Facebook and instagram stream endless, magical, blissed out, affirmational running iconography. There are posts of podiums, positions, pace times and garmin recorded splits, friends hitting huge PR's, or conquering new distances. So much inspiration, so much aspiration, so much perspiration. No one blogs about the crappy runs, the niggling injuries or how damn hard it is to run when you are looking at the wrong side of 50, or if you are 30 but have to needy toddlers to take care of, or your 40 and have a job with lots of travel. I finally realized that after 15 years of running, I am no longer going to PR, not unless I pick a totally new distance like 100 miles - and that could be why so many of us transform into crusty Ultra Runners in our dotage. As you age it gets harder and harder to run anywhere near the kind of workouts you could even a few years ago. I ran a 2 X 2 mile speed workout the other day that was about my marathon pace a few years ago. So at times you think, why bother? The point is still the same. You still want to feel accomplished, you still want to enjoy the scenery and the friendships and that feeling of having done something challenging but healthy. Like a cross country team approaching the end of a long season, its about how deteriorates the least, rather than who improves the most. Its deciding how much you will concede to Old Father Time and how much you will cave to the inevitable process. You know your VO2 Max is slowly fading, your fancy watch records it for you every day. Your percentage of muscle mass is reducing every year, and you have to work harder just to be able to stand still. Yet still you do. That would be the compulsion part. Now the creative element is to triage your goals and find some joy in the result as well as the process.
Switching to heart rate training over pace has been helpful. Frankly I am still delusional about pace and consider my workout goal paces from 5 years ago my current pace, and was ending every workout disappointed. Now, as long as I am doing the work I can focus more on the exertion than the result. The handy dandy Garmin 325 does a lovely job of setting training zones and I saw immediately that it was getting harder for me to hit the 90% red zone and that I am also running a lot of my recovery and bulk miles too fast - left to my own devices my runs are a blend of orange and green - 150 bpm is my go to. My runs have been sliding into the homeostasis of being not so hard they would stress me out physically or mentally, neither were they so easy I didn't feel accomplished. So checking on zones has been helpful, I now know I have to go easy occasionally to be able to get into the red zone at all. My aerobic capacity is much higher than my leg strength and turnover these days, so anything that helps the legs is now critica thing. Daily gentle yoga and range of motion seem to be a great solution too and instead of dreading the slow pace of yoga and being frustrated at my lack of flexibility I now look forward to a class like I would a nourishing meal, it feels so good to do something healing and aware for my body.
The ego is also something that can't be neglected just because your older and wiser. It is still a tender and fragile creature and so very necessary to be a successful runner. I had an experience this weekend that reminded me how important that sense of self esteem is to runners. I typically do my long run solo as its hard to find runners at the same pace and volume as one self. This week I joined a fun group run with a breakfast afterwards hosted by a couple who do so much to support all the runners and triathletes in their area. After two days down at Mt SAC with the cross country team I was somewhat sleep deprived and two days of no running and being squished on a bus, sleeping on a lumpy sofa bed hadn't left me in great shape but I figured company is always a boost to effort. It turned out the crowd running were a pretty talented crew and certainly a lot faster than me. Fortunately they were in full marathon training, and I am working up to a half marathon, so they needed 20 miles and I only 13 which evened things out a bit. I decided to draw on them for inspiration and adjusted my expectations to trotting behind them. The first mile of warm up with the pack was a lot of fun, the day was shiny and new and I enjoyed being surrounded by the friendly banter of such a large group. We wondered out loud if the neighbors would think our hosts were throwing an all night rager as there were dozens of cars parked all over the neighborhood for this early morning run. The next three miles unwound and the group slowly yet steadily moved ahead. Although I was so quickly solo, it was kind of fun, I enjoyed the fact that at every major road the group would need to wait for the lights and I played a catch up game of being able to join up during their delay and reconnect and run across the roads with no interruption to my pace.
Then around mile 4 one of the runners from that group began to slow down and jogged back to run with me. His opening gambit was 'Are you injured or is that your natural running gait?' and followed up by reminding me that 'you know you really must not run through injury, it is a very bad thing to do as a runner'....for a few moments I was speechless. I might have some bugs in my running form, I would be the first to agree, but I was currently injury free and was taken aback that one runner would even say that to another. Without covering up my reaction, I spat out ' that saying that was like asking a woman if she liked wearing lots of make up, or was she just ugly?'. Well the conversation inevitably improved, and we both laughed about his remarks, as his intentions were only good. Then we chatted about his own injuries, heel striking issues etc before I politely mentioned that I was going to be sticking in ear buds so I could focus on a slightly faster second half of my run and we parted company on good terms.
It then took me around three more miles to undo the damage I had allowed those harmless words to wreak, and it reminded me how delicate our ego is and how important it is to take care of it. The inner war in my mind was replaying it as 'are you kidding, call yourself a runner, you clearly look as though you are barely stumbling or hobbling along', then I tried to overlay it with a voice that would sooth a child to remind myself that 'you have been running for 15 years and have made great progress, up until two years ago you could still PR you repeatedly qualify for the most selective marathon in the US, you are doing just fine, and you are probably a lot faster than many other 50 year old women'....
More often that inner critic comes from ourselves. Hearing it externally reminded me how important positive self talk is. If you recorded your own inner dialogue in races and workouts you might would likely hear helpful comments such as: 'well that was a slow start, you had better pick it up now or you are going to be really off pace' 'shoot, you feel nauseous already, you have gone out too fast your never going to make it', 'is that all you have for a final kick, you clearly have zero fast twitch muscle and should have done much more work on ending your races well' or 'your going to let that man juggling 3 balls wearing a jester suit pass you, you really are slow...'. Rarely do we give ourselves positive messages, it seems to be so much easier and more natural to fall down the rabbit tunnel of negativity. The fact that one off hand comment from another runner could affect me for three miles was demonstration alone that ego is so very delicate and it must be fed and tended to on a regular basis.
That encounter turned out to be very helpful in terms of this realization. Creating a positive dialogue in your head and changing the message is paramount. As sentient beings we get to choose whatever we listen to and that which we ignore. So for the second half of my run, I turned off the negative stream and changed the song. Turns out Chance the Rapper is a fabulous running bud. Suddenly Blessings were falling in my lap, and I was reminded that I above all ' I should not forget the happy thoughts, as all you need is happy thoughts'. Thank you Chance, I love you too!
Monday, October 24, 2016
Sunday, April 24, 2016
BOSTON ROYALTY
In 2012 I had analyzed every weather station a week before the race, each time with an incresingly sinking stomach. Predictions for record warmth of 75f would make the PR I had trained in 14f degree impossible. Each day the prediction rose until a day before the charts showed glaring sunshine and an inconceivable 87f at the race start in Hopkinson. It became known as the Broilerthon of 2012.
This year I watched the weather charts which showed a row of beautiful foggy clouds and 52f, every day. Every day that is, except for Marathon Monday, where a disgustingly jolly orange sum emoji was firmly placed with 70f slapped over it. This time heading into the race with only a month's training I could care less. The sun would shine on everyone the same, the 3 1/2 hours waiting at the Marathon Village would be more fun in the warm, and as there was no time to shoot for, so no disappointment to be had.
Sure enough we sprawled out in early spring sunshine enjoying a nap before our 10:50 am wave. We had been entertained by all of the characters on the bus. Bronson Venables who was setting out to run only his second marathon but had planned on running 2:20 and at mile 26 having the flexibility and composure to adopt a runner's lunge and locate the diamond ring he would use to propose to his fiancee Kate, who would then have a maximum of 30 seconds to reply before he hit the finish line. A man who had paid $10,000 for a charity bib to fulfill his dream of running this race. The atmosphere was celebratory and marvelous.
As we walked out to the corrals I bumped into many friends from California, it seemed like a giant party of runners. However this was our first time back since the bombing and some things had changed. Like in airports we were only allowed a gallon zip lock bag with everything needed prior to the race in terms of food or sun screen. In 2012 we had deck chairs and back packs! there was no hopping off the bus and into the bushes to pee, instead security guided us in long lines along a predetermined route so lines to the porta potties were 45 minutes or more.
Gazing up at the rooftops there were military garbed snipers above our heads. The runners roared a cheer and waved to the gun men working to ensure our safety. I turned to Q-Less and Merciless, easy to pick out in our vintage 2010 shocking pink and reminded them that I was running alone and not to wait for me. They were trained, I was not, and I firmly believe that you are born alone, die alone and should always race alone. They were good enough friends to respect it and not demure. The air already felt hot and heavy and my two training runs were not enough to really know what my race pace should even be. My snazzy new Garmin had an attack of the jitters the day before and the heart rate monitor was now defunct and the watch had lost over an hour of time during the night. Merciless had helped me revive the darn thing the night before in the hotel - but all trust and love was gone. My garmin and I were taking a break. I decided to run entirely by feel, cautioning myself not to go out too hard in the first downhill 5 miles, the watch might record it might not but I wouldn't be able to trust it.
Paradoxically there was no chance of a fast start. The race was so crowded an energetic elbow from the side turned the watch off completely. Then my deranged 235 started a .5 mile split - we were officially no longer on speaking terms. Plus the race clock was not relevant to our 10:50 plus 6 minute wave start even if I could do that much mental math.
At a mile and a half I watched the hot pink shirts of my friends disappear into the throng and instantly relaxed. In control of the pace and able to stop for drenching water on my head whenever I needed to I felt much calmer. I heard my training friend Kristin shout out hello, and responded, but almost two seconds later had to head out of the way of the intense traffic of the aid station, losing her immediately. I wasn't feeling particularly social anyway.
The crowd out in Hopkinton was noisy, the crowds 5 miles in were noisier still. It is hard not to get excited in this race when you are being willed along by the locals. It was a day vacation for them, the first day of spring break, the sun was shining and the college kids were well into their 3rd beer of the day. So many hands to high five, or 'touch here for power' signs - its hard to resist, but resist you must or you could add hours to your running time. Before I saw it I heard the wall of sound that is Wellesley. The tradition of the all female college students giving kisses to the runners is well entrenched, and there were hoards of young girls with signs and banners inviting the runners to stop and kiss them. I had been pretty focused until now, but somehow hitting the half way mark and its cacophany of sound required a momentary celebration. I scanned the side of the street for 100m and there he was. A cute brunette in his early twenties with a promising sign 'Kiss me I'm a Wellesley Virgin' - I peeled off for a brief moment and landed him a giant smack on the cheek that made him blush. I heard the 65 year old runner behind me laughing and shout ' you Go Girl' and with that we carried on our way.
For me the race really began at mile 16 when the hills of Newton rose into sight. My focus was staying in good shape until there. Keeping an even effort I finally saw the 16 mile sign, and also right in front of it was the first casualty, a reminder of the caution with which you approach the marathon distance. A stretcher was whisking away a female runner, prostrate in pain, with sheets drawn up to her chin being delicately carried into the ambulance. It was starting to get real for a lot of these runners. The hills are not hard or high, but they do come at a difficult place in the race. If you have run the downhills too fast, or if you have stuck to your goal training pace despite the spike in temperatures this is where you might start to unravel. Strewn ahead of me on the road were discarded bags of ibuprofen, dropped head phones, all kinds of detritus that runners decided was no irrelevant to their efforts.
I had been using the side of the road to keep my pace steady, but now the odd walker was using that spot to keep out of the crowds. There was still ten miles to go..... At mile 18 I felt happy when I passed the spot that I had dropped out in 2012 due to heat. I was still doing OK. I hadn't taken the bus yet. Mentally I kept telling myself all I had to do was get to mile 21 when the last hill, Heartbreak, would end, the race would flatten out and the cooling headwind would bring a drop in temperatures as we moved towards Boston and the coast. I hit 21 and had to double check that I had passed Heartbreak Hill, it felt kind of small - that was a good sign. The last four miles the cheering was unreal. There is no way any walker or runner can not finish the race, no wonder 97 percent finish, that 3 per cent were in the medical tent. My pace held steady and I could hear the crowds rhythmic cheer of 'ruth, ruth, ruth' like a constant drum beat - a single syllable name is a gift for this race if you put it in big letters on your shirt. I could hear ' Ruth, you look great' then as I passed I heard 'no she really does', as I was able to stride past without the usual dinosaur heavy legs you get at mile 23. I finally got close to the Citgo sign and knew I could pick up my pace. Running down the middle of the road I was reminded of the first time I had run Boston, falling apart with roaring in my ears and dizziness Q-less had grabbed my water bottle, told me to lock step and mentally guided me through the last mile before I truly fell apart.
I was happy to finish alone, and was excited to see my friends at the end, we had agreed to meet by the Westin so I was already thinking how to get to them. But up ahead I caught a comforting glimpse of hot pink and saw a chink of the back of Merciless's shirt. I was so happy to see her and knew that we could share the moment of finishing together, that I ran right behind and grabbed her arm in the air. We took off together and had a touching moment as we cross the finish line in synch. It doesn't matter how your race has been, sharing the finish is a very emotional moment and the best feeling in the world.
The minute I crossed the line things started to feel less than stellar. The few guu chomps I had absorbed were feeling very uncertain in my stomach and somebody had inadvertently poured quick setting concrete down the back of both my legs which made my emergency visit to the porta potty wrestling with my silver cloak quite an operation....My dear friend Karen and Robin were a superb support crew wand chauffeured us off to the hotel despite crazy Boston road closures and traffic. Before I knew it I was sitting at the bar with a large Sam Adams, truffle fries and a lobster roll, having enjoyed a soak in a 5 foot deep bath tub in the room.
After a night of celebrations we got up late the next morning and headed to a tiny retro diner around the corner, The South Street Diner, to be warmly greeted by the owner insisting we were all comp'd our eggs benedict and posing us for photos for his facebook page. Boston is a city that truly loves its race. In other cities the locals moan about road closures, in Boston they treat you like a rock star. As we all went our separate ways there was not one of us that didn't feel a foot taller, regardless of our race experience - Boston treats its runners like Royalty. I can see why for many it is a lifetime goal to run this race. Whether you fundraise for a charity, buy a bib, train hard and qualify or use it as an opportunity to propose to the love of your life, you should run this race. Boston was beautiful to all of us that day.
This year I watched the weather charts which showed a row of beautiful foggy clouds and 52f, every day. Every day that is, except for Marathon Monday, where a disgustingly jolly orange sum emoji was firmly placed with 70f slapped over it. This time heading into the race with only a month's training I could care less. The sun would shine on everyone the same, the 3 1/2 hours waiting at the Marathon Village would be more fun in the warm, and as there was no time to shoot for, so no disappointment to be had.
Sure enough we sprawled out in early spring sunshine enjoying a nap before our 10:50 am wave. We had been entertained by all of the characters on the bus. Bronson Venables who was setting out to run only his second marathon but had planned on running 2:20 and at mile 26 having the flexibility and composure to adopt a runner's lunge and locate the diamond ring he would use to propose to his fiancee Kate, who would then have a maximum of 30 seconds to reply before he hit the finish line. A man who had paid $10,000 for a charity bib to fulfill his dream of running this race. The atmosphere was celebratory and marvelous.
As we walked out to the corrals I bumped into many friends from California, it seemed like a giant party of runners. However this was our first time back since the bombing and some things had changed. Like in airports we were only allowed a gallon zip lock bag with everything needed prior to the race in terms of food or sun screen. In 2012 we had deck chairs and back packs! there was no hopping off the bus and into the bushes to pee, instead security guided us in long lines along a predetermined route so lines to the porta potties were 45 minutes or more.
Gazing up at the rooftops there were military garbed snipers above our heads. The runners roared a cheer and waved to the gun men working to ensure our safety. I turned to Q-Less and Merciless, easy to pick out in our vintage 2010 shocking pink and reminded them that I was running alone and not to wait for me. They were trained, I was not, and I firmly believe that you are born alone, die alone and should always race alone. They were good enough friends to respect it and not demure. The air already felt hot and heavy and my two training runs were not enough to really know what my race pace should even be. My snazzy new Garmin had an attack of the jitters the day before and the heart rate monitor was now defunct and the watch had lost over an hour of time during the night. Merciless had helped me revive the darn thing the night before in the hotel - but all trust and love was gone. My garmin and I were taking a break. I decided to run entirely by feel, cautioning myself not to go out too hard in the first downhill 5 miles, the watch might record it might not but I wouldn't be able to trust it.
Paradoxically there was no chance of a fast start. The race was so crowded an energetic elbow from the side turned the watch off completely. Then my deranged 235 started a .5 mile split - we were officially no longer on speaking terms. Plus the race clock was not relevant to our 10:50 plus 6 minute wave start even if I could do that much mental math.
At a mile and a half I watched the hot pink shirts of my friends disappear into the throng and instantly relaxed. In control of the pace and able to stop for drenching water on my head whenever I needed to I felt much calmer. I heard my training friend Kristin shout out hello, and responded, but almost two seconds later had to head out of the way of the intense traffic of the aid station, losing her immediately. I wasn't feeling particularly social anyway.
The crowd out in Hopkinton was noisy, the crowds 5 miles in were noisier still. It is hard not to get excited in this race when you are being willed along by the locals. It was a day vacation for them, the first day of spring break, the sun was shining and the college kids were well into their 3rd beer of the day. So many hands to high five, or 'touch here for power' signs - its hard to resist, but resist you must or you could add hours to your running time. Before I saw it I heard the wall of sound that is Wellesley. The tradition of the all female college students giving kisses to the runners is well entrenched, and there were hoards of young girls with signs and banners inviting the runners to stop and kiss them. I had been pretty focused until now, but somehow hitting the half way mark and its cacophany of sound required a momentary celebration. I scanned the side of the street for 100m and there he was. A cute brunette in his early twenties with a promising sign 'Kiss me I'm a Wellesley Virgin' - I peeled off for a brief moment and landed him a giant smack on the cheek that made him blush. I heard the 65 year old runner behind me laughing and shout ' you Go Girl' and with that we carried on our way.
For me the race really began at mile 16 when the hills of Newton rose into sight. My focus was staying in good shape until there. Keeping an even effort I finally saw the 16 mile sign, and also right in front of it was the first casualty, a reminder of the caution with which you approach the marathon distance. A stretcher was whisking away a female runner, prostrate in pain, with sheets drawn up to her chin being delicately carried into the ambulance. It was starting to get real for a lot of these runners. The hills are not hard or high, but they do come at a difficult place in the race. If you have run the downhills too fast, or if you have stuck to your goal training pace despite the spike in temperatures this is where you might start to unravel. Strewn ahead of me on the road were discarded bags of ibuprofen, dropped head phones, all kinds of detritus that runners decided was no irrelevant to their efforts.
I had been using the side of the road to keep my pace steady, but now the odd walker was using that spot to keep out of the crowds. There was still ten miles to go..... At mile 18 I felt happy when I passed the spot that I had dropped out in 2012 due to heat. I was still doing OK. I hadn't taken the bus yet. Mentally I kept telling myself all I had to do was get to mile 21 when the last hill, Heartbreak, would end, the race would flatten out and the cooling headwind would bring a drop in temperatures as we moved towards Boston and the coast. I hit 21 and had to double check that I had passed Heartbreak Hill, it felt kind of small - that was a good sign. The last four miles the cheering was unreal. There is no way any walker or runner can not finish the race, no wonder 97 percent finish, that 3 per cent were in the medical tent. My pace held steady and I could hear the crowds rhythmic cheer of 'ruth, ruth, ruth' like a constant drum beat - a single syllable name is a gift for this race if you put it in big letters on your shirt. I could hear ' Ruth, you look great' then as I passed I heard 'no she really does', as I was able to stride past without the usual dinosaur heavy legs you get at mile 23. I finally got close to the Citgo sign and knew I could pick up my pace. Running down the middle of the road I was reminded of the first time I had run Boston, falling apart with roaring in my ears and dizziness Q-less had grabbed my water bottle, told me to lock step and mentally guided me through the last mile before I truly fell apart.
I was happy to finish alone, and was excited to see my friends at the end, we had agreed to meet by the Westin so I was already thinking how to get to them. But up ahead I caught a comforting glimpse of hot pink and saw a chink of the back of Merciless's shirt. I was so happy to see her and knew that we could share the moment of finishing together, that I ran right behind and grabbed her arm in the air. We took off together and had a touching moment as we cross the finish line in synch. It doesn't matter how your race has been, sharing the finish is a very emotional moment and the best feeling in the world.
The minute I crossed the line things started to feel less than stellar. The few guu chomps I had absorbed were feeling very uncertain in my stomach and somebody had inadvertently poured quick setting concrete down the back of both my legs which made my emergency visit to the porta potty wrestling with my silver cloak quite an operation....My dear friend Karen and Robin were a superb support crew wand chauffeured us off to the hotel despite crazy Boston road closures and traffic. Before I knew it I was sitting at the bar with a large Sam Adams, truffle fries and a lobster roll, having enjoyed a soak in a 5 foot deep bath tub in the room.
After a night of celebrations we got up late the next morning and headed to a tiny retro diner around the corner, The South Street Diner, to be warmly greeted by the owner insisting we were all comp'd our eggs benedict and posing us for photos for his facebook page. Boston is a city that truly loves its race. In other cities the locals moan about road closures, in Boston they treat you like a rock star. As we all went our separate ways there was not one of us that didn't feel a foot taller, regardless of our race experience - Boston treats its runners like Royalty. I can see why for many it is a lifetime goal to run this race. Whether you fundraise for a charity, buy a bib, train hard and qualify or use it as an opportunity to propose to the love of your life, you should run this race. Boston was beautiful to all of us that day.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Taper Time, Trashcan Quarters and other such stuff
Wandering around in a slightly grubby bathrobe at 11 am after my last long run of my alarmingly brief training cycle, my husband raised an eyebrow as he took in my hunched form slurping from a large tumber of ruby red merlot looking liquid. I am still not sure he believe me when I assured him it was my special anti-inflammatory sour cherry juice, and was clearly concerned the pyschological effects of too little training and one last terrible long run had finally driven me to day time drinking.
The biggest concern I really had about running Boston on so little training was actually whether I might just stop caring at a certain point. This was Boston, a big deal, a race I have always loved. however you know the race is going to hurt, that is part of the experience, feeling that pain, but if you are untrained and you are going to run a personal worst, is it still worth the pain? A visiting friend advised me to set a shiny new goal - ie just finishing, but even that seemed a bit hollow. Then after a Friday practice with the distance runners on the track team I had a more interesting revelation.
I had resurrected a workout I had heard of from Laurence's Middle School Coach back in Pennsylvania. Coach Bialka was a young enthusiastic collegiate runner who was teaching English and keen to connect the kids to effort over result. He had let them run 'unlimited 400's' they would begin with one and run at a pre-determined pace solely based on their race times until they added time, although they each had to do 5, they could easily tank the 6th one and be out of the workout, Several of them did just that, but many went on. I got an excited email from the Coach that evening telling me that Laurence and another boy had amazed him with their tenacity as they ran 7 seconds ahead of pace for a total of 16 laps, with only a short rest interval. He actually had to pull them in from the rain as practice should have been over half an hour ago and the rest of the watching team was anxious to leave. He wondered if he had been right to stop them, but he was worried about the backlash if parents came to pick up kids and he still had them out on the track running in the rain in 7th grade.
So five years on I decided to try the same workout. I had all the runners commit to doing 8 laps at their goal 2 mile pace, which was 15 - 30 seconds faster than their current two mile race time. After that if they were 5 seconds off pace they would have to stop but would stay to cheer on their team mates. As the workout went on, my expectations kept shifting like quicksand. I had produced charts to record the splits that had 16 boxes as a maximum - soon the volunteers were adding boxes within boxes as the team continued far beyond the 16 required. Suddenly I realized beating 16 was going to be possible for many of them. A few younger runners started to drop off, some that had been injured decided sensibly to bow out. A freshman girl said she felt unwell so we dramatically dragged over a giant trash can and asked her if she had one more repeat; turns out she had 7 more One boy fell to the ground in sheer disappointment and punched the ground in frustration as at 19 he was out and he had desperately wanted to get to 20. The track got quieter as the sprinters and jumpers and hurdlers headed out for their Friday night entertainment. Still we had 3 girls and 7 varsity boys still keeping pace, the other runners started to take bets on who would be victorious and win the gatorade for the last man or woman standing. At 25 we started dropping the pace for the boys as we were worried this could go all night; they now had to run 2 seconds below their average pace for the workout, which was in some cases already ahead of pace. At 20 we did the same for the girls and at 25 laps the girls jointly ground to a halt having completed an impressive 10k of 400m. At 27 we dropped pace for the boys again by another 2 seconds, still they hung on. Finally at 31 we told the boys they were done; they did not drop out we had to stop them. Many of those runners reported feeling levels of exhaustion and effort they had never felt before, but they were proud of their accomplishment and felt that they would always remember how tough they had been that day. Perhaps prouder than they had been of any race.
When I asked the team the next day what they would have done if I had told them they were going to run 31 X 400m at an average of 70 seconds per lap getting increasingly fast they said they would have either thought it was Aprils Fools and laughed, or turned and fled the track. Not one of them thought they would be capable of such a feat. So why was it they all achieved such dizzying greatness on the track that night. They had not considered further than one lap at a time. They had moved as one large group, in a pack, with the same order repeated almost every time. They were running not thinking in a hypnotizing, mesmeric moving meditation, without fear of how many more they would have to do. At any point they could have dropped out or ran so slowly they were eliminated, but they chose to run each time. There were occasions when one might end the quarter and say they were 'done' and but after the recovery jog of 200m they were back in it again. Without being aware at the time it turns out they totaled over 13 miles on the track that day.They had eaten the elephant one bite at a time but they had no idea how enormous that elephant would turn out to be.
It made me realize that as runners we often pysch our selves out of races. We consider too far ahead how much pain we might be in down the road; trying to project ahead instead of focusing on the here and the now. I decided that was how I would run my most untrained Boston - one mile at a time, not considering what might come next, nor worrying about how many miles I might or might not get to. Who knows maybe at 26.2 I might throw in a few cool down miles back to the hotel this time for a celebratory glass of cherry juice.
The biggest concern I really had about running Boston on so little training was actually whether I might just stop caring at a certain point. This was Boston, a big deal, a race I have always loved. however you know the race is going to hurt, that is part of the experience, feeling that pain, but if you are untrained and you are going to run a personal worst, is it still worth the pain? A visiting friend advised me to set a shiny new goal - ie just finishing, but even that seemed a bit hollow. Then after a Friday practice with the distance runners on the track team I had a more interesting revelation.
I had resurrected a workout I had heard of from Laurence's Middle School Coach back in Pennsylvania. Coach Bialka was a young enthusiastic collegiate runner who was teaching English and keen to connect the kids to effort over result. He had let them run 'unlimited 400's' they would begin with one and run at a pre-determined pace solely based on their race times until they added time, although they each had to do 5, they could easily tank the 6th one and be out of the workout, Several of them did just that, but many went on. I got an excited email from the Coach that evening telling me that Laurence and another boy had amazed him with their tenacity as they ran 7 seconds ahead of pace for a total of 16 laps, with only a short rest interval. He actually had to pull them in from the rain as practice should have been over half an hour ago and the rest of the watching team was anxious to leave. He wondered if he had been right to stop them, but he was worried about the backlash if parents came to pick up kids and he still had them out on the track running in the rain in 7th grade.
So five years on I decided to try the same workout. I had all the runners commit to doing 8 laps at their goal 2 mile pace, which was 15 - 30 seconds faster than their current two mile race time. After that if they were 5 seconds off pace they would have to stop but would stay to cheer on their team mates. As the workout went on, my expectations kept shifting like quicksand. I had produced charts to record the splits that had 16 boxes as a maximum - soon the volunteers were adding boxes within boxes as the team continued far beyond the 16 required. Suddenly I realized beating 16 was going to be possible for many of them. A few younger runners started to drop off, some that had been injured decided sensibly to bow out. A freshman girl said she felt unwell so we dramatically dragged over a giant trash can and asked her if she had one more repeat; turns out she had 7 more One boy fell to the ground in sheer disappointment and punched the ground in frustration as at 19 he was out and he had desperately wanted to get to 20. The track got quieter as the sprinters and jumpers and hurdlers headed out for their Friday night entertainment. Still we had 3 girls and 7 varsity boys still keeping pace, the other runners started to take bets on who would be victorious and win the gatorade for the last man or woman standing. At 25 we started dropping the pace for the boys as we were worried this could go all night; they now had to run 2 seconds below their average pace for the workout, which was in some cases already ahead of pace. At 20 we did the same for the girls and at 25 laps the girls jointly ground to a halt having completed an impressive 10k of 400m. At 27 we dropped pace for the boys again by another 2 seconds, still they hung on. Finally at 31 we told the boys they were done; they did not drop out we had to stop them. Many of those runners reported feeling levels of exhaustion and effort they had never felt before, but they were proud of their accomplishment and felt that they would always remember how tough they had been that day. Perhaps prouder than they had been of any race.
When I asked the team the next day what they would have done if I had told them they were going to run 31 X 400m at an average of 70 seconds per lap getting increasingly fast they said they would have either thought it was Aprils Fools and laughed, or turned and fled the track. Not one of them thought they would be capable of such a feat. So why was it they all achieved such dizzying greatness on the track that night. They had not considered further than one lap at a time. They had moved as one large group, in a pack, with the same order repeated almost every time. They were running not thinking in a hypnotizing, mesmeric moving meditation, without fear of how many more they would have to do. At any point they could have dropped out or ran so slowly they were eliminated, but they chose to run each time. There were occasions when one might end the quarter and say they were 'done' and but after the recovery jog of 200m they were back in it again. Without being aware at the time it turns out they totaled over 13 miles on the track that day.They had eaten the elephant one bite at a time but they had no idea how enormous that elephant would turn out to be.
It made me realize that as runners we often pysch our selves out of races. We consider too far ahead how much pain we might be in down the road; trying to project ahead instead of focusing on the here and the now. I decided that was how I would run my most untrained Boston - one mile at a time, not considering what might come next, nor worrying about how many miles I might or might not get to. Who knows maybe at 26.2 I might throw in a few cool down miles back to the hotel this time for a celebratory glass of cherry juice.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Staying Zen, Calm and Present, but also Cramming!
Facebook's automatic memory sharing function can be wonderful or painful, or just cringeworthy. This time it popped up previous running blogs, reminding me of my previous tapers for Boston, eagerly anticipated after months of tough training, holding on by my finger nails for that delicious drop in mileage. This March was way different. My body was fresh and untested, just slightly out of shape, but fortunately out of injury too. I had jumped up from 16 miles to 20 successfully in one week with no repercussions for the foot. The cramathon was now on - everyone else on the East Coast was winding down for spring break and a well earned reduction in running; I was trying to suddenly ramp mine up.
Previous training cycles had been 20 weeks, this one was 4 -5! I figured seven to ten days was probably a decent taper. In previous years I had done well on the traditional three weeks of cutting a third each week. But with only one long run under my belt, and knowing that it takes ten - fourteen days to convert a work out into any fitness gain that meant I had another twenty to do straight away. Today would be the day.
Last week's 20 mile run had been tackled with my lovely friend Kristin - and we had a fun time for the first ten miles chatting easily and whiling away the miles. Of course by mile 16 it was getting a little harder to make the effort and we fell silent for a while before the usual end of run delirium set in. In our ramblings about gu, floating, canal paths and puppies, I made an interesting discovery about that term 'being present', you know the phrase that the yogis keep bandying around. Just before mile 18 all Kristin could think of was a cold soda and being at home, she was two miles from being finished and desperately wanted to be there. Struggling with where you want to be and where you actually are is hard, and it made the last two miles tougher as a consequence. I suddenly realized if we had imagined we were running 22 miles, mile 18 would have been no different to the rest. Distance running, like acting in front of a crowd of thousands, is often an exercise in learned relaxation. If you can stay relatively relaxed while very uncomfortable you will do well; struggle at your peril. I remembered Galen Rupp had run his 20 mile training efforts with his heart rate around 150 and never higher, he didn't stress or push the pace beyond reasonable effort. So much is made of being tough and pushing to your personal best. However this is not always the case, I don't think you should be striving and straining all the time. Geting ahead of yourself just makes life harder, marathon running is an exercise in patience and knowing when not to push.
It was better for me not to look back on months of injury when I should have been training, or to think too far ahead over the next couple of weeks, but to see where I was and where my body was on a daily basis. Of course the new spirit animal garmin is not helping in that respect as it seems to respond directly to runner ego, not sense. Initially the garmin and I were not getting on at all. We were mostly at odds as it kept telling me to lie down for 72 hours after every run. I contemplated returning it to the store based on incompatible personalities. Turns out the default settings for heart rate were really wrong, giving me a max heart rate of 170 when its really 197 - no wonder it thought I was going to keel over at any minute. It also gave me really depressing race predictions - 24 minutes for a 5k 3:55 for a marathon, but its negativity did incentivise me to prove it wrong. I was actually eager to go and run a fast ten miles the other day to see if it would change its predictions. True enough it placated me by changing its opinion and telling me 20mins for a 5k and 3:15 for a marathon. I'm not sure I believe either versions, as the latter must be dependent on actually doing training for those races, but its an interesting conversation to be had nonetheless and it had got me out the door.
Maybe one day we will end up in a virtual world where our electronic running buddies take over from our real ones. My friend Chris was using an app the other day with a sexy southern drawl called Candace. Candace's soothing voice kept cooing at her she was doing 'just fine' and that 'she didn't need to run with anyone else, she was better than that...'; we had fun imagining the scenario where the voice continues to encourage you on in its stroking manner as your run right into the car 'without worrying about what anyone else is doing in that ol road'.
20 miles solo later this morning was sounding a little lonely, until I remembered it would be a long conversation with myself, and maybe my new Garmin if we are speaking to each other today.
Previous training cycles had been 20 weeks, this one was 4 -5! I figured seven to ten days was probably a decent taper. In previous years I had done well on the traditional three weeks of cutting a third each week. But with only one long run under my belt, and knowing that it takes ten - fourteen days to convert a work out into any fitness gain that meant I had another twenty to do straight away. Today would be the day.
Last week's 20 mile run had been tackled with my lovely friend Kristin - and we had a fun time for the first ten miles chatting easily and whiling away the miles. Of course by mile 16 it was getting a little harder to make the effort and we fell silent for a while before the usual end of run delirium set in. In our ramblings about gu, floating, canal paths and puppies, I made an interesting discovery about that term 'being present', you know the phrase that the yogis keep bandying around. Just before mile 18 all Kristin could think of was a cold soda and being at home, she was two miles from being finished and desperately wanted to be there. Struggling with where you want to be and where you actually are is hard, and it made the last two miles tougher as a consequence. I suddenly realized if we had imagined we were running 22 miles, mile 18 would have been no different to the rest. Distance running, like acting in front of a crowd of thousands, is often an exercise in learned relaxation. If you can stay relatively relaxed while very uncomfortable you will do well; struggle at your peril. I remembered Galen Rupp had run his 20 mile training efforts with his heart rate around 150 and never higher, he didn't stress or push the pace beyond reasonable effort. So much is made of being tough and pushing to your personal best. However this is not always the case, I don't think you should be striving and straining all the time. Geting ahead of yourself just makes life harder, marathon running is an exercise in patience and knowing when not to push.
It was better for me not to look back on months of injury when I should have been training, or to think too far ahead over the next couple of weeks, but to see where I was and where my body was on a daily basis. Of course the new spirit animal garmin is not helping in that respect as it seems to respond directly to runner ego, not sense. Initially the garmin and I were not getting on at all. We were mostly at odds as it kept telling me to lie down for 72 hours after every run. I contemplated returning it to the store based on incompatible personalities. Turns out the default settings for heart rate were really wrong, giving me a max heart rate of 170 when its really 197 - no wonder it thought I was going to keel over at any minute. It also gave me really depressing race predictions - 24 minutes for a 5k 3:55 for a marathon, but its negativity did incentivise me to prove it wrong. I was actually eager to go and run a fast ten miles the other day to see if it would change its predictions. True enough it placated me by changing its opinion and telling me 20mins for a 5k and 3:15 for a marathon. I'm not sure I believe either versions, as the latter must be dependent on actually doing training for those races, but its an interesting conversation to be had nonetheless and it had got me out the door.
Maybe one day we will end up in a virtual world where our electronic running buddies take over from our real ones. My friend Chris was using an app the other day with a sexy southern drawl called Candace. Candace's soothing voice kept cooing at her she was doing 'just fine' and that 'she didn't need to run with anyone else, she was better than that...'; we had fun imagining the scenario where the voice continues to encourage you on in its stroking manner as your run right into the car 'without worrying about what anyone else is doing in that ol road'.
20 miles solo later this morning was sounding a little lonely, until I remembered it would be a long conversation with myself, and maybe my new Garmin if we are speaking to each other today.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Marathon Cramathon
I have long held a view that one's garmin is the equivalent of one's spirit animal, or a reflection of your runner psyche. My garmin is the basic 210, a bit old and beat up and grudging in its praise - if everyone else's says it was a 7:40 pace, mine has to say 7:43. If the race was 26.2 my watch will say 26.1...you get the picture. So it has been no surprise that of late the battery is so burnt out that even fully charged it gets to 8 miles then with one small warning blip goes black -flat lines - stares at me blankly and then will not go a step further.
That has closely mirrored my own running style since December. The slightly recovered burnt out posterior tibial tendon would give its own warning burn around 5 miles but the most I could limp on would be 8 miles max. The sad announcement that I would merely be watching Boston was made in February, with heavy heart. My 50th Birthday Party was going to be a DNS! Despite the disappointment, running has been fun with Poppy, but somewhat lacking in purpose, just rehab only and enjoying splashing in the streams at Castle Rock.
Until last week...suddenly I was able to limp from 8 miles to 10. Then this week I managed 11.5 on Monday before the foot gave out - like a crazy intoxicated runner I of course tried something longer on Wednesday, 14 miles later I was still standing. I looked bizarre of course as my burnt out garmin was on one wrist and a cheap shocking pink plastic monster stop watch was on the other arm. Like some black marketeer or used watch salesman I had been stopping at lights and trying to pause them both simultaneously - but dang, I needed to know time and distance!
14 miles is still only about half of what I need to run, but maybe if I inch up a mile or two for the next 3 weeks and tuck away one 20 miler not too close to race day, I might just be tempted to jog my 3rd Boston for the fun of it. First on my list - invest in a more generous Garmin, one that wants to keep step with me for more than an hour, doesn't prevaricate before every run by searching the skies for satellites for ten minutes at a time and tells me something more encouraging than the last one. I always tell folks you can't cram marathon training, but in this case let the cramming begin!
That has closely mirrored my own running style since December. The slightly recovered burnt out posterior tibial tendon would give its own warning burn around 5 miles but the most I could limp on would be 8 miles max. The sad announcement that I would merely be watching Boston was made in February, with heavy heart. My 50th Birthday Party was going to be a DNS! Despite the disappointment, running has been fun with Poppy, but somewhat lacking in purpose, just rehab only and enjoying splashing in the streams at Castle Rock.
Until last week...suddenly I was able to limp from 8 miles to 10. Then this week I managed 11.5 on Monday before the foot gave out - like a crazy intoxicated runner I of course tried something longer on Wednesday, 14 miles later I was still standing. I looked bizarre of course as my burnt out garmin was on one wrist and a cheap shocking pink plastic monster stop watch was on the other arm. Like some black marketeer or used watch salesman I had been stopping at lights and trying to pause them both simultaneously - but dang, I needed to know time and distance!
14 miles is still only about half of what I need to run, but maybe if I inch up a mile or two for the next 3 weeks and tuck away one 20 miler not too close to race day, I might just be tempted to jog my 3rd Boston for the fun of it. First on my list - invest in a more generous Garmin, one that wants to keep step with me for more than an hour, doesn't prevaricate before every run by searching the skies for satellites for ten minutes at a time and tells me something more encouraging than the last one. I always tell folks you can't cram marathon training, but in this case let the cramming begin!
Sunday, February 7, 2016
The Unicorn starts to fade into the distance.....
For those who follow the gospel of Runners World there are several commandments successful runners need to follow to keep them on the straight and true path of distance running. Thou shalt make a date to run with friends, its more fun and keeps you accountable. Thou shalt follow a training plan so you are committed to various elements of that plan such as speed work, tempo or distance and stick to it. Thou shalt vary your courses and terrain, run hills, run flat, run road, run trail. Fill your social media feed with inspirational posts from fellow runners as well as professional and elite runners and salivate over their fast times wondering how you can possibly get close. Lastly, thou shalt register for a big race and work diligently toward that goal, it will get you up at 5 am in the dark on the days you don't want to run!
Well the absolute reverse is true if you are trying to rehab and injury and you have to break all your 'good habits' and find some new ones. It was sad having to run alone all the time, but the reality was I could never say just how far I would get before the foot would hurt and the last thing you want to do would be to flake out on a friend after 4 miles and say you were walking; in reality you would press on doing more and more damage to the injury site. The only friend I can train with who truly doesn't care if I walk or go slow is Poppy - she just gets extra time on he trails if I am dragging. The training plan or rehab plan has to go entirely out the window as no matter how much you want to carefully build up there are days when it just hurts too much and you have to back down, or take a cross training day; I am finding I can tolerate maybe two or three runs a week at most, and it varies day to day. I can only run soft trail, and need to avoid extreme hills, leaving one location only for running. I no longer look at all the women my age 'killin it out there'; its kind of depressing frankly! And as for race registration.......
Two weeks of trying to build up my running and I was in worse pain than I had been. The looming deadline of Boston, and the twelve week count down until race day weighed heavily on me all the time. I was icing my foot every 3 hours trying to figure out how to lurch from run to run. After another visit to the foot doctor who came up with the somewhat untested experimental idea of spinning my own blood for platelet rich serum and injecting it into the site of the tendon, then resting completely for 4 weeks while that healed - of course insurance wouldn't fund it as no one had actually done the double blind placebo study to prove it...if it was done to this he was really out of ideas. I called it TIME! I reluctantly realized that I would have to give up on racing Boston, despite the year and a half of planning, the effort of qualifying and lets not forget the expense of air fare and crazy hotel prices.
I briefly wondered if I should even go - it left a dull ache in the pit of my stomach at the thought of standing there cheering when I wanted to be running, would it be better just to lie low in Walnut Creek and focus on the home front. A moment's reflection made me realize that there was no way I could leave Q-Less and Merciless running without being there to see it. It was my idea that we all qualify to celebrate our 50th birthdays (well mine and Merciless'), here they were going through their own gargantuan struggles just to train. The snow and cold in Blue Bell were as bad as ever, they had nine children between them, and both were also trying to work part time. In contrast we have ideal training weather, I had one kid at home old enough to take care of himself and my part time job was well suited to running when ever I wanted, at work if I liked. It didn't seem fair - on any of us, but the race was as much about celebrating our years of running and friendship and that could still occur whether I ran the race or watched.
The decision was hard, but once it was made it all felt a whole lot better. A watched pot takes forever to boil, and if you stop fretting about an injury and release the pressure you are putting on it to 'heal dammit!' things automatically stop hurting as much. I even got a great run in with a friend and her two dogs this week, as she was also registered for Boston, but had health issues to consider too and didn't have expectations of time or distance. As we ran through the puddles at conversation pace, three crazy dogs ahead leaping of us spraying mud and sandy showers, the pure joy of running seemed like a decent trade for race day glory!
Well the absolute reverse is true if you are trying to rehab and injury and you have to break all your 'good habits' and find some new ones. It was sad having to run alone all the time, but the reality was I could never say just how far I would get before the foot would hurt and the last thing you want to do would be to flake out on a friend after 4 miles and say you were walking; in reality you would press on doing more and more damage to the injury site. The only friend I can train with who truly doesn't care if I walk or go slow is Poppy - she just gets extra time on he trails if I am dragging. The training plan or rehab plan has to go entirely out the window as no matter how much you want to carefully build up there are days when it just hurts too much and you have to back down, or take a cross training day; I am finding I can tolerate maybe two or three runs a week at most, and it varies day to day. I can only run soft trail, and need to avoid extreme hills, leaving one location only for running. I no longer look at all the women my age 'killin it out there'; its kind of depressing frankly! And as for race registration.......
Two weeks of trying to build up my running and I was in worse pain than I had been. The looming deadline of Boston, and the twelve week count down until race day weighed heavily on me all the time. I was icing my foot every 3 hours trying to figure out how to lurch from run to run. After another visit to the foot doctor who came up with the somewhat untested experimental idea of spinning my own blood for platelet rich serum and injecting it into the site of the tendon, then resting completely for 4 weeks while that healed - of course insurance wouldn't fund it as no one had actually done the double blind placebo study to prove it...if it was done to this he was really out of ideas. I called it TIME! I reluctantly realized that I would have to give up on racing Boston, despite the year and a half of planning, the effort of qualifying and lets not forget the expense of air fare and crazy hotel prices.
I briefly wondered if I should even go - it left a dull ache in the pit of my stomach at the thought of standing there cheering when I wanted to be running, would it be better just to lie low in Walnut Creek and focus on the home front. A moment's reflection made me realize that there was no way I could leave Q-Less and Merciless running without being there to see it. It was my idea that we all qualify to celebrate our 50th birthdays (well mine and Merciless'), here they were going through their own gargantuan struggles just to train. The snow and cold in Blue Bell were as bad as ever, they had nine children between them, and both were also trying to work part time. In contrast we have ideal training weather, I had one kid at home old enough to take care of himself and my part time job was well suited to running when ever I wanted, at work if I liked. It didn't seem fair - on any of us, but the race was as much about celebrating our years of running and friendship and that could still occur whether I ran the race or watched.
The decision was hard, but once it was made it all felt a whole lot better. A watched pot takes forever to boil, and if you stop fretting about an injury and release the pressure you are putting on it to 'heal dammit!' things automatically stop hurting as much. I even got a great run in with a friend and her two dogs this week, as she was also registered for Boston, but had health issues to consider too and didn't have expectations of time or distance. As we ran through the puddles at conversation pace, three crazy dogs ahead leaping of us spraying mud and sandy showers, the pure joy of running seemed like a decent trade for race day glory!
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Castle Rocking with the Popstar!
Week three of Boston training actually saw something very radical happening - I did some running for the first time in 3 months. The new 'specialist' doctor came up with the brilliant idea of putting a thin cork wedge in my shoe, gave me some strengthening exercises and said to give running a whirl, but only a minute at a time mind.
Even a minute is better than nothing, so Sunday saw 10 X 1 minute with 4 minutes recovery between each stint. Despite the fun and excitement of being out in the trails it was alarmingly hard to breathe!! Rehab is all about small increments, and as I was writing the training plan, I increased the next day to 20 X 1 min with 1 min recovery, then Tuesday was 5 X 5 minutes, Wednesday was 40 minutes with a break half way, wow that was nearly a real run! There was still some dull pain but not the sharp burning under the foot where the tendon attached.
Running soft surface helped. This time of year with the El Nino effect and constant rain, anywhere on the trails is so soft its fairly liquid and the biggest challenge is actually progressing forwards. My feet were squelching and sliding but both me and my running companion Poppy (the Popstar) were really happy to finally get out of the stifling spin studio and start to get the legs working again.
One of the things I miss most about living in Pennsylvania, apart from my lovely running gals, was the gorgeous Valley Green with its broad earth path under the lush green canopy which runs alongside the fast flowing Wissahickon. Castle Rock park was the closest we had to this natural beauty and running mecca. The rock formations and sand base means that even in the heaviest downpour a lot of the trail is runnable and there is none of the loamy or clay soil that we see on shell ridge or the other trails to build up into impossible platform shoes, leaving you teetering 9 inches off the ground.
With ice cold streams every 10 minutes it was offered the wonderful bonus of an ice bath for the foot, any time the dull pain came back running through those shockingly cold streams seemed to do away with any return of tendonitis. Poppy the insanely bouncy and energetic English Springer was in her element, dive bombing me from high cliffs and splashing her way through the streams, adding several speedier miles on to my dirt slow run with her constant back and forth exploring the side trails.
After a few moments of disappearance I saw her black and white dot on the hillside with a huge flurry of large black feathers as she had managed to track down and land a huge clutch of wild turkeys - so fat and slow she might even be able to grab one, despite it being rather a large mouthful for a small puppy. As usual she jumped back down onto the main trail landing right in my face and barking as if to say 'speed it up buddy!!'
So the end of the week saw me finally manage 60 minutes of running, and 6 miles covered past the Hole in the Rock, Kiss the Fence, The Lake and The Post and heading up to BBQ Terrace. This was of course still 20 miles short of where I needed to be in 3 months time but it was a glorious start. One of the high school runners had asked me at practice how my injury was, and I proudly announced I had managed 25 minutes - he looked aghast and said 'don't you have a marathon in a few weeks - how are you going to manage it'. At that moment my own joy was also soured and I was momentarily deflated. Then, after the pang, I thought about it mathematically. If I had only been able to run for 10 minutes on Sunday and in a week I had managed to get to 60 minutes, there was every chance I could get from 6 miles to 26 miles in 13 weeks - you just had to believe it is possible!
Even a minute is better than nothing, so Sunday saw 10 X 1 minute with 4 minutes recovery between each stint. Despite the fun and excitement of being out in the trails it was alarmingly hard to breathe!! Rehab is all about small increments, and as I was writing the training plan, I increased the next day to 20 X 1 min with 1 min recovery, then Tuesday was 5 X 5 minutes, Wednesday was 40 minutes with a break half way, wow that was nearly a real run! There was still some dull pain but not the sharp burning under the foot where the tendon attached.
Running soft surface helped. This time of year with the El Nino effect and constant rain, anywhere on the trails is so soft its fairly liquid and the biggest challenge is actually progressing forwards. My feet were squelching and sliding but both me and my running companion Poppy (the Popstar) were really happy to finally get out of the stifling spin studio and start to get the legs working again.
One of the things I miss most about living in Pennsylvania, apart from my lovely running gals, was the gorgeous Valley Green with its broad earth path under the lush green canopy which runs alongside the fast flowing Wissahickon. Castle Rock park was the closest we had to this natural beauty and running mecca. The rock formations and sand base means that even in the heaviest downpour a lot of the trail is runnable and there is none of the loamy or clay soil that we see on shell ridge or the other trails to build up into impossible platform shoes, leaving you teetering 9 inches off the ground.
With ice cold streams every 10 minutes it was offered the wonderful bonus of an ice bath for the foot, any time the dull pain came back running through those shockingly cold streams seemed to do away with any return of tendonitis. Poppy the insanely bouncy and energetic English Springer was in her element, dive bombing me from high cliffs and splashing her way through the streams, adding several speedier miles on to my dirt slow run with her constant back and forth exploring the side trails.
After a few moments of disappearance I saw her black and white dot on the hillside with a huge flurry of large black feathers as she had managed to track down and land a huge clutch of wild turkeys - so fat and slow she might even be able to grab one, despite it being rather a large mouthful for a small puppy. As usual she jumped back down onto the main trail landing right in my face and barking as if to say 'speed it up buddy!!'
So the end of the week saw me finally manage 60 minutes of running, and 6 miles covered past the Hole in the Rock, Kiss the Fence, The Lake and The Post and heading up to BBQ Terrace. This was of course still 20 miles short of where I needed to be in 3 months time but it was a glorious start. One of the high school runners had asked me at practice how my injury was, and I proudly announced I had managed 25 minutes - he looked aghast and said 'don't you have a marathon in a few weeks - how are you going to manage it'. At that moment my own joy was also soured and I was momentarily deflated. Then, after the pang, I thought about it mathematically. If I had only been able to run for 10 minutes on Sunday and in a week I had managed to get to 60 minutes, there was every chance I could get from 6 miles to 26 miles in 13 weeks - you just had to believe it is possible!
Monday, January 4, 2016
Great Expectations and the Zen of Running
Thumping around on the single stump of the surgical boot was not how I had anticipated greeting the New Year. The puppy opened one eye and glared at me in protest at the piratical thudding on the wood floors destroying her slumber. Too much fun attacking the downhills of Nike San Francisco had left me with a damaged Posterior Tib. Conservative management (ie no running, lots of ice, ART) had produced no benefit after two months of treatment; the attachment point was in my arch and was constantly irritated simply by standing up. My Boston countdown calendar screamed angrily at me that training was coming. The doctor and I gravely agreed it was time to don the boot of shame, increase the ice baths and invest in the night splint.
The East Coast Team of Less was on stand by, long suffering expressions prepared, bracing themselves for my usual over excited pronouncements that training was begun and for reams of training plans to start flying through their email accounts. There was a resounding silence - I had nothing to say.
Being injured is depressing at the best of times. I work with runners, so that means you can't join the off season training fun and end up hanging around, cold, bored, just waiting to give feedback on an experience you weren't able to share. You are painfully aware that so much of your twitter feed, instagram account and facebook is filled with other runners proclaiming their fabulous exploits up mountains, at night runs, PR's, great accomplishments, fabulous running parties you no longer can attend. Driving, you start to notice every runner on the road, wondering how they can perform this simple act that your tendon has ruled out for you. Most of all you miss waking up wondering - what kind of run will I have today?
My thoughts drifted back constantly to the last time I had trained for Boston way back in 2012. Q-less and I had worked our tushies off through one of the East Coast's toughest coldest winters, sometimes running thigh deep through snow. I was driven, and probably drove Q-Less crazy at me, but I had created for both of us a training plan guaranteed to drop our time by around ten minutes. Within moments in mid April we watched all our work seemingly vaporize as the temperature charts for the Boston Broilerthon, as it became to be known, predicted freak hot weather, and the 45f we hoped for headed into the high 80's low 90's. We had trained in 14f - nothing had prepared us for that race. On race day we had set off at a ten minute pace, resigned to a huge change of plan. Q-Less had toiled on and finished but with a time way off her best, I had DNF'd at mile 18 with an irritated IT band, desiccated by the scorching heat and dehydration. It had not been in line with our dreams or expectations, but it had been an experience.The evening celebration with no medal had been a true pity party for one.
Increasingly I have found however that injury is a more peaceful process for me. As I am about to turn 50, and as my 20 year old daughter points out "aren't you depressed to think that over half your life is over and its the crappy half left?' I realize that I have developed skills to deal with it that no 20 year old has. I have survived stress fractures, muscle pulls and tendonitis. You begin to finally appreciate that there is no point railing against, or wailing about your fate. Like so much in life it is not the injury that is unfair, or the timing, it is our own inflexible set of expectations. What makes us good runners is our drive, our planning our goal setting - yet running often has a way of throwing a spanner in the works. Gosh darn I had planned a 50th Birthday Party at the Boston Marathon with Merciless and Q-Less and that was set in stone, we had all trained separately and found races around the East Coast and California in our three month window and survived a variety of temperatures and weather conditions, and failure to register for races to qualify for the race. The flight was booked the hotels were reserved and paid for. The race would happen and I would not suffer an annoying injury that would drag on for months even though I had done all of the right things. However, the universe is unfair and unkind and we no longer have quixotic Greek Gods to blame, so I have adopted the Running Gods in their place. These Running Gods are every bit as random as Zeus - throwing thunder bolts at you whenever things are going too well. In April our party will be fabulous regardless of what the Running Gods have in mind, and will be a great celebration of friends who have run together for years and shared so many good bad and random experiences. The party will be the sort that lights you up inside and lasts a very long time. Its time the Running Gods knew that they have done their best to bring humility and flexibility to my soul. OK Gods I get it, let it be proclaimed publicly that great expectations and the fire of ambition have been firmly doused. This Boston might be one where I get to cheer on my favorite runners in, or hobble 26 miles at the back of the race, just delighted to survive it and to be part of this awesome occasion.
The last time I participated in this historic race training was awesome but those fickle Running Gods made sure we did not revel in glory for long and the race was painful slow and hot. Maybe, just maybe, this time my training will be in every measure, lousy, lack lustre and lame. My foot will probably remain injured for another month, then it might take another month just to get close to base training. I am also open to the fact that 2016 may see me run the race of my life. I am beginning to see that success is a very relative term and is based entirely upon our expectations. My goal is to bring my expectations towards my reality and to thoroughly enjoy everything the Running Gods hurls at me this year.
The East Coast Team of Less was on stand by, long suffering expressions prepared, bracing themselves for my usual over excited pronouncements that training was begun and for reams of training plans to start flying through their email accounts. There was a resounding silence - I had nothing to say.
Being injured is depressing at the best of times. I work with runners, so that means you can't join the off season training fun and end up hanging around, cold, bored, just waiting to give feedback on an experience you weren't able to share. You are painfully aware that so much of your twitter feed, instagram account and facebook is filled with other runners proclaiming their fabulous exploits up mountains, at night runs, PR's, great accomplishments, fabulous running parties you no longer can attend. Driving, you start to notice every runner on the road, wondering how they can perform this simple act that your tendon has ruled out for you. Most of all you miss waking up wondering - what kind of run will I have today?
My thoughts drifted back constantly to the last time I had trained for Boston way back in 2012. Q-less and I had worked our tushies off through one of the East Coast's toughest coldest winters, sometimes running thigh deep through snow. I was driven, and probably drove Q-Less crazy at me, but I had created for both of us a training plan guaranteed to drop our time by around ten minutes. Within moments in mid April we watched all our work seemingly vaporize as the temperature charts for the Boston Broilerthon, as it became to be known, predicted freak hot weather, and the 45f we hoped for headed into the high 80's low 90's. We had trained in 14f - nothing had prepared us for that race. On race day we had set off at a ten minute pace, resigned to a huge change of plan. Q-Less had toiled on and finished but with a time way off her best, I had DNF'd at mile 18 with an irritated IT band, desiccated by the scorching heat and dehydration. It had not been in line with our dreams or expectations, but it had been an experience.The evening celebration with no medal had been a true pity party for one.
The last time I participated in this historic race training was awesome but those fickle Running Gods made sure we did not revel in glory for long and the race was painful slow and hot. Maybe, just maybe, this time my training will be in every measure, lousy, lack lustre and lame. My foot will probably remain injured for another month, then it might take another month just to get close to base training. I am also open to the fact that 2016 may see me run the race of my life. I am beginning to see that success is a very relative term and is based entirely upon our expectations. My goal is to bring my expectations towards my reality and to thoroughly enjoy everything the Running Gods hurls at me this year.
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