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.
Monday, March 28, 2016
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!!'
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)