The London Marathon is an incredible race. It is the largest fundraising event in the world, and has garnered almost 500 million pounds since its inception. It was the perfect corner stone to be my final and tenth marathon before heading into big race retirement. I was expecting no PR's just a comfortable 8:30/9 minute per mile last hurrah amongst the amazing sights and sounds of London. 20 family and friends waiting at the finish line, the first time my parents would see me race and a great opportunity to raise money for King's College Hospital.
Five weeks ago things were going gloriously well, coming off another 50 mile week and a strong 20 miler I headed into the next training session finally feeling my legs were adapting. The epic fail of the next long run and the hip pain in the left leg has done nothing to change over a 4 week period. I have had multiple soft tissue consults with the sports med chiro, and you know its bad when Rudy refuses to charge you for the last visit and just gives you a sympathetic smile. He has saved me for Boston for the last two years but even he is stumped this time. The ortho ruled out bone spurs or stress fractures, general opinion is it might be spine, it might be glute, but it involves nerve impingement of some kind and it doesn't allow running.
I cross trained hard, doubling up on spin classes, getting hot yoga in for strength and flexibility, then when nothing changed I tried total rest. Boy was that awful, a whole week of not sleeping, feeling sluggish, no appetite, just not myself. Still no change.
With any other race you just slink away and ignore social media and results on race day, go for a long walk and forget about it. This time I have an incredible group of supporters and donors to acknowledge so I will be there at the charity reception surrounded by accomplished, happy runners, and trying to put a brave face on it. For a crazy day or two I was seriously considering walking the course along with some of the slower charity runners. 7 hours didn't seem too much of a problem. A day or two of long walks has made me reconsider that idea, after an hour the hip starts to throb ominously and the lower leg gets shooting pains in the side.
I guess my body decided on an early retirement package instead! I joked at the start that my 50 plus training plan should really just include large sheets of bubble wrap and I would cocoon in that for three months, emerge uninjured and pull off a better marathon than if I trained. How true that was. As of today I have officially given up on being able to run or walk this incredible race, so the best I can do is grab some cow bells and get excited for the elites and all the other amazing folks who will be running a week on Sunday and be thankful I raised 92% of my target for this great hospital. I am sure this will heal on its own, just not on my time line, and I will be so excited to get out there again, if it means no more big marathons, just running those trails with Poppy will be treat enough.
I am happy we raised so much money for a really great cause. I will look back on that training block and the fun I had with Shawna as a truly wonderful time, and try and soak up the excitement of other runners in London without feeling sorry for myself. Thank you, thank you, to everyone who encouraged, donated, and gave me support for this one, its been a journey!
Friday, April 13, 2018
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Everything I need to learn in life I learn from running!
Sweating it out in spin class to Freddy and Bowie singing 'This is our last dance, This is ourselves, Under Pressure' I started thinking about the pressure I had put myself under with this last retirement marathon. This is the third consecutive year I have signed up for a big deal race then found myself on that tightrope of injury and health, running Boston on 3 weeks of training last year, 6 the year before. Why do I keep doing this to myself I ask, the same old dance? This one was even more complex than Boston, London means a lot of travel, its a bucket list race, plus the large fundraising target, the dinners with well wishers family and friends before and after the race. Two weeks ago it seemed like a terrific idea, I was feeling awesome, had just completed my first 20 miler, and the body actually felt as though it was finally making some adaptions in terms of strength after a solid 9 weeks of training. The day after the 20 miler I didn't wake up groaning, I actually felt good. I managed a short recovery run of 3 miles and did a roll call of body parts - heel, check, OK, calves, good, in one piece, hammys', a little tight but still holding. Yay only 5 weeks to race day and the uninterrupted weeks of training was starting to take.
The next day I headed to pilates and then did an easy 6 miler - we worked hard, lots of hip and adductor work at Crunch. It is so important to keep up the vital strength work in marathon training right? The next day was a long tempo, my hips felt really heavy and I nearly bagged it, but the impending week of rain made me press on and I hit all the times I wanted to do. Success! I took a recovery day of hot yoga the next day, then ran easy Wednesday and Thursday. Friday came around and time for another 18 mile and my left leg just felt like crud from the start. By mile 3 it loosened up a little, by mile 6 it decide to go the other way and to stiffen up ominously. At mile 7 I decided to turn around and reduce to a 14 mile run, then in driving rain for the next 2 miles the leg got rapidly worse, until I pulled into Wholefoods and sheepishly called Guy to pick me up as I was now full on limping, dripping wet and thoroughly miserable.
A week is a long time in running, so I rested and rested, did some gentle yoga classes, took some ibuprofen, hobbled to the wonderful Dr Rudy, then rested some more. Nothing changed. No pain unless I ran. So I have been spinning and going to yoga and waiting.....This week I took a visit to the orthopedist to rule out anything sinister like pelvic fractures or bone spurs on the hip, all good it has to be a muscle - so back to brinkmanship and hoping the next 3 weeks sees more improvement.
I was born a perfectionist, a planner, someone who believes the devil is in the detail, who doesn't do things by halves. I have never been flexible, able to shoot from the hip, chaos scares me and anyone who knows me, knows I can be a total control freak. Ofcourse is exactly why I need running in my life? Running dictates that you are not the one who gets to make the decisions, that there is a randomness in the universe that is much bigger than you. It forces you to remain fully in the present and not look backwards of forwards as you realize fixating in any other direction simpy doesn't serve you.
Strava keeps trying to get my attention but I ignore it, same with garmin connect, and the Facebook group page for the excited marathoners, and I am trying hard to chill and just be. Turbulent events in my coaching life also meant that I haven't had a minute for myself anyway, so maybe it was just as well I couldn't go for 20 mile runs and sit in ice baths, there has been no time for that.
It occurred to me that it would be really easy to give up on running, and coaching right now as both seem to be fraught with problems. However, I can't help but think that the latest set back is just another much needed lesson for me in dealing in the here and now, and not worrying too much about the future events that I can't control.
I'm down, but not yet out.
The next day I headed to pilates and then did an easy 6 miler - we worked hard, lots of hip and adductor work at Crunch. It is so important to keep up the vital strength work in marathon training right? The next day was a long tempo, my hips felt really heavy and I nearly bagged it, but the impending week of rain made me press on and I hit all the times I wanted to do. Success! I took a recovery day of hot yoga the next day, then ran easy Wednesday and Thursday. Friday came around and time for another 18 mile and my left leg just felt like crud from the start. By mile 3 it loosened up a little, by mile 6 it decide to go the other way and to stiffen up ominously. At mile 7 I decided to turn around and reduce to a 14 mile run, then in driving rain for the next 2 miles the leg got rapidly worse, until I pulled into Wholefoods and sheepishly called Guy to pick me up as I was now full on limping, dripping wet and thoroughly miserable.
A week is a long time in running, so I rested and rested, did some gentle yoga classes, took some ibuprofen, hobbled to the wonderful Dr Rudy, then rested some more. Nothing changed. No pain unless I ran. So I have been spinning and going to yoga and waiting.....This week I took a visit to the orthopedist to rule out anything sinister like pelvic fractures or bone spurs on the hip, all good it has to be a muscle - so back to brinkmanship and hoping the next 3 weeks sees more improvement.
I was born a perfectionist, a planner, someone who believes the devil is in the detail, who doesn't do things by halves. I have never been flexible, able to shoot from the hip, chaos scares me and anyone who knows me, knows I can be a total control freak. Ofcourse is exactly why I need running in my life? Running dictates that you are not the one who gets to make the decisions, that there is a randomness in the universe that is much bigger than you. It forces you to remain fully in the present and not look backwards of forwards as you realize fixating in any other direction simpy doesn't serve you.
Strava keeps trying to get my attention but I ignore it, same with garmin connect, and the Facebook group page for the excited marathoners, and I am trying hard to chill and just be. Turbulent events in my coaching life also meant that I haven't had a minute for myself anyway, so maybe it was just as well I couldn't go for 20 mile runs and sit in ice baths, there has been no time for that.
It occurred to me that it would be really easy to give up on running, and coaching right now as both seem to be fraught with problems. However, I can't help but think that the latest set back is just another much needed lesson for me in dealing in the here and now, and not worrying too much about the future events that I can't control.
I'm down, but not yet out.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
BATHING WITH THE FISHES
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| Me, Shawna and Rosaura hanging in the parking lot afterwards |
This week saw me trying to return to routine after a lovely break in Hawaii. While the rest of the country and Europe was dealing with terrible weather and the Beast from the East, we did have a cold snap and a small ice storm to contend with, even if it was still delightfully sunny by mid day, which meant tights and gloves. After four weeks of build it was time for a challenging 18 miler - not sure why but 18 just sounds scarier than 16 even though it is a paltry two miles more. In most training cycles you throw in a couple of 20 milers and a couple of 18's so this was about to get real and there was a degree of apprehension on Thursday night.
Shawna and I had a guest appearance from the always peppy Rosaura, who was trying to get in 20 miles for her Boston training schedule, but as she is somewhat faster we were treated with her glorious pirouettes and spent time with her on 'guu' stops and those brief moments when you stop to complain about the bits that hurt. There comes a time when you can no longer converse anyway - in the last 6 miles you are not feeling too chatty or expansive. I have always felt that distance running is an exercise in learned discomfort and I enjoy clicking off the miles by switching my little hand held water bottle from one hand to the next alternating miles as a form of counting and for mental variety. It is amazing how much we get used to small habits. For instance I realized I really don't enjoy carrying it in my left hand - my right hand is just that tad bit stronger and bigger. Like yoga classes where they force you to change the clasp of your hands or the cross of your legs, switching to another side of your body for something as simple as carrying water requires some mental effort and accommodation. It is interesting to notice how reluctant we are to do so in situations of mild stress. Like parking our car in the exact same spot when we go to work or the grocery store, it is or mind and body's way of creating less work and being lazy. On longer runs it also pays to get awfully interested in the little things, like how you are landing that foot that has the sore ridge of hard skin on the little toe, or why that left hip is feeling like its not extending as much as the other side, just to keep your mind from wandering to how much you would rather be home on your couch eating a tray of donuts and drinking coffee.
18 felt hard, and it was sobering and briefly depressing to remember I would still have another 8 miles left of the marathon. Instead at mile 15 I started thinking, if I feel like this at Blackfriars when all those runners are in the dark underpass weeping, weeing and rolled up in a ball of pain, I would actually be quite happy as I knew I could do this for three more miles - the re-framing was helpful and meant the three of us all finished at a much better clip than the rest of the run. Positive attitude does indeed produce a negative split.
Reflective of my impending dotage I am doing my best on recovery so ran a nice cold bath and plunked in an entire tray of ice from the freezer in it, sadly once I got in I realized it was around 60f and not nearly cold enough to be useful, just cold enough to be a bit miserable. I dripped my way back to the kitchen with the dog regarding me with some degree of curiosity, only to find there were only a few ice packs. There was also a temptingly large pack of King Crab Claws and a six pack of steelhead salmon, but sanity took over and I drew the line at bathing with dinner.
7 weeks to go and a drop down week to 14 miles before the next big push - March is going to be lots of running, better get that ice machine cranking!
Monday, February 12, 2018
ADAPT OR DIE - its all about the recovery!
I have finally realized that I can only manage two hard workouts a week, instead of the three I used to do, so that leaves me with the long run and a medium long tempo, as one attempt at speed work and I am hobbling for days. Obliging as ever Shawna agreed to move our 9 mile tempo to Tuesdays, now giving me two days before my long Friday run. The day after the tempo, I go to Hot 90 which is stretching and strength in a studio nearby that they heat to 104 degrees with humidity. If you can get over the rather confronting visual of standing there in a small room in front of a mirror, just in your shorts and bra with rivulets of sweat running down into a puddle on the floor, the effect is really beneficial. The lack of flexibility and range of motion brought on my too many miles is helped enormously by higher temperatures, plus it gives you the sense of having worked hard without the soreness afterwards. For my second recovery day I have a really fun and social recovery run with my bunch of friends who meet at Peet's Coffee shop but double up with a 5:30 am spin class to try and mimic the tiredness you get from running harder, even if you can't run as much as you want to.
Friday saw a 14 miler with Shawna. The brilliant thing about being slower than her is that for the last four miles she pretty much kept me entertained with a great monologue about her plans for the next few weeks. I used to run with her husband before he got too fast and he used to try and talk to me at the end of a run until he discovered I was too irritable to be conversational for the last 25% of any longer effort so he would keep quiet and leave me to be what I thought was focused, but was probably just grumpy, solitude. Shawna on the other hand keeps up the convo but is perfectly happy for me to make vague grunts or 'uh huhs' once in a while. We ran on the Iron Horse as I am happy to exploit the the fake negative split effect it provides by the mild downhill on the return. Coming back into Heather Farm Park I was feeling pretty happy, and was a bit low on fuel so feeling a little euphoric, however it was a bit soul destroying to realize that at this point in the race I would be just over Tower Bridge, and really only a little over half way through the race. Onwards and upwards.
Seeing so many snowy or rainy, icey pictures on social media I know Californian's have it super easy, last week saw 78f in Walnut Creek, however to try and give some element of hardship I am now really going to be roughing it as we are venturing to Hawaii for a Valentine's Day treat! On a serious note, the humidity will make it more of a challenge, and I will definitely be using my heart rate as a guide rather than pace. 9 weeks to go, 16 miles on Friday and I will be loading up my hand held water bottle and trotting past the sights of Waikiki Beach and the University of Hawaii!
Friday, January 26, 2018
LONDON'S CALLING
So here I was again with a high stakes race a week after Boston, at the end of April, and feeling gung ho about training, and predictably managed to hurt myself in the first two weeks of training by running speed work at 5k not 10k pace - duh. This time I was determined to beat the odds and shut down the training entirely - switching instead to hot yoga and spin class and repeat visits to my always patient and effective chiropractor, the good Dr Rudy while he tried to straighten out the hamstring, IT band and peroneal muddle I had ended up in.
This week saw me attempt my first run, a tentative 4 miler at Castle Rock with Poppy, followed by a flat 6 miler the next day. As they had gone reasonably well I decided to do book end workouts and repeat the exact same runs. This was even more encouraging. It is so easy to be frustrated when you are feeling out of shape, so the slow castle rock run, was replaced by the second one 4 minutes faster, the 6 miler at 9 min pace was now 6 at 8:30 pace. I took another day off for spin class and then faced the real test; running with Shawna.
Shawna is younger, faster, and despite some metal work in her ankle a great athlete. So I showed up for our early Wednesday session, and found that although I was puffing and panting like a wilder beast, I hung on to her for four miles and then she drifted away in the last mile, cute pony tail swinging. On Thursday my heel bursitis was pulsating, angry and red, so I did a very easy day. Then today saw the start of Friday long runs again. Prior to the set back I had been up to 14 miles, but I knew it wasn't smart to start right back up where I had been. Based on the amount of time off I needed around 60% of the mileage for my first week back, so opted to try for 8 miles.
Long runs are always more fun with friends, Shawna was telling me such good stories I made it to the five mile mark before I knew it and managed to pull out my first double digit run in a month! And although my heart rate was ridiculously high, average 165, it felt good to be able to run it at goal marathon pace, even if it meant I had spent about an hour in the orange zone.
Runners only ever think they are as good as their last workout. Last week I was confident I could handle 0.2 of the race, by a day later the 6.2 came into view. As of today I know I can make it ten miles, so will get to Rotherhithe and Surrey Quays at least.
As I build up my long run I will be trying to add a couple of miles each week until I have the entire snaking east end figured out, the last bit with Buckingham Palace will run itself, but there is around 20 miles of East End with names as enticing as Shadwell, Mudchute and Poplar to enjoy. 11 weeks to go and all I have to do is stay healthy and I will be way ahead of the marathons I have run for the past two years!
My father has threatened pom poms and a rara skirt with sequins as he cheers, that coupled with the pressure of about 40 friends and relatives, even an Uncle from Australia is going to keep me being diligent about injury; that and being half way to a really big fundraising goal.
see link below:
https://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/RuthSeabrook1
Saturday, April 22, 2017
PAIN IS INEVITABLE. SUFFERING IS OPTIONAL - How to run the Boston Marathon on 3 weeks training!
The Mom of a runner I coach kindly let me a book entitled ' What I Talk About When I Talk About Running' written by a Japanese best selling autho Haruki Marukami. Tucked in my purse for 'marathon weekend' light reading, one phrase kept resonating with me prior and during the 2017 Boston Marathon, 'pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional'. It sounded like a good mantra to me.
With 12 weeks of total inactivity due to a cluster of injuries, labral tear, bulging disc with nerve impingement, mangled hamstring, it was truly a wonder I was even in Boston, but pain was very much on my mind, how much was OK, what wasn't.... After the MRI revealed the severity of the issues, the only cross training I had done was 30 mins easy walking of the dog. Then that great medicine commonly referred to as the 'tincture of time' meant that I could run a little, and that first week saw me creep up from 10 X 1 minute to 9.5 miles, the second week I managed a 14 miler, the third saw me test out if I should even attempt Boston with the need to achieve 18 miles. Although not pain free, I was no worse after 18 so made the bold decision to attempt the impossible and see if I could at least finish the race.
Being able to run 18 miles had built some confidence in me, but as the usual pre race momentum built in the city it turned out to be as thin as my training. On marathon weekend, surrounded by all the buzzing runners in the commemorative royal blue jackets, with thin pink elastoplast like strips on the arms, my confidence started to waiver. I would not wear that jacket until after the race, I truly wasn't sure I could do it. It had seemed like a fun and gung ho act to show up and enjoy a 4th Boston experience with no training, now it just seemed foolish. Like kids before a chemistry test all I was listening to was runner's training plans, how many miles they had run, how many 20 or 22 milers they had put in. When runners said they had struggled with a week or two, or backed off here on a tempo run, I started thinking about the fact that I hadn't been able to put on socks for two months without it hurting. What was I thinking?
The only person who didn't seem to think I was crazy was Guy - I guess he realized how miserable I would have been running an easy 5 miler and then showing up to watch the race as I had long considered. He knew I had to begin......
To compound matters the weather reports started changing from the desired 48f and breezy to 75-79f with the day prior hitting 85f. I redirected my anxiety to the constant scanning of weather. com; although ironically my brain told me it would have much less effect on me than on others. With no training goal or PR to blow up due to the warm temperatures I should have been comforted, instead I was haunted by the memory of 2012 when I DNF'd in 90f temperatures despite being in the best shape of my life, and now added that to my list of woes.
The loading of buses at Boston Common was hot but friendly - some jostling and good humoured banter. The bus ride seemed endless, there is a strange sense of foreboding as you realize after 40 mins of driving one way, that at some point you were going to have to get yourself back to that spot without the aid of an engine. Being processed through the endless portapotty lines and eventually walking the 20 mins to the start line saw me sweaty and hot before the race even began, with no sign of those clouds the meteorologists had promised.
Waiting for the 3rd wave of the race to start I glanced up at the two armed snipers poised on the roof top guarding us from harm. One by one we runners started to wave at them. The standing sniper, slowly raised an arm, and smiled, then began to wave more and more enthusiastically as the crowd cheered them. His comrade lay prone on the roof and glared at his smiling officer but chose to stay dead pan behind his dark glasses, alert to all danger. However, from the moment you start the Boston Marathon to the end it is impossible not to smile or cheer and even the toughest of the marines eventually crack - there it was a wave from the impassive face, the spirit of this marathon had won out!
After four Boston's I feel I have finally nailed this interesting course. In 2012 in extreme heat I had strong memories of being suffocated by the 90f weather even in the first five miles, with the heat steaming off all the bodies and concrete over powering me, even at the snail ten minute pace we were running. Having trained all winter in 34f and being in great shape it was bitterly disappointing to be crawling along that year and anger and disappointed emanated from every hot pore of my skin that year, to the point I had DNF'd at mile 18 along with many others, with an IT band injury aggravated greatly by dehydration. This year was different, I felt the heat, but no anger or frustration - it is what it is, no suffering about it! Running with gratitude, excitement and sheer euphoria at the luck of being able to run a 4th Boston on such sketchy training also kept me mindful. I divided the race into 5 X 5 miles, and had micro goals along the way to keep me interested.
The first five miles are downwhill, here I just wanted to stay controlled and use it for warm up, too fast here and your quads burn out at mile 16. From 5 - 10 brought us to the hottest part of the race in Natick, where temperatures went from 74-79 f, hard as you are no where near done, and although this is a flat section you still need to be cautious. At mile ten you are heading towards that wall of sound that is Wellesley - I swear you hear those raucous college kids at mile 11 ten minutes before you see them. The nicer the weather the happier and drunker they are. So many signs begging for kisses - so many scantily clad girls enjoying the race atmosphere. As a fitting tribute to the 50th anniversary of women crashing the race there are also now plenty of good looking guys bearing signs such as 'Kiss me I'm hotter than those two girls either side of me'. Micro goal for the tough middle section 10 - 15 - stalk your prey at Wellsley, find a cute guy to kiss. Fortunately this year saw me double my yield as there were more men than ever.....I was ahead of goal!!!
At 15 the race starts to get interesting, all the downhill and flat is over and just before 16 the Newton Hills start to loom. This section, until mile 21, is a series of not huge, but nonetheless challenging hills. Starting at the back of the pack and running a 9 minute pace meant there was plenty of carnage by the time the hills began - stronger runners were already walking, their quads trashed by the first aggressive ten miles, and the unforgiving heat. I felt good and was able to power up the hills without much change in pace.
The spectators are phenomenal throughout - a woman joined me at mile 15 wearing similar coloured clothing and declared she was joining me so she could benefit from my cheer squad. A single syllable name is a huge advantage in the marathon world - printed in block letters you are greeted throughout the entire race with the chanting drinking game sound of 'ruth ruth ruth ruth' or 'Babe Ruth' 'Baby Ruth' or even 'Ruth, that's my Mom's name'. Bull horns blare out 'Ruth, Aint that the Truth' one guy even started coaching me at mile 22, 'that's it high knee lift, relaxed shoulders, you'll be there in no time'. My fastest miles were 22 and 24, getting to 25 was a little harder but I took comfort that for that final fifth of the race the crowd would pull me along through its own will and energy.
Its true that in a marathon you see all of life. A woman ahead of me who looked around 30 had the following written on her shoulder 'stroke survivor 4/22/16', an amputee picked up his guide and in a tremendous show of strength ran carrying her above him across that finish line - the crowd went wild! You also see terrible sights, a fit man of around 25 who looked like an incredible runner, doubled over at mile 21 crying, a woman with scarey huge brown splashes all over the back of her aqua shorts seemed to have a lot of room to maneouver through the finish chute....several stretcher cases, even less than a mile from the end. By the last mile on Hereford and Boyleston, instead of handing you vaseline on lolly pop sticks for your 'boo boo's or chafing they direct their efforts to screaming your name and urging you on as if you are the only one in that race of 27,000 people. If you have avoided the many offers of coors lite on the way from the college kids, and only taken the ice and swedish fish you have a better chance of making it to that finish line intact. I pulled over around 8 times and physically stopped for ice and water, it added a whole five minutes to my time, but I was able to avoid the medical tent, which 2,000 runners ended up needing.
My take home on Boston this year - respect Mother Nature, respect the course. Micro goals work - especially if you take a moment to celebrate the five miles you have just achieved and how well you felt at the end of them. Gratitude works too - being angry and resentful about the weather is a losing game. But most of all, have a great group of friends ready at the end to help you to that pint of Sam Adams and raise a glass to the best marathon in America!
With 12 weeks of total inactivity due to a cluster of injuries, labral tear, bulging disc with nerve impingement, mangled hamstring, it was truly a wonder I was even in Boston, but pain was very much on my mind, how much was OK, what wasn't.... After the MRI revealed the severity of the issues, the only cross training I had done was 30 mins easy walking of the dog. Then that great medicine commonly referred to as the 'tincture of time' meant that I could run a little, and that first week saw me creep up from 10 X 1 minute to 9.5 miles, the second week I managed a 14 miler, the third saw me test out if I should even attempt Boston with the need to achieve 18 miles. Although not pain free, I was no worse after 18 so made the bold decision to attempt the impossible and see if I could at least finish the race.
Being able to run 18 miles had built some confidence in me, but as the usual pre race momentum built in the city it turned out to be as thin as my training. On marathon weekend, surrounded by all the buzzing runners in the commemorative royal blue jackets, with thin pink elastoplast like strips on the arms, my confidence started to waiver. I would not wear that jacket until after the race, I truly wasn't sure I could do it. It had seemed like a fun and gung ho act to show up and enjoy a 4th Boston experience with no training, now it just seemed foolish. Like kids before a chemistry test all I was listening to was runner's training plans, how many miles they had run, how many 20 or 22 milers they had put in. When runners said they had struggled with a week or two, or backed off here on a tempo run, I started thinking about the fact that I hadn't been able to put on socks for two months without it hurting. What was I thinking?
The only person who didn't seem to think I was crazy was Guy - I guess he realized how miserable I would have been running an easy 5 miler and then showing up to watch the race as I had long considered. He knew I had to begin......
To compound matters the weather reports started changing from the desired 48f and breezy to 75-79f with the day prior hitting 85f. I redirected my anxiety to the constant scanning of weather. com; although ironically my brain told me it would have much less effect on me than on others. With no training goal or PR to blow up due to the warm temperatures I should have been comforted, instead I was haunted by the memory of 2012 when I DNF'd in 90f temperatures despite being in the best shape of my life, and now added that to my list of woes.
The loading of buses at Boston Common was hot but friendly - some jostling and good humoured banter. The bus ride seemed endless, there is a strange sense of foreboding as you realize after 40 mins of driving one way, that at some point you were going to have to get yourself back to that spot without the aid of an engine. Being processed through the endless portapotty lines and eventually walking the 20 mins to the start line saw me sweaty and hot before the race even began, with no sign of those clouds the meteorologists had promised.
Waiting for the 3rd wave of the race to start I glanced up at the two armed snipers poised on the roof top guarding us from harm. One by one we runners started to wave at them. The standing sniper, slowly raised an arm, and smiled, then began to wave more and more enthusiastically as the crowd cheered them. His comrade lay prone on the roof and glared at his smiling officer but chose to stay dead pan behind his dark glasses, alert to all danger. However, from the moment you start the Boston Marathon to the end it is impossible not to smile or cheer and even the toughest of the marines eventually crack - there it was a wave from the impassive face, the spirit of this marathon had won out!
After four Boston's I feel I have finally nailed this interesting course. In 2012 in extreme heat I had strong memories of being suffocated by the 90f weather even in the first five miles, with the heat steaming off all the bodies and concrete over powering me, even at the snail ten minute pace we were running. Having trained all winter in 34f and being in great shape it was bitterly disappointing to be crawling along that year and anger and disappointed emanated from every hot pore of my skin that year, to the point I had DNF'd at mile 18 along with many others, with an IT band injury aggravated greatly by dehydration. This year was different, I felt the heat, but no anger or frustration - it is what it is, no suffering about it! Running with gratitude, excitement and sheer euphoria at the luck of being able to run a 4th Boston on such sketchy training also kept me mindful. I divided the race into 5 X 5 miles, and had micro goals along the way to keep me interested.
The first five miles are downwhill, here I just wanted to stay controlled and use it for warm up, too fast here and your quads burn out at mile 16. From 5 - 10 brought us to the hottest part of the race in Natick, where temperatures went from 74-79 f, hard as you are no where near done, and although this is a flat section you still need to be cautious. At mile ten you are heading towards that wall of sound that is Wellesley - I swear you hear those raucous college kids at mile 11 ten minutes before you see them. The nicer the weather the happier and drunker they are. So many signs begging for kisses - so many scantily clad girls enjoying the race atmosphere. As a fitting tribute to the 50th anniversary of women crashing the race there are also now plenty of good looking guys bearing signs such as 'Kiss me I'm hotter than those two girls either side of me'. Micro goal for the tough middle section 10 - 15 - stalk your prey at Wellsley, find a cute guy to kiss. Fortunately this year saw me double my yield as there were more men than ever.....I was ahead of goal!!!
At 15 the race starts to get interesting, all the downhill and flat is over and just before 16 the Newton Hills start to loom. This section, until mile 21, is a series of not huge, but nonetheless challenging hills. Starting at the back of the pack and running a 9 minute pace meant there was plenty of carnage by the time the hills began - stronger runners were already walking, their quads trashed by the first aggressive ten miles, and the unforgiving heat. I felt good and was able to power up the hills without much change in pace.
The spectators are phenomenal throughout - a woman joined me at mile 15 wearing similar coloured clothing and declared she was joining me so she could benefit from my cheer squad. A single syllable name is a huge advantage in the marathon world - printed in block letters you are greeted throughout the entire race with the chanting drinking game sound of 'ruth ruth ruth ruth' or 'Babe Ruth' 'Baby Ruth' or even 'Ruth, that's my Mom's name'. Bull horns blare out 'Ruth, Aint that the Truth' one guy even started coaching me at mile 22, 'that's it high knee lift, relaxed shoulders, you'll be there in no time'. My fastest miles were 22 and 24, getting to 25 was a little harder but I took comfort that for that final fifth of the race the crowd would pull me along through its own will and energy.
Its true that in a marathon you see all of life. A woman ahead of me who looked around 30 had the following written on her shoulder 'stroke survivor 4/22/16', an amputee picked up his guide and in a tremendous show of strength ran carrying her above him across that finish line - the crowd went wild! You also see terrible sights, a fit man of around 25 who looked like an incredible runner, doubled over at mile 21 crying, a woman with scarey huge brown splashes all over the back of her aqua shorts seemed to have a lot of room to maneouver through the finish chute....several stretcher cases, even less than a mile from the end. By the last mile on Hereford and Boyleston, instead of handing you vaseline on lolly pop sticks for your 'boo boo's or chafing they direct their efforts to screaming your name and urging you on as if you are the only one in that race of 27,000 people. If you have avoided the many offers of coors lite on the way from the college kids, and only taken the ice and swedish fish you have a better chance of making it to that finish line intact. I pulled over around 8 times and physically stopped for ice and water, it added a whole five minutes to my time, but I was able to avoid the medical tent, which 2,000 runners ended up needing.
My take home on Boston this year - respect Mother Nature, respect the course. Micro goals work - especially if you take a moment to celebrate the five miles you have just achieved and how well you felt at the end of them. Gratitude works too - being angry and resentful about the weather is a losing game. But most of all, have a great group of friends ready at the end to help you to that pint of Sam Adams and raise a glass to the best marathon in America!
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
The 3 Week Boston Training Plan for those Foolish and Fifty
The radiologist used an X-ray to inject the right spot on my hip with dye and with it a lumpy and numb sensation slowly spread into my side. My feet were firmly bound together with thick white tape to give the radiologist a more open angle on the hip. My headphones were muffling the industrial noises with loud hip hop (for my hip op lol...) and I found myself descending slowly down that long and clanking tunnel of magnet trying to find out why oh why I had been in so much pain for the past 6 weeks. My only goal as an older runner had been to do enough training to get to the start line healthy, and my Boston training was derailed just as it should have been starting; I hadn't been able to run since 23rd December. My back and hip pain had worsened to the point that I couldn't even put on socks, let alone running shoes. In her white coat the radiologist briskly and cheerfully ordered me to 'hop on down' off the table. I just looked at her quizzically - this was the perfect metaphor for trying to run over the age of 50 as far as I was concerned. She laughed and realized I was still firmly bound around the ankles, untaped me and we tried again.
The results showed a labral tear, bulging disc on L1 pressing on a nerve and a hamstring that resembled corn beef hash from so much scar tissue. Nothing that was operable or could really receive treatment, but certainly no running. Nothing in particular had caused it....just too much of everything. Friends and family were sympathetic to my plight but agreed that maybe my running days were over and it was time to find more gentle pursuits, 'I had spent too long in the playground and now it was time to hit the library'. Without any exercise sleeping was harder, I couldn't eat very much as I was burning no calories and was limited to around 30 mins of walking with the crazy energetic pup. Poppy barked at me every time we hit the trail with the 'why don't you run', kind of unhelpful yap she specializes in. It was a hard wet winter to be immobile.
Of course the tincture of time eventually lessened the pain, and trying to find some spot to watch Rose's swim meet in an overcrowded leisure center, I found that 20 mins on an upright exercise bike wasn't too painful. By the start of March I could cross train at least...cross training then merged into 10 X 1 minute of easy running two weeks ago with only minor pain.
For many of us running is a big question mark that hangs over your head on a daily basis. Can I run, should I run, how hard, how far, did I do enough, did I do too much????? The Boston Marathon had been on my calendar all year, and sadly I was committed, non-refundable flights and special friends travelling from the UK just to meet us there and cheer me on. So whilst I told myself I would be happy if I could only just jog 3-5 miles on Marathon Monday, there was a nagging question, could I do enough to show up on the start line having spent 10 weeks resting, and 3 weeks starting to run.
Torturing myself with this decision the clearest way was to triage my goals and set minimum standards. So the first week I had to build to ten miles. After five miles I had a pain in my side that wouldn't go away - so I left the flat canal path and grabbed Poppy and found that after another 4.5 on the trail it had gone away. Still 9.5 isn't 10, and isn't enough to jog a marathon so I said 'you really have to hit 14 next time'. A weekend away in Portland saw me manage a slow 14 on the Spring Water Corridor, my legs hurt a day later and I once again shelved any hope of running the race. Two days later with the legs improving, I am planning an attempt on 18 this weekend. 2 miles warm up then a double loop of 8. If the first loop sees me still in one piece I will try the second. So whilst everyone else is in taper mode, I am on an aggressive build up!
The questions are all still there, but I am giving myself answers every day. If I can't pass the 18 test I am not lining up in Hopkinton, if I do manage 18 I will have to assess how much it hurt and if it rendered me useless for a week later.....am I prepared to DNF and take the bus of shame if injuries start to flare up.
The Runner Passport sits on my desk, a bright and obnxious jolt of blue and gold, and I can't bring myself to open it. I see friends posting there's on social media and chattering about their corrals and I don't want to join the fun. I am so happy just to be running again, but that crazy obsessive runner inside also needs the day to day reality check. I am sure my chiropractor thinks I am deranged but come marathon morning I need to know I made the right choice. So for all those beginning taper - enjoy, bask in all of your hard months of training, but I have a few more tests to take before I know how to make myself happy on Patriot's Day.
The results showed a labral tear, bulging disc on L1 pressing on a nerve and a hamstring that resembled corn beef hash from so much scar tissue. Nothing that was operable or could really receive treatment, but certainly no running. Nothing in particular had caused it....just too much of everything. Friends and family were sympathetic to my plight but agreed that maybe my running days were over and it was time to find more gentle pursuits, 'I had spent too long in the playground and now it was time to hit the library'. Without any exercise sleeping was harder, I couldn't eat very much as I was burning no calories and was limited to around 30 mins of walking with the crazy energetic pup. Poppy barked at me every time we hit the trail with the 'why don't you run', kind of unhelpful yap she specializes in. It was a hard wet winter to be immobile.
Of course the tincture of time eventually lessened the pain, and trying to find some spot to watch Rose's swim meet in an overcrowded leisure center, I found that 20 mins on an upright exercise bike wasn't too painful. By the start of March I could cross train at least...cross training then merged into 10 X 1 minute of easy running two weeks ago with only minor pain.
For many of us running is a big question mark that hangs over your head on a daily basis. Can I run, should I run, how hard, how far, did I do enough, did I do too much????? The Boston Marathon had been on my calendar all year, and sadly I was committed, non-refundable flights and special friends travelling from the UK just to meet us there and cheer me on. So whilst I told myself I would be happy if I could only just jog 3-5 miles on Marathon Monday, there was a nagging question, could I do enough to show up on the start line having spent 10 weeks resting, and 3 weeks starting to run.
Torturing myself with this decision the clearest way was to triage my goals and set minimum standards. So the first week I had to build to ten miles. After five miles I had a pain in my side that wouldn't go away - so I left the flat canal path and grabbed Poppy and found that after another 4.5 on the trail it had gone away. Still 9.5 isn't 10, and isn't enough to jog a marathon so I said 'you really have to hit 14 next time'. A weekend away in Portland saw me manage a slow 14 on the Spring Water Corridor, my legs hurt a day later and I once again shelved any hope of running the race. Two days later with the legs improving, I am planning an attempt on 18 this weekend. 2 miles warm up then a double loop of 8. If the first loop sees me still in one piece I will try the second. So whilst everyone else is in taper mode, I am on an aggressive build up!
The questions are all still there, but I am giving myself answers every day. If I can't pass the 18 test I am not lining up in Hopkinton, if I do manage 18 I will have to assess how much it hurt and if it rendered me useless for a week later.....am I prepared to DNF and take the bus of shame if injuries start to flare up.
The Runner Passport sits on my desk, a bright and obnxious jolt of blue and gold, and I can't bring myself to open it. I see friends posting there's on social media and chattering about their corrals and I don't want to join the fun. I am so happy just to be running again, but that crazy obsessive runner inside also needs the day to day reality check. I am sure my chiropractor thinks I am deranged but come marathon morning I need to know I made the right choice. So for all those beginning taper - enjoy, bask in all of your hard months of training, but I have a few more tests to take before I know how to make myself happy on Patriot's Day.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Don't Forget the Happy Thoughts...... All You Need is Happy Thoughts....!
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!
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!
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.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Marathon Eve - a Pregnant Pause
The phone app 'Find My Friends' drew a rather sad map, showing the family flung to the four corners of the world. Guy in London - 5,382 miles, Laurence in Oregon - 543 miles, Rose in LA - 373 miles. I was home alone for about the first time in 30 years. The only reason I was home and not in any of those exotic locales was my own neurotic desire not to disrupt 'taper'. I tried to explain to one of the High School runners that whilst they race sometimes twice a week during their season, I had only raced once at the Nike half marathon and that had been as a mid training fitness test back in October, with no rest either side of it. There had been no investment in that event, no anxiety, it was really just a training run. The reason the marathon is an intimidating race is you spend 20 weeks training for it, then sit there like a dolt reading every weather forecast, because if something goes wrong on race day it might be another 6 months before you are capable of racing another.
The list of things that could go wrong was epic. My last attempt had resulted in a DNF due to weather - 90f in Boston when you have trained in 30f in Philly all winter is not something that creates optimal conditions. One glove had dropped off that year it was 14 f in Philly and I had run like a deranged Michael Jackson, switching the glove every mile to keep both hands from frost bite. A bad cold, or stomach upset just before the race can negate weeks of training. Even in the best race I had ever run it had not been perfect, over lacing of the shoes had resulted in a couple of minutes lost as I spent time relacing at mile 15 when my now swollen feet started to complain loudly.
Isolation during taper is probably not a good thing, I could feel a taper tantrum brewing. After an evening and two hours of morning being alone in the house with loud music and very little clothing I started making plans for company, lunch and dinner. Of course I could only meet with those who no longer had the bad cold that was going round, and where I could eat my 90% white unprocessed carb meals, no shellfish etc. At dinner at the local Italian I was trying to explain to my friends Pete and Renee why it was I had changed my life so much in this last week of taper, going to bed at 8 pm to rehearse getting up at 3 or 4 am, changing my diet, barely drinking alcohol, staying away from sick folks, trying not to run with students at practice, giving the briefest demonstrations of lunges or core work at practice.
It seemed to me that the final stages of preparing for a marathon was very much like preparing for birth. Of course there is the general feeling of bloat as you make sure you are fully hydrated and don't eat anything remotely good for you - stodging up on white pasta, rice and bread and eschewing all the high fibre beans, fruits and vegetables that have been your staple all training cycle. Then there was the heightened emotional sense, this exaggerated focus on every little ache or pain in your body. Pete asked if I was going to enjoy taking in all of the scenery and atmosphere of CIM to which I nearly choked on my pizza. His reasoning was it was my 6th marathon, I was a pro, of course I could relax and just run. What he couldn't appreciate was that I was still trying to PR at the vintage age of 48 which meant relaxing and taking in scenery was not part of the plan sadly. I tried to convey that like child birth you knew the marathon would be rewarding, you are excited for it to happen, but at the same time you knew it was fraught with lots of small risks and that at some stage it was surely going to hurt. In fact if it didn't hurt, you weren't doing it right.
At breakfast the week before with Laurence and Dean, Dean had politely inquired about the race: "So, are you going to win it?", "er, no", I replied "the first female will likely finish about an hour before I do". A puzzled look crossed his seventeen year old face. "So, are you going to try and win your age group then?" Dean asked encouragingly, Laurence joined in noddingy approvingly. "Er no, in this race even if I run a 3:25 I will likely get 20th, its a pretty fast race and people travel a long way to come and run it". It did sound sort of lame at this point, so I tried to help him out "But I am hoping to qualify to run Boston again in 2016". In a deliberate and 'shall we try this again' tone, Dean asked "So let me get this straight, your going to run over 26 miles just so you can do it again in a year or two…" Yup that was about it. It made zero sense to a teenager, or in fact to any intelligent human who was not a runner, but in my case running another marathon wasn't about a bucket list or really a qualifying time; at 48 I could run almost a 9 minute pace and still get into Boston. It was about working hard, putting yourself in a place of pain and seeing how long you could stay there. I knew after the delivery, regardless of the outcome, the effort would have been worthwhile. Distance running was, after all, a long conversation with myself and it didn't really matter if every one else thought I had caught the last train to Crazy Town.
The list of things that could go wrong was epic. My last attempt had resulted in a DNF due to weather - 90f in Boston when you have trained in 30f in Philly all winter is not something that creates optimal conditions. One glove had dropped off that year it was 14 f in Philly and I had run like a deranged Michael Jackson, switching the glove every mile to keep both hands from frost bite. A bad cold, or stomach upset just before the race can negate weeks of training. Even in the best race I had ever run it had not been perfect, over lacing of the shoes had resulted in a couple of minutes lost as I spent time relacing at mile 15 when my now swollen feet started to complain loudly.
Isolation during taper is probably not a good thing, I could feel a taper tantrum brewing. After an evening and two hours of morning being alone in the house with loud music and very little clothing I started making plans for company, lunch and dinner. Of course I could only meet with those who no longer had the bad cold that was going round, and where I could eat my 90% white unprocessed carb meals, no shellfish etc. At dinner at the local Italian I was trying to explain to my friends Pete and Renee why it was I had changed my life so much in this last week of taper, going to bed at 8 pm to rehearse getting up at 3 or 4 am, changing my diet, barely drinking alcohol, staying away from sick folks, trying not to run with students at practice, giving the briefest demonstrations of lunges or core work at practice.
It seemed to me that the final stages of preparing for a marathon was very much like preparing for birth. Of course there is the general feeling of bloat as you make sure you are fully hydrated and don't eat anything remotely good for you - stodging up on white pasta, rice and bread and eschewing all the high fibre beans, fruits and vegetables that have been your staple all training cycle. Then there was the heightened emotional sense, this exaggerated focus on every little ache or pain in your body. Pete asked if I was going to enjoy taking in all of the scenery and atmosphere of CIM to which I nearly choked on my pizza. His reasoning was it was my 6th marathon, I was a pro, of course I could relax and just run. What he couldn't appreciate was that I was still trying to PR at the vintage age of 48 which meant relaxing and taking in scenery was not part of the plan sadly. I tried to convey that like child birth you knew the marathon would be rewarding, you are excited for it to happen, but at the same time you knew it was fraught with lots of small risks and that at some stage it was surely going to hurt. In fact if it didn't hurt, you weren't doing it right.
At breakfast the week before with Laurence and Dean, Dean had politely inquired about the race: "So, are you going to win it?", "er, no", I replied "the first female will likely finish about an hour before I do". A puzzled look crossed his seventeen year old face. "So, are you going to try and win your age group then?" Dean asked encouragingly, Laurence joined in noddingy approvingly. "Er no, in this race even if I run a 3:25 I will likely get 20th, its a pretty fast race and people travel a long way to come and run it". It did sound sort of lame at this point, so I tried to help him out "But I am hoping to qualify to run Boston again in 2016". In a deliberate and 'shall we try this again' tone, Dean asked "So let me get this straight, your going to run over 26 miles just so you can do it again in a year or two…" Yup that was about it. It made zero sense to a teenager, or in fact to any intelligent human who was not a runner, but in my case running another marathon wasn't about a bucket list or really a qualifying time; at 48 I could run almost a 9 minute pace and still get into Boston. It was about working hard, putting yourself in a place of pain and seeing how long you could stay there. I knew after the delivery, regardless of the outcome, the effort would have been worthwhile. Distance running was, after all, a long conversation with myself and it didn't really matter if every one else thought I had caught the last train to Crazy Town.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Chasing that darn Unicorn from the North, the South and soon the West….
Runners often drone on to all who will listen about their PR's (personal records) and love to recite entire monogues about the how, the when, the where, and the training that resulted in these occasions - they cherish them like their children, and clutch them dear to their hearts. Conversely there are those races that engender a PW (personal worst), the equivalent of a 'problem child'. My problem child was no doubt the Boston Broilerthon of 2012 when I eventually dropped out at mile 18 and with 50 other runners limped into the van of shame at Boston College, leaving poor Cheri, or Q-Less as we like to call her, to labor on solo in 90f weather. We had thought we should have taken the deferral offered by the race directors for the following year. As we now know in 2013 the Boston Marathon was tragically bombed, with runners and spectators being maimed and killed senselessly. The emotion of seeing events unfold that year had fostered a new determintation. I wanted to head back to Boston to create a new memory of the race, more fitting to its awesomeness. Having moved to the West Coast in the summer of 2012 I truly missed my running gals and pinged the rest of the Team of Less with a heartfelt invitation to a reunion tour of Boston, suggesting we all qualify in time to celebrate 50th Birthdays for myself and Merciless. The blow felt crushing when my message was met with a resounding and disappointing silence……not even a 'no thanks!'.
Eventually I plucked up the courage and spoke to Merciless. Surprisingly she was already commited to the New York Marathon, so it was indeed possible she would qualify for Boston; but her hesitation in replying had been to avoid additional pressure, as New York was a difficult marathon to qualify for. It wasn't especially hilly, it was no Big Sur, but the inclines were all in the worst places, in other words, near the end. This was also Merciless' re-do after Superstorm Sandy had seen the race cancelled in the fall of 2012 (2012 was really not the year for the marathon majors). Nadine was in the midst of a huge house remodel and Q-Less was playing a lot of tennis and never really liked too much pressure anyway.
Sadly I resigned myself to the prospect of a solo trip to Boston, but cheered myself up by advertising for a running partner. Through a club email list I had found very agreeable fun runner who was willing to put up with my craziness. The Hungarian Iron Man also wanted to qualify in a similar finish time and needed a 3:25 to get into Boston. Whilst fitter and potentially faster than me, he had a full time job and quite rightly prioritized spending time with his younger children, but this limited how many days he could train, making us reasonably compatible pace wise. The summer saw the weeks of training begin, speed work on Tuesday, tempo on Thursday, and finally a long run with some great company on Sunday's. A couple of weeks in a delightful weekend treat in Martha's Vineyard celebrating a close friend's birthday revealed the truth behind the months of radio silence from the East Coast. Merciless, as predicted, was training hard and stood every chance of qualifying despite her modesty; however, an even greater miracle had occurred, Q-Less was joining her on some runs and was planning on running Philly two weeks later. Sadly Nonetheless had not taken the bait, but two out of three was looking good.
First to go was Merciless, who headed up to NYC solo in her usual low key manner. Merciliess as usual was all business and despite bringing up five kids, she had some how managed to eke out a great training block that was now behind her. Of course a couple of days ahead of the race, it seemed that mother nature was yet again going to wreak havoc and brought 40 mile an hour cross winds, and a cold cold day. The marathon is supposed to be hard, but extreme weather takes a difficult task and warps it even further. Putting together the splits and hearing the race report afterwards it sounded painful. The Verrazzano Bridge had got the race off to the usual terrible start with its crowded steep incline, with sideways gales blowing pee from the male runners on top of the bridge to those below, in an icy shower. After the bridge and its 11 minute pace start was over, Merciless swiftly regrouped to motor into a nifty 7:50 pace as planned. Tossed sideways through the boroughs of NYC Merciless tried to shelter in the larger masses, drifting like Emperor penguins huddled together for warmth they made their way towards Central Park. Somewhere around mile 20 the pace started to slow as the effort of being buffeted around by the wind made the effort so much harder. The tiny 90lb Merciless began to slow, the wheels were starting to come off….and as she slowed she started to rapidly lose heat. When you are that small losing heat is rapid and potentially marathon ending. I have seen Merciless enter the medical tent a couple of times and its rather frightening as she will run herself into oblivion. In her misery Merciless for the first time in her life no longer cared if she never qualified for Boston or finished the darn race and at mile 23 was walking her way grimly and resolutely towards the end. Vaguely processing the noises of the race, Merciless heard screeching and screaming from the sidelines and looked up to see her three Philly friends cheering her on. Undeterred and stubbornly oblivious to their enthusiasm she threw them a frightening and deatlhy glare; it would take much more than that to try and get her to run! The shock of seeing the usual cheery running face of Merciless balefully staring them down forced a split second decision. Robin and Nonetheless simultaneously had the inspired idea of shoving a surprised Q-Less into the crowd so she could run Merciless in to go get her BQ. Race photos tell a thousand stories and often in only one in twenty do we actually look good. Merciless' race photos reveal a pained, frozen fragile brunette moving doggedly towards the finish line. At her side the other worn down runners are over shadowed by the image of a majestic Q-Less running tall beside her, the only New York marathoner to compete wearing jeans, a woolly scarf and a big puffer coat, long hair blowing carelessly and atmospherically across her face. It didn't matter how, but they had done it - it was not the time Merciless had wanted to run but it was a commendable 3:44 in awful weather and importantly ten minutes inside the time she needed to run Boston.
The turn came for Q-Less to do the same. With just over a week to go before Philly I was texting to congratulate Merciless on making it through such a tough race, and checking in with Q-Less to make sure taper was going well and she wasn't going too crazy. Missing the excitement of New York had given me a hankering to see Q-less come in in Philly. The North Coast Section cross country races were that Saturday and coaching the team meant there was no way I could miss that race, but if I could get a flight that afternoon maybe, just maybe I could make it. To my surprise the next day I got a text from Q-Less "OK Ruth - I ran Richmond today - we are waiting for you now!"…In her commitment phobic manner Cheri had trained, but never signed up for Philly, ensuring she she had a get out clause if she got injured or couldn't face it and the darn race had filled up and closed out on her. In her own inimitable fashion, she had convinced Heide to drive her all the way down to Virginia a week ahead of schedule, and had found a flat fast race, with great weather knocking out a very impressive 3:25.
Knowing both my friends are qualifed is awesomely awful. I am thrilled this gives us the prospect of going together in 2016, but with a three week taper period now starting, going last isn't so fun! Training at 48 has meant lots of changes, much less junk miles, many more sessions with the masseuse and more rest days. There have been several small injuries along the way, some of which have resolved, some of which haven't. Now I get to spend the next three weeks scanning bogus weather reports, avoiding new and crazy classes at the gym, and analyzing every ache and pain. The Team of Less had come through and had turned my email around. Q-less's last text is ringing in my ears "- we are just waiting for you now!!'
Eventually I plucked up the courage and spoke to Merciless. Surprisingly she was already commited to the New York Marathon, so it was indeed possible she would qualify for Boston; but her hesitation in replying had been to avoid additional pressure, as New York was a difficult marathon to qualify for. It wasn't especially hilly, it was no Big Sur, but the inclines were all in the worst places, in other words, near the end. This was also Merciless' re-do after Superstorm Sandy had seen the race cancelled in the fall of 2012 (2012 was really not the year for the marathon majors). Nadine was in the midst of a huge house remodel and Q-Less was playing a lot of tennis and never really liked too much pressure anyway.
Sadly I resigned myself to the prospect of a solo trip to Boston, but cheered myself up by advertising for a running partner. Through a club email list I had found very agreeable fun runner who was willing to put up with my craziness. The Hungarian Iron Man also wanted to qualify in a similar finish time and needed a 3:25 to get into Boston. Whilst fitter and potentially faster than me, he had a full time job and quite rightly prioritized spending time with his younger children, but this limited how many days he could train, making us reasonably compatible pace wise. The summer saw the weeks of training begin, speed work on Tuesday, tempo on Thursday, and finally a long run with some great company on Sunday's. A couple of weeks in a delightful weekend treat in Martha's Vineyard celebrating a close friend's birthday revealed the truth behind the months of radio silence from the East Coast. Merciless, as predicted, was training hard and stood every chance of qualifying despite her modesty; however, an even greater miracle had occurred, Q-Less was joining her on some runs and was planning on running Philly two weeks later. Sadly Nonetheless had not taken the bait, but two out of three was looking good.
First to go was Merciless, who headed up to NYC solo in her usual low key manner. Merciliess as usual was all business and despite bringing up five kids, she had some how managed to eke out a great training block that was now behind her. Of course a couple of days ahead of the race, it seemed that mother nature was yet again going to wreak havoc and brought 40 mile an hour cross winds, and a cold cold day. The marathon is supposed to be hard, but extreme weather takes a difficult task and warps it even further. Putting together the splits and hearing the race report afterwards it sounded painful. The Verrazzano Bridge had got the race off to the usual terrible start with its crowded steep incline, with sideways gales blowing pee from the male runners on top of the bridge to those below, in an icy shower. After the bridge and its 11 minute pace start was over, Merciless swiftly regrouped to motor into a nifty 7:50 pace as planned. Tossed sideways through the boroughs of NYC Merciless tried to shelter in the larger masses, drifting like Emperor penguins huddled together for warmth they made their way towards Central Park. Somewhere around mile 20 the pace started to slow as the effort of being buffeted around by the wind made the effort so much harder. The tiny 90lb Merciless began to slow, the wheels were starting to come off….and as she slowed she started to rapidly lose heat. When you are that small losing heat is rapid and potentially marathon ending. I have seen Merciless enter the medical tent a couple of times and its rather frightening as she will run herself into oblivion. In her misery Merciless for the first time in her life no longer cared if she never qualified for Boston or finished the darn race and at mile 23 was walking her way grimly and resolutely towards the end. Vaguely processing the noises of the race, Merciless heard screeching and screaming from the sidelines and looked up to see her three Philly friends cheering her on. Undeterred and stubbornly oblivious to their enthusiasm she threw them a frightening and deatlhy glare; it would take much more than that to try and get her to run! The shock of seeing the usual cheery running face of Merciless balefully staring them down forced a split second decision. Robin and Nonetheless simultaneously had the inspired idea of shoving a surprised Q-Less into the crowd so she could run Merciless in to go get her BQ. Race photos tell a thousand stories and often in only one in twenty do we actually look good. Merciless' race photos reveal a pained, frozen fragile brunette moving doggedly towards the finish line. At her side the other worn down runners are over shadowed by the image of a majestic Q-Less running tall beside her, the only New York marathoner to compete wearing jeans, a woolly scarf and a big puffer coat, long hair blowing carelessly and atmospherically across her face. It didn't matter how, but they had done it - it was not the time Merciless had wanted to run but it was a commendable 3:44 in awful weather and importantly ten minutes inside the time she needed to run Boston.
The turn came for Q-Less to do the same. With just over a week to go before Philly I was texting to congratulate Merciless on making it through such a tough race, and checking in with Q-Less to make sure taper was going well and she wasn't going too crazy. Missing the excitement of New York had given me a hankering to see Q-less come in in Philly. The North Coast Section cross country races were that Saturday and coaching the team meant there was no way I could miss that race, but if I could get a flight that afternoon maybe, just maybe I could make it. To my surprise the next day I got a text from Q-Less "OK Ruth - I ran Richmond today - we are waiting for you now!"…In her commitment phobic manner Cheri had trained, but never signed up for Philly, ensuring she she had a get out clause if she got injured or couldn't face it and the darn race had filled up and closed out on her. In her own inimitable fashion, she had convinced Heide to drive her all the way down to Virginia a week ahead of schedule, and had found a flat fast race, with great weather knocking out a very impressive 3:25.
Knowing both my friends are qualifed is awesomely awful. I am thrilled this gives us the prospect of going together in 2016, but with a three week taper period now starting, going last isn't so fun! Training at 48 has meant lots of changes, much less junk miles, many more sessions with the masseuse and more rest days. There have been several small injuries along the way, some of which have resolved, some of which haven't. Now I get to spend the next three weeks scanning bogus weather reports, avoiding new and crazy classes at the gym, and analyzing every ache and pain. The Team of Less had come through and had turned my email around. Q-less's last text is ringing in my ears "- we are just waiting for you now!!'
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