normally I would have been in danger of going too fast, as it takes about 4 miles for the middle age muscles to start activating, the hills began. The looming presence of each hill was strangely muted, eroded as it was by a now blanket of heavy fog. Being able to see only four feet ahead had its advantages, you didn't need to stare the hill down or worry about what was coming, you just worked at it.
Turning the corner onto Ygnacio saw yet another climb and it was a point at which I started to labor into the beginnings of a side stitch. Attacking the hill hard enough so as to not lose too much time, but not so hard you were finished too early on in the race was a tricky balance, but that side stitch at the end reminded me to keep my breathing more even and the effort more relaxed.
The dramatic zig zag down the hills of Ygnacio was a hoot - I have always loved a good downhill, my quads are defnitely more up for it than the hamstrings and it was fun to pass all the people who had in turn passed me on the hill. Every mile that passed, that I failed to see the boy, actually cheered me up, as I thought he was probably doing just fine if he was no where in sight.
At mile 7.5 I started to glimpse a familiar arm action and grey tee shirt up ahead; and there he was. He was clearly slowing down, hitting that no mans land of getting tired but no hope of finishing soon; two thirds of the way done and he was running out of gas - he had clearly gone out way too fast! I maintained pace and subtly drew alongside long enough to break my own rule and said 'hello' in the way only a mother can - loaded with meaning. Without even a sideways glance the toe rag shot off and put 15 seconds of daylight between us. He clearly did not want my company either, or was anticipating 'helpful' coaching tips about how he had probably mispaced his race.
At mile ten many runners seemed to be lagging, and I watched as the boy surged forward again, passing a few of them, now totally lost in the fog and turns of the Heather Farm park section. At mile eleven and a half I saw him again, slowing slightly and, again, came within 15 seconds of him, it cheered me up that he was at least hanging in there and wasn't by the side of the road whimpering. It was also tantalizing as I realized I couldn't quite catch him after his fast start.
Miles 12 to 13 were more challenging, we hit a very muddy trail that slowed everyone down and made it hard to summon the energy for lifting the leg higher. Running up the final short hill on the bridge crossing Ygnacio I could still see him and decided now was the best time to add any kind of kick, wouldn't it be fun to cross the finish line together just like when he ran me in for 5 miles at the Philadelphia Marathon. Coming off the hill I powerlessly watched him disappear from view as my burst of speed proved to be somewhat flat, and watched him cross the finish line as I tried to power towards it - still with that same 15 seconds ahead of me. We finished 69th and 70th in the race.
A large placard with 'Run Like Your Mother is Behind You' will be waved in the air anytime I need my kid to go faster. The familiar thud of my foot fall and irritatingly heavy breathing was so well known to him that he didn't even need to see me, it had made him speed up with an almost pavlovian response, which no words of encouragement or advice could ever come close to replicating. Even in his finish line pictures you can see my looming presence rounding the corner behind him, emerging from the thick blanket of fog to impinge and possibly photo bomb his moment of glory.
Texts and emails and phonecalls from running buddies congratulated me on a lovely mother son experience, how nice they said that you could enjoy it together, and how nice of you to let him beat you at the end! If only they knew.....
Later that night he sidled up to me and said one thing 'guess that just leaves the marathon I haven't beaten you in yet then....'
Monday, December 3, 2012
What's it all about Alfie?
There is runnning.....and there is racing...the two are really not the same. The zen runner goes out and just runs for the sheer joy of it, based on feel, only ever pushing the pace for periods of time that feel right, but mostly running in a comfortable zone. When you run to race you learn to follow the master plan, to do speed work when your legs are not 'feeling it', to do long runs when the weather is disgusting or you have a cold and should probably be taking it easy.
Envious though I am of that zen runner, I don't think that could ever be me - without the pressure or the goal setting of a race I revert to the lazy marshmallow version of myself, and would be lying on the coach watching tv, filled with self loathing. I really enjoy the preparation and rhythm of a build up to a race, the 3 months of training, the base miles before training, the discipline of knowing day by day what the work out should be. However, the week before a race I am never a very happy camper.
This week is no different. On Saturday I am due to run the Walnut Creek International Half Marathon and should be excited. But like all runners, neurosis is already setting in. Firstly, my entire left leg feels like it might drop off, hence the need for a serious massage soon. Secondly, I finally ran the course this weekend. Not sure if that was a good idea. Preparation is key, but it is supposed to build confidence not annihilate it. Running what was supposed to be an 'easy 10 miler' on a wet and wild Saturday amidst heavy traffic, mounds of wet leaves and branches, I found the effort of ploughing up the two miles of hills on Treat and back down Ygnacio trying. Looking at a colourful elevation chart when you register is one thing, running it is another. It finally dawned on me that hitting such a long hill so early in the race was going to be a major challenge. This was no flat and friendly local town race, I had been deceiving myself, and I was going to have to run that long hill conservatively enough to survive the second half of the race, but not so slow I wiped out the benefit of all the hard training I had put in.
Still, on the plus side Lopez Lamong was due to be there - he had been one of the lost boys of Sudan, running for three days over the boarder to Kenya at the age of 6 to escape his attackers, and then surviving refugee camps before finally being adopted by Americans and becoming an inspiring olympic athlete. One of my favourite running videos of all time was watching him turn out a 59 sec 400m final lap in the 5k when immediately prior, he had tragically miscounted and sprinted to what he thought was the finish; he had virtually stopped when the camera man wildly gesticulated that he should probably do another lap, and he pulled it off, still winning the race substantially. L'il bitch was also going to run, exhausted by the end of a very long cross country season he was going to take it fairly easy, but bring a sharpie and try and get Lopez to autograph anything he could find, body parts included.
To avoid pre-race stress I keep reminding myself that I choose to race. Indeed, I forked out 70 bucks for the treat, and should therefore be deliriously happy about it. I could easily have saved the money and had a regular Saturday sleeping late and watching the kids at their sporting fixtures. Starting to coach Cross Country had made me think about some of these things. Watching girls from the best teams in California throwing up from sheer nerves at the start line of the States Cross Country meet focused my thinking. One of the pieces of advice I had been giving the high school runners was not to worry about what you couldn't control. For instance often your place in a race is to a large extent beyond your control - who knows what elite 45 year olds will be there on Saturday. Even pace is not always something you can dictate. I had chosen a fairly ambitious training pace and hit my goals about 70% of the time leading up to the race. Throw in 2 miles of hills and the pace goal might well need to shuffle a little. Increasingly, I have found that the more one gets consumed with pace goals or place goals the more stress sets in; you can feel every muscle in the body tighten, the stomach rebelling, rational thought disintegrating with panic and none of these side effects help you to run well. The longer I run the more I realize there is only one thing I can control. That is running hard. As long as I pay attention to my form, keep relaxed and tall, maintain a steady rhythm, manage my breath, the rest will take care of itself and I will be satisfied with the outcome regardless.
At the final XC banquet one of the seniors made a speech that was gratifying in its honesty and hilarious in the context. It was not the usual back slapping, emotive celebration of the sport you see in the good ol US of A. He described how as a freshman he had come out for Cross Country and found it very challenging and not much fun at all, but he had found himself coming back because he liked the people. Now, as a Senior the running still 'sucked' a lot of the time, it was painful and difficult. But what he liked about it was its difficulty, as every day he faced doing something that was a battle with self. He casually added he also liked the way he felt about himself afterwards, and still enjoyed the people.
Choice is a beautiful thing and this week I choose not to be neurotic!
Envious though I am of that zen runner, I don't think that could ever be me - without the pressure or the goal setting of a race I revert to the lazy marshmallow version of myself, and would be lying on the coach watching tv, filled with self loathing. I really enjoy the preparation and rhythm of a build up to a race, the 3 months of training, the base miles before training, the discipline of knowing day by day what the work out should be. However, the week before a race I am never a very happy camper.
This week is no different. On Saturday I am due to run the Walnut Creek International Half Marathon and should be excited. But like all runners, neurosis is already setting in. Firstly, my entire left leg feels like it might drop off, hence the need for a serious massage soon. Secondly, I finally ran the course this weekend. Not sure if that was a good idea. Preparation is key, but it is supposed to build confidence not annihilate it. Running what was supposed to be an 'easy 10 miler' on a wet and wild Saturday amidst heavy traffic, mounds of wet leaves and branches, I found the effort of ploughing up the two miles of hills on Treat and back down Ygnacio trying. Looking at a colourful elevation chart when you register is one thing, running it is another. It finally dawned on me that hitting such a long hill so early in the race was going to be a major challenge. This was no flat and friendly local town race, I had been deceiving myself, and I was going to have to run that long hill conservatively enough to survive the second half of the race, but not so slow I wiped out the benefit of all the hard training I had put in.
Still, on the plus side Lopez Lamong was due to be there - he had been one of the lost boys of Sudan, running for three days over the boarder to Kenya at the age of 6 to escape his attackers, and then surviving refugee camps before finally being adopted by Americans and becoming an inspiring olympic athlete. One of my favourite running videos of all time was watching him turn out a 59 sec 400m final lap in the 5k when immediately prior, he had tragically miscounted and sprinted to what he thought was the finish; he had virtually stopped when the camera man wildly gesticulated that he should probably do another lap, and he pulled it off, still winning the race substantially. L'il bitch was also going to run, exhausted by the end of a very long cross country season he was going to take it fairly easy, but bring a sharpie and try and get Lopez to autograph anything he could find, body parts included.
To avoid pre-race stress I keep reminding myself that I choose to race. Indeed, I forked out 70 bucks for the treat, and should therefore be deliriously happy about it. I could easily have saved the money and had a regular Saturday sleeping late and watching the kids at their sporting fixtures. Starting to coach Cross Country had made me think about some of these things. Watching girls from the best teams in California throwing up from sheer nerves at the start line of the States Cross Country meet focused my thinking. One of the pieces of advice I had been giving the high school runners was not to worry about what you couldn't control. For instance often your place in a race is to a large extent beyond your control - who knows what elite 45 year olds will be there on Saturday. Even pace is not always something you can dictate. I had chosen a fairly ambitious training pace and hit my goals about 70% of the time leading up to the race. Throw in 2 miles of hills and the pace goal might well need to shuffle a little. Increasingly, I have found that the more one gets consumed with pace goals or place goals the more stress sets in; you can feel every muscle in the body tighten, the stomach rebelling, rational thought disintegrating with panic and none of these side effects help you to run well. The longer I run the more I realize there is only one thing I can control. That is running hard. As long as I pay attention to my form, keep relaxed and tall, maintain a steady rhythm, manage my breath, the rest will take care of itself and I will be satisfied with the outcome regardless.
At the final XC banquet one of the seniors made a speech that was gratifying in its honesty and hilarious in the context. It was not the usual back slapping, emotive celebration of the sport you see in the good ol US of A. He described how as a freshman he had come out for Cross Country and found it very challenging and not much fun at all, but he had found himself coming back because he liked the people. Now, as a Senior the running still 'sucked' a lot of the time, it was painful and difficult. But what he liked about it was its difficulty, as every day he faced doing something that was a battle with self. He casually added he also liked the way he felt about himself afterwards, and still enjoyed the people.
Choice is a beautiful thing and this week I choose not to be neurotic!
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