Friday evening, I was supposed to attend a chamber music concert in Ann Arbor, one of the concerts in my University Musical Society subscription series. I left my house a few minutes after I ideally should have, which, combined with my decision to stop by my bank's ATM, triggered a butterfly effect of events which ended with me, 30 minutes later, back at home and sitting on my sofa.
What happened was this: I left the house, got some cash, then attempted to enter the highway at the nearby interchange. Too late, I saw that he ramps were blocked by a congregation of emergency and law enforcement vehicles. I saw a couple of cars that were badly damaged, one facing the wrong way on the on-ramp. Clearly something major had occurred, and not long before, since a police car pulled up to the accident scene as I drove by. My intended route was not an option, so I elected to travel south until I reached a certain east-west road, then travel it eastward until I found the northbound road which would take me to the next highway interchange.
Well.
I rarely get lost, because I rely on my sense of cardinal direction and the "map in my head"...but Friday evening I found myself driving around for fifteen minutes on pitch-black barely-plowed roads I had never heard of with only a vague knowledge of their layout, until I finally reached the one I had been looking for, the one that would take me north to the highway, and I saw the glimmer of lights through the trees, but as I closed in on my goal I looked at the clock and knew I was horribly behind schedule. I should have been off the highway in Ann Arbor and heading for the parking garage, and I was still bumbling around on country roads three miles from my house. Irritated, frustrated, and defeated, I yelled, "SCREW THIS!" When I finally reached the main road, I drove back to my house, put on my pajamas, made myself a drink and called the Engineer. Then I watched the DVD of the fourth season of "Oz" which had arrived that afternoon from Netflix.
Saturday morning, 6:30: I attempted to roll over in bed and instead of executing this motion smoothly and without incident as I had for the previous 1,000 times I rolled over in bed, I failed to move my head at the precise moment required and a horrible wet crunching ripping sound (I described it to the Engineer as "like crushing a wad of celery") reverberated through my neck and skull. A searing bolt of pain flashed through my neck and I screamed. I laid there, panting, and my first thought was, "Did I just break my neck? Is that even possible?" I wiggled my toes and fingers. OK, so, no damage to vertebrae, all extremities appeared to function normally. I tried to move.
AAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH...
That didn't work so well. I could feel heat spreading up my neck and over my shoulder and I knew I had to take some ibuprofen and get an ice bag on it ASAP. I held my head with one hand and gingerly rolled over, swinging my feet to the floor, stabbing pain accompanying me the whole way. I took the pills and got the ice bag and laid back down, groaning. I dozed for a while, woke up, briefly contemplated trying to do my run, shifted the wrong way, yelled in pain, ditched the running idea, dozed off again, and finally got up around 10:30 with no idea what I was going to do all day.
What I did Saturday was what I did all day Sunday: sat around in comfortable clothes with various combinations of cats on my lap or next to me, watching copious amounts of TV and aimlessly munching through all the snacks in my house. There was also beer, since my emergency WHITE DEATH! 2011 supply was not gone yet. Oh yes, and the constant, comforting presence of either the ice bag or my hot corn bag on my neck. I powered through the entire first and half of the second seasons of "Flight of the Conchords," watched three movies, read all my backlogged New Yorkers, and tried to move my head as little as possible. When the beer supply dwindled on Sunday to one bottle of Founders Breakfast Stout, I switched to hot Irish whiskies. A weekend trapped indoors is a little more bearable with a (hearty) shot of Jameson, hot water, a lemon slice, whole cloves, and sugar. Especially when you have, like, five of them.
I was going to run the Super 5K in Novi Sunday morning, but after a restless and uncomfortable night spent shifting endlessly trying to find the elusive configuration of arm, shoulder, and neck that would allow me to fall asleep without too much pain, I decided it wasn't meant to be. I still had to support my head with a free hand if I wanted to get out of bed; how on earth was I going to drive 80 miles to and from the race, much less go running?
Phooey.
I'm feeling good enough that I will most likely go running tomorrow as planned (3 miles). Saturday and Sunday were the first runs I've missed on my current training schedule, and the inactivity is grating on me. That and the massive amounts of carbohydrates I consumed over the weekend have left me feeling sloppy and sluggish. Enough is enough.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Attention Residents...
To those of you who have promptly and thoroughly cleared your sidewalks: You rock. I love you. On behalf of walkers and runners everywhere, I thank you.
To everyone else: Go to icy hell, and have your shoes be filled with five pounds of snow!
To everyone else: Go to icy hell, and have your shoes be filled with five pounds of snow!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
White Death!
Not quite death...more like a really bad cold, perhaps?
The Blizzard of 2011 has come and gone, depositing significantly less than the much-hyped amount of "UP TO FIFTEEN INCHES AAAIIIEEEZOMG!!!11!!!" but enough to cause my workplace to shut down because of the weather for the first time since 1978 (and only the second time since I've worked there; the other time was the Mega Blackout of 2003). When I called the special hotline number for work this morning and heard the words "The Ann Arbor location is closed," I was thrilled. A snow day! For adults! I haven't had a snow day since I was in high school!
I lounged around in my pajamas, had oatmeal and coffee, watched a movie, shoveled snow, ate mac & cheese, drank some beer, moved more snow around with my neighbor's snow blower, took a shower, and relaxed. I was supposed to do a 30-minute tempo run today but I decided several hours of snow removal would serve as a substitute. Shoveling by hand certainly raised my heart rate, and pushing a 100-lb snow blower around wasn't easy either. I got my cardio and my weightlifting at the same time!
Alas, the rare treat of a grown-up snow day has come to an end and it's back to work as usual tomorrow. At least I know I'll be able to exit my driveway.
The Blizzard of 2011 has come and gone, depositing significantly less than the much-hyped amount of "UP TO FIFTEEN INCHES AAAIIIEEEZOMG!!!11!!!" but enough to cause my workplace to shut down because of the weather for the first time since 1978 (and only the second time since I've worked there; the other time was the Mega Blackout of 2003). When I called the special hotline number for work this morning and heard the words "The Ann Arbor location is closed," I was thrilled. A snow day! For adults! I haven't had a snow day since I was in high school!
I lounged around in my pajamas, had oatmeal and coffee, watched a movie, shoveled snow, ate mac & cheese, drank some beer, moved more snow around with my neighbor's snow blower, took a shower, and relaxed. I was supposed to do a 30-minute tempo run today but I decided several hours of snow removal would serve as a substitute. Shoveling by hand certainly raised my heart rate, and pushing a 100-lb snow blower around wasn't easy either. I got my cardio and my weightlifting at the same time!
Alas, the rare treat of a grown-up snow day has come to an end and it's back to work as usual tomorrow. At least I know I'll be able to exit my driveway.
Tuesday afternoon in the cemetery. I decided to squeeze in a short run before all hell broke loose.
Everything one needs to ride out a storm.
Wednesday morning: It's SNOWPOCALYPSE 2011!
Boo and Darwin couldn't care less.
The driveway area pre-clearing. My little snowblower wasn't up to the task, so I borrowed a neighbor's ultra-burly machine. Even so, clearing it took almost 2 hours. Ugh.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Before the Storm
As I write this I am snuggled up in my down comforter in bed. An angry wind is whipping snow against my window and into great billows down the street. It's Snowpocalypse 2011!
It has been snowing for about five hours now, lightly at first, but with increasing vigor in the past 2 hours. My desultory clearing of my back porch has been obliterated. I'm letting my driveway and sidewalk go until tomorrow.
Before Snowmageddon descended, however, I went out for a quick post-work run. I knew tomorrow's conditions would most likely preclude venturing out in car or on foot. It was a pleasant 22 degrees with just a hint of wind when I departed around 4:45. I alternated between road and sidewalk depending on the degree of snow clearance. I paused in my favorite spot, the cemetery, to take a couple of pictures. On my way home I made a final stop at the market for hunker-down supplies: chips, salsa, hummus...and beer.
The outlook for being able to bust out of my driveway tomorrow is poor. I anticipate not going to work. If I'm feeling adventurous I might bundle up and go for a walk around town. It could be fun to be the only person out and about.
Stay warm, folks!
It has been snowing for about five hours now, lightly at first, but with increasing vigor in the past 2 hours. My desultory clearing of my back porch has been obliterated. I'm letting my driveway and sidewalk go until tomorrow.
Before Snowmageddon descended, however, I went out for a quick post-work run. I knew tomorrow's conditions would most likely preclude venturing out in car or on foot. It was a pleasant 22 degrees with just a hint of wind when I departed around 4:45. I alternated between road and sidewalk depending on the degree of snow clearance. I paused in my favorite spot, the cemetery, to take a couple of pictures. On my way home I made a final stop at the market for hunker-down supplies: chips, salsa, hummus...and beer.
The outlook for being able to bust out of my driveway tomorrow is poor. I anticipate not going to work. If I'm feeling adventurous I might bundle up and go for a walk around town. It could be fun to be the only person out and about.
Stay warm, folks!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Return of the Spreadsheet
Alternate title: It Came From Excel...TO RULE THE WORLD. Or at least my running for the next 16 weeks.
I have known for a long time that I do my best running when I adhere to a schedule. There is something comforting about having each day's activity planned ahead of time, for weeks on end, culminating in a goal race. There is no guesswork. I do what I'm told and it works surprisingly well (Cleveland, New York).
When I do not use a schedule, the results are...debatable. I winged it for Boston last year, and while I finished the race in 4:11 without major difficulties (other than the predictable late-marathon "why the fuck am I doing this to myself again" thoughts), I still feel like I was undertrained. I attempted to train for Grand Rapids using a schedule, which fell by the wayside after I hurt myself in August, and I never really picked it back up. We all know how that turned out when I ran/death marched Thunder Road in December.
Even though I am not planning on doing a marathon this year (unless I succumb to temptation on February 1), I decided I needed to slide back into the embrace of a rigid training schedule. The goal: the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15. The training plan: Hal Higdon's Intermediate Half Marathon, which I used 3 years ago when I wanted to run my first sub-2:00 half (which I did). It's a modest schedule compared to others I have put myself through. Having a 12-mile run as my longest run feels sinfully luxurious, almost epically lazy. However, it is exactly what I want-- nay, what I need-- right now. Low mileage, but running multiple days in a row. Strength training. Weekend runs that are primarily less than ten miles, meaning I won't lose half a day getting ready to run, running for two to three hours, and then recovering from running (i.e. sacking out for a nap, waking up at 5:00 and thinking, "oops...").
Thus, I sat down last night and put together one of my dearly beloved but long-neglected training spreadsheets. Oh, how I have missed those tidy black-lined boxes, each little square my taskmaster for the day, ordering me to get off my lazy butt, get out of bed, and GET OUT THERE.
Behold, THE SPREADSHEET (or part of it, anyway):
I have known for a long time that I do my best running when I adhere to a schedule. There is something comforting about having each day's activity planned ahead of time, for weeks on end, culminating in a goal race. There is no guesswork. I do what I'm told and it works surprisingly well (Cleveland, New York).
When I do not use a schedule, the results are...debatable. I winged it for Boston last year, and while I finished the race in 4:11 without major difficulties (other than the predictable late-marathon "why the fuck am I doing this to myself again" thoughts), I still feel like I was undertrained. I attempted to train for Grand Rapids using a schedule, which fell by the wayside after I hurt myself in August, and I never really picked it back up. We all know how that turned out when I ran/death marched Thunder Road in December.
Even though I am not planning on doing a marathon this year (unless I succumb to temptation on February 1), I decided I needed to slide back into the embrace of a rigid training schedule. The goal: the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15. The training plan: Hal Higdon's Intermediate Half Marathon, which I used 3 years ago when I wanted to run my first sub-2:00 half (which I did). It's a modest schedule compared to others I have put myself through. Having a 12-mile run as my longest run feels sinfully luxurious, almost epically lazy. However, it is exactly what I want-- nay, what I need-- right now. Low mileage, but running multiple days in a row. Strength training. Weekend runs that are primarily less than ten miles, meaning I won't lose half a day getting ready to run, running for two to three hours, and then recovering from running (i.e. sacking out for a nap, waking up at 5:00 and thinking, "oops...").
Thus, I sat down last night and put together one of my dearly beloved but long-neglected training spreadsheets. Oh, how I have missed those tidy black-lined boxes, each little square my taskmaster for the day, ordering me to get off my lazy butt, get out of bed, and GET OUT THERE.
Behold, THE SPREADSHEET (or part of it, anyway):
Yes, master! I shall obey your every command!
What did my schedule tell me I had to do today? Run 3 miles, and because The Almighty Schedule said I was to run 3 miles, I set my alarm for 5:50, got up, and did it. No grumbling, no pushing my wakeup time back to 7:00 and skipping it, no rationalizations about weather, lingering aches and pains, being too tired, having cats on me whom I did not want to disturb, any of the array of excuses I have deployed over the past far-too-many-months to avoid running. That shit is so over.
Not only do I believe that getting back on a schedule will improve my running and allow me to cruise through the half with ease (it is awful of me to think, "It's only a half marathon"), I hope it will reverse the creeping weight gain which has been plaguing me. I was perusing old pictures last night, circa first season of marathon training, and my god, people, I was so freaking skinny...I got angrier and angrier with myself for letting that awesomeness slip away. I suppose one could call it Last Straw Moment II, the first and most epic Last Straw Moment being my shock and horror at seeing the pictures of me from Hawaii in 2006 that kick started this whole thing. Cinderella (the hair metal band, not the fairy tale character) sagely said, "Don't know what you've got til it's gone," and that I did not, my friends.
Even before I found myself in a grumpy funk from looking at pictures of my vanished hotness, I went to the store and bought ingredients to make several of the menu items from my Athlete's Plate last week. I was eyeing my heap of groceries on the checkout belt and thought, "This is the food of a health nut. That, or someone with a boring diet." Flaxseed, whole wheat flour, Grape Nuts, bananas, apples, pears, onions, almonds, raisins, black beans, brown rice, chick peas...(and no beer, for once). Well, I am a health nut, or at least I am until I take delivery of this year's haul of Girl Scout cookies. And I don't think I have a boring diet. Yes, I need a shakeup in the breakfast realm (how does four straight years of plain yogurt with fresh blueberries and ground flax meal sound?), which is why my project tonight is homemade granola.
So. Three miles this morning. A quick check of my iPhone weather app (and, yes, I did so while lying in bed....I'm not renouncing all of my laziness at once) revealed that the current temperature was a near-heat-wave-worthy 23 degrees, an enormous improvement over the previous week of industrial-strength meat locker style weather. A meat locker in the Yukon Territory, at that. On the edge of the Arctic Sea. Not today! I was sweating before I finished my first mile. The road edges were free of snow, a rare treat at this time of year. The sidewalks, not as much...when I was forced to use them, it was hard going and I felt even slower and clumsier than ever. Nonetheless, I finished the run (3.18 miles) and, while hanging up my damp clothes, I realized I already felt better and more energetic than I have in far too long.
Running...it's a wonderful thing.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Thursday Thoughts: Let's Eat!
Some of you may be aware that in addition to my running blog I have a food blog, Una Buona Forchetta. After a flurry of posting when I started it in 2008, my updates became few and far between. I posted to my food blog twice in 2010; the last post was in April.
I have no excuse for neglecting to post more frequently, however, because I have received a boot to the rear, or, as my advisor from grad school would have put it, I've had "a fire lit under my ass," in the form of two externally-based motivators.
One is the Spice Rack Challenge, a monthly food challenge for 2011 organized by my friend and fellow Michigan Lady Food Blogger MK. I posted my response to this month's challenge ingredient, rosemary, earlier this week. My first food blog post in 9 months! Joining the Spice Rack Challenge will guarantee I have at least 12 posts to my food blog this year.
The second is my being featured on The Athlete's Plate today. I was nominated for this week's feature by the Redhead, who had her own menu last week. I now have six meals (both full and snack) created for me by Jason, who mined my blog for inspiration and ideas. It is not a surprise, then, to find I have "kitty litter" granola and pizza (and beer!) as two of my menu items. I will be making and posting recipes from my Athlete's Plate to my food blog, starting with the granola, because I have long suspected homemade granola will be better than anything store-bought, and my breakfast routine has suffered from same-thing-every-day disease. Thank you, Redhead and Jason, for the delicious honor!
In other news:
It's cold here. How cold? Well, how does a high temperature of 14*F tomorrow sound? Bleah. This is "scurry from office to car and car into house" weather for me.
Last Sunday I attended a recital performance in Ann Arbor by soprano Renée Fleming. I indulged in a single extravagantly-priced ticket which landed me seven rows from the stage and smack in the center. I could not have been more perfectly placed for optimum aural and visual satisfaction. The woman may be almost 52 years old and has been hammering on her voice for over 30 years, but she sounded fabulous. I soaked up every shattering high note and tender pianissimo like a dry sponge, choked up a little during one of the encores, and drove home while listening to (and singing along with) her Mozart arias CD. Ach ich liebte, wär so glücklich!
I have no excuse for neglecting to post more frequently, however, because I have received a boot to the rear, or, as my advisor from grad school would have put it, I've had "a fire lit under my ass," in the form of two externally-based motivators.
One is the Spice Rack Challenge, a monthly food challenge for 2011 organized by my friend and fellow Michigan Lady Food Blogger MK. I posted my response to this month's challenge ingredient, rosemary, earlier this week. My first food blog post in 9 months! Joining the Spice Rack Challenge will guarantee I have at least 12 posts to my food blog this year.
The second is my being featured on The Athlete's Plate today. I was nominated for this week's feature by the Redhead, who had her own menu last week. I now have six meals (both full and snack) created for me by Jason, who mined my blog for inspiration and ideas. It is not a surprise, then, to find I have "kitty litter" granola and pizza (and beer!) as two of my menu items. I will be making and posting recipes from my Athlete's Plate to my food blog, starting with the granola, because I have long suspected homemade granola will be better than anything store-bought, and my breakfast routine has suffered from same-thing-every-day disease. Thank you, Redhead and Jason, for the delicious honor!
In other news:
It's cold here. How cold? Well, how does a high temperature of 14*F tomorrow sound? Bleah. This is "scurry from office to car and car into house" weather for me.
Last Sunday I attended a recital performance in Ann Arbor by soprano Renée Fleming. I indulged in a single extravagantly-priced ticket which landed me seven rows from the stage and smack in the center. I could not have been more perfectly placed for optimum aural and visual satisfaction. The woman may be almost 52 years old and has been hammering on her voice for over 30 years, but she sounded fabulous. I soaked up every shattering high note and tender pianissimo like a dry sponge, choked up a little during one of the encores, and drove home while listening to (and singing along with) her Mozart arias CD. Ach ich liebte, wär so glücklich!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Thursday Thoughts: You Know You're A (insert name of cold region here) Runner When...
You know you're a Michigan runner when 15 degrees and four inches of snow don't bother you.
This morning I actually got up and went for a run before work, which has not happened since before the Thunder Road debacle. It was about 15 degrees outside, so I dressed appropriately (thick Sugoi tights, Jacket of Wonder, gloves, earband). I knew I was going short and slow. Longer miles (and hopefully my erstwhile speed) will come in time. My goal for the rest of the month is to ease back into the routine of getting up to run multiple times during the week.
I have to admit, it was pleasant. Lovely, even. The cold temperature was bothersome for only a brief time; the new snow skritch skritch skritch-ed under my shoes. There was no one else around. A few lazy snowflakes spun down in the yellow glow of the streetlights.
I was forced to prematurely abort my run 0.04 short of 2 miles because I had to make a frantic dash for the bathroom at home. I was trying so hard not to let something unpleasant happen my toes were clenched into little toe-fists inside my shoes.
Speaking of shoes, I have pushed my current pair to the brink of 700 miles. They have endured two marathons with me, a distinguished career, and I believe it is time for them to retire with full honors. This means I will have to shoe-shop for the first time in ages, since I have been cruising with an unbroken string of Brooks Adrenaline 9s for over two years (I am on my fourth pair of the 9s). My last pair of 9s I ordered online almost a year ago. I highly doubt there are any unused pairs of a two-year-old model drifting around. This means I must...change shoes. I could take the easy way out and just make the leap to the current model of the Adrenaline, since my feet get along so well with them. Or at least they do until I wear them well past their retirement age, in which case unfortunate things occur such as nasty blisters which lead to bacterial infections and the falling off of toenails. Yes, while the paronychia has cleared up, my poor beleaguered little toenail, battered and insulted, went into its death throes a couple of weeks ago. I helped it commit assisted suicide.
My family is coming to visit for the weekend, which means running with Dad, a trip to IKEA, a fancy dinner, and the enjoyment of my favorite malty beverage. I was with the Engineer down in Indiana on Monday, and took the opportunity to pick up some brews from Three Floyds Brewing for my dad and I to sample.
Now it is time for me to pick up the lovely Redhead for lunch...stay warm out there, folks! (unless you're from somewhere in the South and claim anything under 40 degrees is "too cold." And you think I'm "nuts" for enjoying running in cold weather.)
This morning I actually got up and went for a run before work, which has not happened since before the Thunder Road debacle. It was about 15 degrees outside, so I dressed appropriately (thick Sugoi tights, Jacket of Wonder, gloves, earband). I knew I was going short and slow. Longer miles (and hopefully my erstwhile speed) will come in time. My goal for the rest of the month is to ease back into the routine of getting up to run multiple times during the week.
I have to admit, it was pleasant. Lovely, even. The cold temperature was bothersome for only a brief time; the new snow skritch skritch skritch-ed under my shoes. There was no one else around. A few lazy snowflakes spun down in the yellow glow of the streetlights.
I was forced to prematurely abort my run 0.04 short of 2 miles because I had to make a frantic dash for the bathroom at home. I was trying so hard not to let something unpleasant happen my toes were clenched into little toe-fists inside my shoes.
Speaking of shoes, I have pushed my current pair to the brink of 700 miles. They have endured two marathons with me, a distinguished career, and I believe it is time for them to retire with full honors. This means I will have to shoe-shop for the first time in ages, since I have been cruising with an unbroken string of Brooks Adrenaline 9s for over two years (I am on my fourth pair of the 9s). My last pair of 9s I ordered online almost a year ago. I highly doubt there are any unused pairs of a two-year-old model drifting around. This means I must...change shoes. I could take the easy way out and just make the leap to the current model of the Adrenaline, since my feet get along so well with them. Or at least they do until I wear them well past their retirement age, in which case unfortunate things occur such as nasty blisters which lead to bacterial infections and the falling off of toenails. Yes, while the paronychia has cleared up, my poor beleaguered little toenail, battered and insulted, went into its death throes a couple of weeks ago. I helped it commit assisted suicide.
My family is coming to visit for the weekend, which means running with Dad, a trip to IKEA, a fancy dinner, and the enjoyment of my favorite malty beverage. I was with the Engineer down in Indiana on Monday, and took the opportunity to pick up some brews from Three Floyds Brewing for my dad and I to sample.
Now it is time for me to pick up the lovely Redhead for lunch...stay warm out there, folks! (unless you're from somewhere in the South and claim anything under 40 degrees is "too cold." And you think I'm "nuts" for enjoying running in cold weather.)
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Year that Wasn't...Sort Of
This is how I felt at the beginning of 2010:
So full of hope and promise, ready to take off into the bright blue yonder! Wheeee!
By the end of December, this was me:
Out of air, out of gas, out of...ugh.
I ran two marathons, two half marathons, my cumulative mileage was 1,031 and yet I feel like I didn't accomplish anything. I didn't improve my performance at any distance, I gained weight, and my cavalier attitude toward training came back and bit me hard during Thunder Road in December. I limped and coughed my way into the holidays dispirited, demotivated, and bacterially infected. After three years of improvement and lofty goals realized, I suppose I was overdue for an "off" year. No one improves indefinitely.
As far as running goes, I did only one thing in 2010 that truly mattered:
I ran Boston. I RAN BOSTON. I. RAN. BOSTON!
Even if I never set another PR or run another marathon, I will always be a Boston Marathon finisher.
2010 is over. 2011 is here. Clean slate, fresh start. Now what?
I will be in Cleveland in May to see my dad and the Redhead run the marathon. The Redhead is aiming for a BQ, and y'all know how I feel about Cleveland and BQs because that's where I achieved my dream of BQing in 2009. This year, however, I will run the half marathon again. I registered on Friday, and now I have a goal. As much as I have been enjoying the past four weeks of directionless living, I need something to work toward. I'm hitting the reset button on running and starting over. I'm going back to a low-key training plan, my spreadsheet tacked to the wall in the closet, up and running when I'm supposed to. No more slacking off.
The best non-running-related highlight of the year was my vacation with my mom to Cape Cod in July. Seven days of reading, drinking, running, and sunning. If only life could be like this all the time.
One of those moments where I wouldn't have changed a single thing. Perfection. (Except maybe to have some fried clams at hand.)
Enough moaning about what's over and done with. It's time to look ahead. Twenty-eleven, here I come!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
All You Really Need To Know About Me
Fact: I was in bed at 10:30 last night.
Conclusion: I am an old fart who prefers the comfort and safety of home over staying out too late and getting too drunk to drive home.
Fact: I received this from the Engineer for my birthday (it was December 28) and I am now utterly obsessed with it.
Conclusion: I am a HUGE bird nerd.
(My favorite call so far is that of the Common Eider. Oooooh!)
Happy 2011 everyone!
Aside: what will your moniker of choice be for the new year? Will you say "two thousand eleven" or "twenty eleven"? I'm going with "twenty eleven," myself. If we say "two thousand eleven" we will sound too French, á la "deux mille et onze," and we don't want to sound FRENCH, mon Dieu!
Conclusion: I am an old fart who prefers the comfort and safety of home over staying out too late and getting too drunk to drive home.
Fact: I received this from the Engineer for my birthday (it was December 28) and I am now utterly obsessed with it.
Conclusion: I am a HUGE bird nerd.
(My favorite call so far is that of the Common Eider. Oooooh!)
Happy 2011 everyone!
Aside: what will your moniker of choice be for the new year? Will you say "two thousand eleven" or "twenty eleven"? I'm going with "twenty eleven," myself. If we say "two thousand eleven" we will sound too French, á la "deux mille et onze," and we don't want to sound FRENCH, mon Dieu!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Name Recognition
You know you're a runner when:
You see the name "Bill Rodgers" listed as a dissertation committee member and you think, "Hey! How cool that he has the same name as the running legend!"
In other news, I have paronychia. That is what has been plaguing my wee little piggy toe since Thunder Road. My brother took about two seconds to diagnose me when I thrust my bare foot at him on Christmas. A visit to the doctor earlier this week confirmed it. I am taking antibiotics and have inserted a foam wedge between my little toe and the one next to it (is it considered one's "ring toe"?) to allow it to have room to breathe, so to speak. I escaped the lance because I took a needle to it myself about two weeks ago, which opened it enough to allow fluid drainage, but it wasn't healing because it was pressed against its neighbor. Hence the wedge.
When I got up this morning and made my trip to the bathroom, I realized as I was sitting on the throne that I had walked down the hall without limping and without holding my right foot in the awkward, curled-toes-side-of-foot configuration I was forced to adopt in order to keep my little piggy toe from touching the ground. Holy shit, it's actually getting better! I can see the light at the end of the bacteria-infected tunnel.
Last week I went for my first run since the marathon: the third annual Christmas Day 5K. It's not a race, it's just me running in my parents' neighborhood. My toe hurt like hell but I managed the 3.1 miles in just over 31 minutes. Other than that, I have been wallowing in sloth and gluttony and have no plans to cease either until the new year has started.
Have a Happy New Year, everyone!
You see the name "Bill Rodgers" listed as a dissertation committee member and you think, "Hey! How cool that he has the same name as the running legend!"
In other news, I have paronychia. That is what has been plaguing my wee little piggy toe since Thunder Road. My brother took about two seconds to diagnose me when I thrust my bare foot at him on Christmas. A visit to the doctor earlier this week confirmed it. I am taking antibiotics and have inserted a foam wedge between my little toe and the one next to it (is it considered one's "ring toe"?) to allow it to have room to breathe, so to speak. I escaped the lance because I took a needle to it myself about two weeks ago, which opened it enough to allow fluid drainage, but it wasn't healing because it was pressed against its neighbor. Hence the wedge.
When I got up this morning and made my trip to the bathroom, I realized as I was sitting on the throne that I had walked down the hall without limping and without holding my right foot in the awkward, curled-toes-side-of-foot configuration I was forced to adopt in order to keep my little piggy toe from touching the ground. Holy shit, it's actually getting better! I can see the light at the end of the bacteria-infected tunnel.
Last week I went for my first run since the marathon: the third annual Christmas Day 5K. It's not a race, it's just me running in my parents' neighborhood. My toe hurt like hell but I managed the 3.1 miles in just over 31 minutes. Other than that, I have been wallowing in sloth and gluttony and have no plans to cease either until the new year has started.
Have a Happy New Year, everyone!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Charlotte Nightlife
I said I wouldn't find anything to write about before the weekend. Apparently, I lied.
During my first night in Charlotte, I woke up abruptly because of a loud noise. Banging. Hammering. What the hell...? groggy thoughts as I pulled myself into consciousness. A thumping sound in the hallway. I tiptoed to the door and put my eye to the peephole. Some guy was slumped against the door of the room adjacent to mine (for reference, my room was at the end of a short hallway, and the entrance to the room next door was at 90 degrees to mine, so I could see everything). I watched, fascinated, as he swayed and bumped against the wall and doorframe. A limp hand pawed at the handle. Muffled incoherent mumbling. He pushed back and stood upright...or quasi-upright. I realized he was totally drunk and probably had no idea where he was. Another futile jiggle of the door to his room...then he turned and tried my door handle. My face was inches from his, but I wasn't frightened; in fact, I was having trouble suppressing laughter. He turned away and began stumbling down the hall, caroming off the walls. I heard a distinct "FUCK!" as he turned the corner and disappeared...only to reappear about five seconds later, whereupon he threw himself at his door, pounded on it a couple of times (did he expect it to open magically?), leaned against the frame, and then retraced his crooked steps down the hall, bouncing off the walls as he went. I waited at the peephole to see if he would come back, and when nothing happened I went back to bed. About five minutes later I heard noise in the hall: the tinny beeping of the electronic lock disengaging, then the chunk-crash of the door opening and closing. Drunk Guy had returned with a new keycard and was safe. All was well.
It's after noon and I am in my pajamas. Darwin is propped up on my arm on the computer desk, purring madly. I have some Christmas shopping to do, and we're still under a boil water advisory. Yesterday I saw "Black Swan," talk about a twisted (but awesome) movie. Later today I get to see two old friends and tomorrow I am heading to Ohio. Now, if only I could do something about this damn snow everywhere...
Off to shower. I'll try not to get any pathogen-infested water in my mouth.
During my first night in Charlotte, I woke up abruptly because of a loud noise. Banging. Hammering. What the hell...? groggy thoughts as I pulled myself into consciousness. A thumping sound in the hallway. I tiptoed to the door and put my eye to the peephole. Some guy was slumped against the door of the room adjacent to mine (for reference, my room was at the end of a short hallway, and the entrance to the room next door was at 90 degrees to mine, so I could see everything). I watched, fascinated, as he swayed and bumped against the wall and doorframe. A limp hand pawed at the handle. Muffled incoherent mumbling. He pushed back and stood upright...or quasi-upright. I realized he was totally drunk and probably had no idea where he was. Another futile jiggle of the door to his room...then he turned and tried my door handle. My face was inches from his, but I wasn't frightened; in fact, I was having trouble suppressing laughter. He turned away and began stumbling down the hall, caroming off the walls. I heard a distinct "FUCK!" as he turned the corner and disappeared...only to reappear about five seconds later, whereupon he threw himself at his door, pounded on it a couple of times (did he expect it to open magically?), leaned against the frame, and then retraced his crooked steps down the hall, bouncing off the walls as he went. I waited at the peephole to see if he would come back, and when nothing happened I went back to bed. About five minutes later I heard noise in the hall: the tinny beeping of the electronic lock disengaging, then the chunk-crash of the door opening and closing. Drunk Guy had returned with a new keycard and was safe. All was well.
It's after noon and I am in my pajamas. Darwin is propped up on my arm on the computer desk, purring madly. I have some Christmas shopping to do, and we're still under a boil water advisory. Yesterday I saw "Black Swan," talk about a twisted (but awesome) movie. Later today I get to see two old friends and tomorrow I am heading to Ohio. Now, if only I could do something about this damn snow everywhere...
Off to shower. I'll try not to get any pathogen-infested water in my mouth.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
I Want to See Other Races
Look, marathon, it's not you, it's me. I've just...well, maybe it is you. We've been together for a little over two years, and we had some really awesome times together (remember New York '09?) but lately I've been feeling like you don't really appreciate me. You haven't been very nice to me lately. I think...I want to take a break and see other distances. I'm sorry. I haven't been giving you the attention you deserve and that's not good for either of us. I'm not ruling out getting back together in the future, but right now I need some space to think about things and figure out what I really want from a relationship with you.
There's a hot little half marathon I want to date for a while, and some 10Ks hovering on the sidelines as well. Yeah, there are a lot of races competing for my attention, but you'll always have a special place in my heart, marathon.
----------------------------------------------------------------
So, yeah. I'm breaking up with the marathon for an indeterminate amount of time. I've completed five of them, and I've come to the realization that running that far...
...basically sucks. Even when I'm in peak physical condition (Cleveland '09) it still sucks. Since I'm not a fan of purposely inflicting pain on myself, I've decided not to do it again for a good long while. Yes, I want to run Chicago, and I'd like to run NYC again, and I dream about completing all of the "big five" marathons (I need Chicago, London, and Berlin, having already done Boston and NYC), but I believe 2011 is going to be a marathon-free year.
I'm going to concentrate on:
1. Losing weight
2. Getting a little bit of my speed back
3. Running and racing for fun with friends and family
I know I will be back in Cleveland for the half marathon in May, but that's the only race I am positive I will be doing. Other possibilities include the Martian Half (April) and a half marathon in Ft. Wayne in September. There is also the usual slew of local 5Ks and 10Ks that I have been doing every year (Shamrocks & Shenanigans, Dexter-Ann Arbor Run). I will have plenty to do, and the prospect of spending the year free of a rigid training schedule is enough to make me feel giddy. The thought of not having to get up early on a Saturday to run 14 or 16 miles in frigid weather...? DO YOU KNOW HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME?
------------------------------------------------------------------
My toe.
It is fucked up. I didn't say much else about it in my race report, but after peeling off my sock and peering at the digit, I realized something very bad had occurred. It's been 10 days since the race and it's not any better. I believe the nail is ingrown, it's infected, and still oozing a clear substance. It's extremely painful and makes walking difficult. I messed with it a little bit (poked it with a needle, peeled off some skin) which probably didn't help. I need medical assistance, but I will have to wait until next week after I return from Ohio.
Stupid toe.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Alarming things you do not want to have happen in the middle of the night: being woken up by a loud, strange noise coming from one's toilet. It sounded like my toilet was about to erupt. I was too scared to lift the tank lid to see what was happening so I just turned off the water valve. It wasn't until I got up for work at 7:00 that I learned Chelsea had experienced a major water main break around 1:00 am, which sent a half million gallons of water into the woods on the east side of town. The break was repaired, but my pipes are full of air (hence the bubbling toilet and spitting faucets). We're under a boil water advisory for at least the rest of today. I have to go home and run my faucets to get rid of the rest of the air and restore the water pressure. What a hassle.
In other news: today is my last day of work for six days! I won't be back in Cube World until Tuesday the 28th!
I probably won't find anything to write about before Christmas, so have a great holiday weekend, everyone!
There's a hot little half marathon I want to date for a while, and some 10Ks hovering on the sidelines as well. Yeah, there are a lot of races competing for my attention, but you'll always have a special place in my heart, marathon.
----------------------------------------------------------------
So, yeah. I'm breaking up with the marathon for an indeterminate amount of time. I've completed five of them, and I've come to the realization that running that far...
...basically sucks. Even when I'm in peak physical condition (Cleveland '09) it still sucks. Since I'm not a fan of purposely inflicting pain on myself, I've decided not to do it again for a good long while. Yes, I want to run Chicago, and I'd like to run NYC again, and I dream about completing all of the "big five" marathons (I need Chicago, London, and Berlin, having already done Boston and NYC), but I believe 2011 is going to be a marathon-free year.
I'm going to concentrate on:
1. Losing weight
2. Getting a little bit of my speed back
3. Running and racing for fun with friends and family
I know I will be back in Cleveland for the half marathon in May, but that's the only race I am positive I will be doing. Other possibilities include the Martian Half (April) and a half marathon in Ft. Wayne in September. There is also the usual slew of local 5Ks and 10Ks that I have been doing every year (Shamrocks & Shenanigans, Dexter-Ann Arbor Run). I will have plenty to do, and the prospect of spending the year free of a rigid training schedule is enough to make me feel giddy. The thought of not having to get up early on a Saturday to run 14 or 16 miles in frigid weather...? DO YOU KNOW HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME?
------------------------------------------------------------------
My toe.
It is fucked up. I didn't say much else about it in my race report, but after peeling off my sock and peering at the digit, I realized something very bad had occurred. It's been 10 days since the race and it's not any better. I believe the nail is ingrown, it's infected, and still oozing a clear substance. It's extremely painful and makes walking difficult. I messed with it a little bit (poked it with a needle, peeled off some skin) which probably didn't help. I need medical assistance, but I will have to wait until next week after I return from Ohio.
Stupid toe.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Alarming things you do not want to have happen in the middle of the night: being woken up by a loud, strange noise coming from one's toilet. It sounded like my toilet was about to erupt. I was too scared to lift the tank lid to see what was happening so I just turned off the water valve. It wasn't until I got up for work at 7:00 that I learned Chelsea had experienced a major water main break around 1:00 am, which sent a half million gallons of water into the woods on the east side of town. The break was repaired, but my pipes are full of air (hence the bubbling toilet and spitting faucets). We're under a boil water advisory for at least the rest of today. I have to go home and run my faucets to get rid of the rest of the air and restore the water pressure. What a hassle.
In other news: today is my last day of work for six days! I won't be back in Cube World until Tuesday the 28th!
I probably won't find anything to write about before Christmas, so have a great holiday weekend, everyone!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thunder Road Marathon: The South Rose Again
I knew I was in trouble when I saw the T-shirt that said "Flat is for sissies."
It was Friday morning in Charlotte, North Carolina, and I was at the race expo picking up my packet and some goodies (more cute hair bands). I had arrived in the city the day before, taken a taxi from the airport, and settled into my sweet 14th floor hotel room in the heart of "uptown" Charlotte. From my window I could see the Time Warner Arena, where the Charlotte Bobcats play. If I pressed my face against the glass I could just barely see the NASCAR Hall of Fame. I had a king-size bed and FIVE pillows (I love pillows). All this for only $89 a night!? Yes. Note to interested parties: if you ever want to visit Charlotte, I highly recommend the Hilton Center City. It rocks.
I was due to have dinner with one of my oldest friends, Ellen, Thursday night, so to pass the time until she was done with work I ventured down to the hotel bar and sampled some local microbrews from Red Oak (Greensboro) and Old Mecklenburg (Charlotte). At the restaurant with Ellen a few hours later I ate cornbread and grits and had a beer from Asheville's Highland Brewing (Black Mocha Stout, oh yum). I was in the South, after all, an area of the country I had limited experience with, and I wanted to absorb as much local flavor as I could.
Friday after the expo I lazed around my room waiting for Carolina John to show up. After two-plus years of being blogger buddies, we were finally going to meet each other! He arrived, and after some discussion, it was decided we would head to South Carolina for barbeque. I said that I had never been to South Carolina, one of only six states on my "states I have NOT been to" list, and, considering SC is extremely close to Charlotte, it was an irresistable temptation. Off we went in the car, a trip during which I learned about kudzu, the world's largest fireworks store (according to CJ, that's because Southerners like to "blow shit up"), the word "you'uns," (I believe it's a variation of "y'all"), and the giant butt in the sky (actually a water tower painted like a peach). We ended up in Gaffney, where I made my prerace dinner out of South Carolina chopped BBQ, hush puppies, baked beans, and a First Snow pale ale from RJ Rockers (Spartanburg, SC). Of this momentous meeting of run-bloggers, I sadly did not get a single picture of us together. Major fail.
Thus it was that I moved South Carolina onto my "states I have visited" list. I'm coming for you next, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Washington, and Alaska!
Back at the hotel, I decided it was time to wind down and go to bed. I didn't have to get up ridiculously early, because my hotel was a short walk away from the starting area, and the race didn't start until 7:45. What a welcome change-- not having to get up at 4:30 am the morning of a marathon! I readied my gear, set the alarm for 6:30, and settled in with my five pillows. I can't say I had a particularly restful slumber. It took me a long time to fall asleep, and I repeatedly woke during the night. I awakened at 6:29 and savored a final minute of rest before abruptly sitting up and saying to no one in particular, "Well, let's get this over with."
I got a banana and a cup of coffee from the quick breakfast offerings at the hotel restaurant, strapped on my various accessories, and headed to the starting area. I left the hotel perhaps a wee bit too late, because I was still frantically untangling my iPod headphones as the crowd began shuffling toward the starting line after the gun. I managed to get the 'phones settled and iPod going before I had to start running (but just barely).
I felt good, but I knew it wouldn't last. I was in for a world of pain, it was just a question of when it would arrive. Within a quarter-mile I was running down the street directly in front of my hotel. I thought, "I could just step out and go back in the hotel and forget this whole thing...I could in bed, all warm and relaxed, in less than five minutes."
I seriously considered this option for two seconds. Then I thought, "No, I came here to do this. I have a job to do today, so let's get it done."
The first half of the course was the nicest, and not just because I still felt fresh. We passed through some lovely residential neighborhoods of big houses, big lawns, and big trees where a lot of people were watching the race still dressed in their pajamas, holding cups emitting lazy curls of steam in the cold morning air. Groups of kids wrapped in blankets huddled on front lawns. I smelled barbeque more than once. I rolled with the hills, taking it super slow and easy. I was in no hurry at all.
Miles 1-13: 9:40, 10:10, 9:43, 9:43, 9:57, 9:34, 9:52, 9:56, 9:47, 9:50, 9:57, 10:17, 12:35 (first bathroom break). Time at the half: 2:12:57.
If I could hold my pace, I would finish close to 4:30, a time far off my best but about what I was expecting.
When the half marathoners peeled off and headed to their finish, I felt a brief, intense wave of jealously and longing wash over me. I would have done anything to be almost done, but I had half the race yet to run, and I was starting to feel the effects of my lack of training.
I didn't know it, but I would not run another sub-10:00 mile again. My pace started sliding...10:03, 10:12, 10:22...
It was during mile 17 that the shit really hit the fan. My feet were killing me and my quads weren't happy, either. Faced with yet another hill, I walked. I hadn't walked in a race since the May 2007 Blossom Time five-miler in Chagrin Falls, Ohio. I had always taken a certain amount of pride in my ability to power through any amount of pain and exhaustion in order to keep moving, never stopping. However, this time, I was done. I was toast. I walked. This pattern would repeat itself many times over the remaining 9 miles of the race: slow, painful jog, walk up a hill...slow, painful jog, walk up a hill. The knowledge that I had what felt like an insurmountable number of miles yet to cover made me want to cry. My legs were on fire, my feet were screaming in pain, and there was something funky going on with the pinky toe on my right foot (more on that later).
I barely remember anything about the second half of the race. I sank into a fog of pain and barely looked up from the pavement in front of me. I can't remember anything I saw. It's all an indistinct blur of buildings and streets. I know I took another bathroom break, and my Garmin split for mile 19 (16:40) reflects this. Somewhere along the way I passed a group of people with a table set up in their yard; they were handing out shots of beer. Of course I stopped and had one! I'm a hasher through and through, I never turn down small amounts of cheap beer, even in the midst of agony. A few miles later I came across another, larger, more boisterous bunch of folks partying in their yard. Some guy was standing there with a red plastic cup and I immediately pulled over and said, "I'll take that!" He said, "Are you sure, it's beer." He said most people stopped thinking it was water and, once they learned it was beer, continued on without drinking it. I replied, "Fuck yeah, I don't care," and slammed it. Once again, I'm a hasher, I never turn down beer on trail. At that point I was looking for anything to take my mind off the disaster that was my race.
With maybe three miles left, I decided I wanted to put an end to the agony as quickly as possible. It hurt more to walk and resume running again, so I was going to run the rest of the race NO MATTER HOW SHITTY I FELT. I have never wanted something to end as badly as that race, and the more time I spent running, the sooner it would be OVER.
I was crawling through the pain cave, totally immersed in my own suffering. My quads were at terror alert level red and every footfall felt like I was stepping on knives. I cursed all those missed long runs, cursed my flippant attitude toward training over the previous few months, cursed the extra 25 pounds hanging on me that made my knees and ankles ache. I was in as black and foul a mood as I have ever been in my life.
But I was slowly, painfully, closing in on the finish. I was getting it done, the job I had come to Charlotte to do.
Mile 25. One mile to go. One fucking mile. And then: something happened to my toe. It felt like it had been squeezed and popped like an overripe tomato. If I thought it felt weird and uncomfortable before, this was something else entirely. I immediately stopped and started walking (and my feet and legs sent up a fresh chorus of agonized wails), limping badly. Some guy next to me asked if I was all right and I said, "Something really weird just happened to my toe, I think a blister popped or something!" He asked me if I wanted some water and I declined; that was the only thing that had gone right in this race: I was well-hydrated. No, I said, "I just want this to be over! We're so close to being done!"
I ground my teeth and forced myself to start moving again. Oh, my god, the pain in my foot was incredible, unreal. I felt wetness and I knew I was either squishing blood or some other body fluid around in my shoe. I was so tired by now I was bending forward...perhaps gravity would assist me in my controlled fall toward the end.
The final turn of the course was at mile 26, leaving me with a straight shot of less than a quarter-mile to the finish. I saw the banner in the distance and I kept my eyes glued to it while I jog-limped as fast as I could toward it. The pain cave was brightening; I was rising up out of the dark. I was almost...done...almost...
And then I was. Done. Oh sweet baby Jesus, I crossed the finish, I stopped, it was over. OVER.
I have never been so glad in my ENTIRE LIFE to be done with something as I was to be done with that race. That includes: taking the GRE, writing both my undergraduate and graduate theses, driving 750 miles in one day, remodeling my dining room, all four of my previous marathons combined, and shoveling my driveway for two hours in a blizzard. I may even go so far as to say the relief I felt exceeded the selfsame feelings I had when I woke up in recovery after my hysterectomy, knowing my long nightmare was finally over.
I got my medal, Mylar blanket, a banana, and a bottle of water. I clutched the wrap around me and slowly limped back to the hotel. Thank god it was less than a quarter-mile away. I got to my room, let the door wheeze shut behind me, let the blanket drift to the floor, set the water and banana on the desk, and bookended my comment to myself from six and a half hours earlier with:
"That was the most horrible fucking thing I have ever done."
You know what, though? I did it. I finished. I worked harder and suffered more for that finisher's medal than in any previous race. I shed blood for this marathon, as I discovered when I peeled off my socks.
Final stats: 4:54:34 (11:15/M), 66/88 F35-39, 1087/1295 OA
I'm doomed
I was due to have dinner with one of my oldest friends, Ellen, Thursday night, so to pass the time until she was done with work I ventured down to the hotel bar and sampled some local microbrews from Red Oak (Greensboro) and Old Mecklenburg (Charlotte). At the restaurant with Ellen a few hours later I ate cornbread and grits and had a beer from Asheville's Highland Brewing (Black Mocha Stout, oh yum). I was in the South, after all, an area of the country I had limited experience with, and I wanted to absorb as much local flavor as I could.
Friday after the expo I lazed around my room waiting for Carolina John to show up. After two-plus years of being blogger buddies, we were finally going to meet each other! He arrived, and after some discussion, it was decided we would head to South Carolina for barbeque. I said that I had never been to South Carolina, one of only six states on my "states I have NOT been to" list, and, considering SC is extremely close to Charlotte, it was an irresistable temptation. Off we went in the car, a trip during which I learned about kudzu, the world's largest fireworks store (according to CJ, that's because Southerners like to "blow shit up"), the word "you'uns," (I believe it's a variation of "y'all"), and the giant butt in the sky (actually a water tower painted like a peach). We ended up in Gaffney, where I made my prerace dinner out of South Carolina chopped BBQ, hush puppies, baked beans, and a First Snow pale ale from RJ Rockers (Spartanburg, SC). Of this momentous meeting of run-bloggers, I sadly did not get a single picture of us together. Major fail.
Thus it was that I moved South Carolina onto my "states I have visited" list. I'm coming for you next, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Washington, and Alaska!
Back at the hotel, I decided it was time to wind down and go to bed. I didn't have to get up ridiculously early, because my hotel was a short walk away from the starting area, and the race didn't start until 7:45. What a welcome change-- not having to get up at 4:30 am the morning of a marathon! I readied my gear, set the alarm for 6:30, and settled in with my five pillows. I can't say I had a particularly restful slumber. It took me a long time to fall asleep, and I repeatedly woke during the night. I awakened at 6:29 and savored a final minute of rest before abruptly sitting up and saying to no one in particular, "Well, let's get this over with."
I got a banana and a cup of coffee from the quick breakfast offerings at the hotel restaurant, strapped on my various accessories, and headed to the starting area. I left the hotel perhaps a wee bit too late, because I was still frantically untangling my iPod headphones as the crowd began shuffling toward the starting line after the gun. I managed to get the 'phones settled and iPod going before I had to start running (but just barely).
I felt good, but I knew it wouldn't last. I was in for a world of pain, it was just a question of when it would arrive. Within a quarter-mile I was running down the street directly in front of my hotel. I thought, "I could just step out and go back in the hotel and forget this whole thing...I could in bed, all warm and relaxed, in less than five minutes."
I seriously considered this option for two seconds. Then I thought, "No, I came here to do this. I have a job to do today, so let's get it done."
Charlotte skyline. Yes, I stepped off to the side to take this picture.
The first half of the course was the nicest, and not just because I still felt fresh. We passed through some lovely residential neighborhoods of big houses, big lawns, and big trees where a lot of people were watching the race still dressed in their pajamas, holding cups emitting lazy curls of steam in the cold morning air. Groups of kids wrapped in blankets huddled on front lawns. I smelled barbeque more than once. I rolled with the hills, taking it super slow and easy. I was in no hurry at all.
I told you: big trees.
In the early miles, when life was still good
Miles 1-13: 9:40, 10:10, 9:43, 9:43, 9:57, 9:34, 9:52, 9:56, 9:47, 9:50, 9:57, 10:17, 12:35 (first bathroom break). Time at the half: 2:12:57.
If I could hold my pace, I would finish close to 4:30, a time far off my best but about what I was expecting.
When the half marathoners peeled off and headed to their finish, I felt a brief, intense wave of jealously and longing wash over me. I would have done anything to be almost done, but I had half the race yet to run, and I was starting to feel the effects of my lack of training.
I didn't know it, but I would not run another sub-10:00 mile again. My pace started sliding...10:03, 10:12, 10:22...
It was during mile 17 that the shit really hit the fan. My feet were killing me and my quads weren't happy, either. Faced with yet another hill, I walked. I hadn't walked in a race since the May 2007 Blossom Time five-miler in Chagrin Falls, Ohio. I had always taken a certain amount of pride in my ability to power through any amount of pain and exhaustion in order to keep moving, never stopping. However, this time, I was done. I was toast. I walked. This pattern would repeat itself many times over the remaining 9 miles of the race: slow, painful jog, walk up a hill...slow, painful jog, walk up a hill. The knowledge that I had what felt like an insurmountable number of miles yet to cover made me want to cry. My legs were on fire, my feet were screaming in pain, and there was something funky going on with the pinky toe on my right foot (more on that later).
I barely remember anything about the second half of the race. I sank into a fog of pain and barely looked up from the pavement in front of me. I can't remember anything I saw. It's all an indistinct blur of buildings and streets. I know I took another bathroom break, and my Garmin split for mile 19 (16:40) reflects this. Somewhere along the way I passed a group of people with a table set up in their yard; they were handing out shots of beer. Of course I stopped and had one! I'm a hasher through and through, I never turn down small amounts of cheap beer, even in the midst of agony. A few miles later I came across another, larger, more boisterous bunch of folks partying in their yard. Some guy was standing there with a red plastic cup and I immediately pulled over and said, "I'll take that!" He said, "Are you sure, it's beer." He said most people stopped thinking it was water and, once they learned it was beer, continued on without drinking it. I replied, "Fuck yeah, I don't care," and slammed it. Once again, I'm a hasher, I never turn down beer on trail. At that point I was looking for anything to take my mind off the disaster that was my race.
With maybe three miles left, I decided I wanted to put an end to the agony as quickly as possible. It hurt more to walk and resume running again, so I was going to run the rest of the race NO MATTER HOW SHITTY I FELT. I have never wanted something to end as badly as that race, and the more time I spent running, the sooner it would be OVER.
I was crawling through the pain cave, totally immersed in my own suffering. My quads were at terror alert level red and every footfall felt like I was stepping on knives. I cursed all those missed long runs, cursed my flippant attitude toward training over the previous few months, cursed the extra 25 pounds hanging on me that made my knees and ankles ache. I was in as black and foul a mood as I have ever been in my life.
Not feeling the love
But I was slowly, painfully, closing in on the finish. I was getting it done, the job I had come to Charlotte to do.
Mile 25. One mile to go. One fucking mile. And then: something happened to my toe. It felt like it had been squeezed and popped like an overripe tomato. If I thought it felt weird and uncomfortable before, this was something else entirely. I immediately stopped and started walking (and my feet and legs sent up a fresh chorus of agonized wails), limping badly. Some guy next to me asked if I was all right and I said, "Something really weird just happened to my toe, I think a blister popped or something!" He asked me if I wanted some water and I declined; that was the only thing that had gone right in this race: I was well-hydrated. No, I said, "I just want this to be over! We're so close to being done!"
I ground my teeth and forced myself to start moving again. Oh, my god, the pain in my foot was incredible, unreal. I felt wetness and I knew I was either squishing blood or some other body fluid around in my shoe. I was so tired by now I was bending forward...perhaps gravity would assist me in my controlled fall toward the end.
And then I was. Done. Oh sweet baby Jesus, I crossed the finish, I stopped, it was over. OVER.
DONE, I'M DONE, DONE DONE DONE DONE!!!!
I have never been so glad in my ENTIRE LIFE to be done with something as I was to be done with that race. That includes: taking the GRE, writing both my undergraduate and graduate theses, driving 750 miles in one day, remodeling my dining room, all four of my previous marathons combined, and shoveling my driveway for two hours in a blizzard. I may even go so far as to say the relief I felt exceeded the selfsame feelings I had when I woke up in recovery after my hysterectomy, knowing my long nightmare was finally over.
I have a really weird look on my face, but the photographer surprised me. That, or I was too tired to smile properly.
I got my medal, Mylar blanket, a banana, and a bottle of water. I clutched the wrap around me and slowly limped back to the hotel. Thank god it was less than a quarter-mile away. I got to my room, let the door wheeze shut behind me, let the blanket drift to the floor, set the water and banana on the desk, and bookended my comment to myself from six and a half hours earlier with:
"That was the most horrible fucking thing I have ever done."
You know what, though? I did it. I finished. I worked harder and suffered more for that finisher's medal than in any previous race. I shed blood for this marathon, as I discovered when I peeled off my socks.
Debris of disaster
Completely exhausted, but strangely triumphant: I DID IT.
After cleaning up (holy god that hot shower felt good), I put on my awesome black compression socks ($5.00 at Meijer), some fresh clothes, and slooooowly limped my way up the street for...
Duh.
I also ordered the most outrageous burger on the menu, the ULTIMATE BACON CHEDDAR, with "twice the bacon, three times the cheese." I was leaning toward the black bean burger (it's HEALTHY!) and then I thought, "FUCK THAT. I just ran a goddamn MARATHON, I burned at LEAST 3,000 calories, I'm going to get the GIANT PILE of BEEF, BACON, and CHEESE. I EARNED it!"
So I did. And it was fucking delicious. (So was the beer.)
A few hours later Ellen picked me up again and took me to her and her husband's place for dinner, where I consumed more beer and ate homemade shepherd's pie. I also made the acquaintance of their wonderful cat, Mr. G:
I was cat-deprived so I gave this handsome boy a TON of love. He had the most majestic whiskers and was super friendly.
I felt myself spiraling toward oblivion around 8:30 and I knew I didn't have much longer before I crashed. I hadn't taken a nap after the race and I was seriously circling the drain. I had Ellen take me back to the hotel where I immediately changed into my pajamas and then...WHAM. I collapsed into bed with my five pillows and finally allowed my aching, exhausted body to rest.
The next day I was in the Charlotte airport nervously awaiting departure. I knew a bad snowstorm was at that moment blanketing a large portion of the Midwest; I had seen the flight status boards covered with "DELAYED" and "CANCELLED" and I didn't want my flight to be among them. We boarded on time, left on time, and landed in Detroit ahead of schedule. However, this is what greeted me upon returning to my home state:
Welcome to Michigan!
Driving the forty miles home-- the final leg in my four-day odyssey-- was about as bad as you might expect given the above picture. When I arrived at my home sweet home, I did as little as possible (hang up coat, turn up furnace, retrieve mail, drop suitcase on floor) before crawling into bed and pulling the comforter up to my nose.
Except for going to work, that's where I stayed for the next five days. The irritating sore throat which had been bothering me before the marathon took advantage of my weakened physical state and dove in for the kill. It quickly erupted into a full-blown chest cold. Monday and Tuesday were...I really have no words. Gruesome. Horrible. Miserable. I could barely walk; what I was doing was more like hobbling. My throat burned and my nose ran like a leaky faucet. My voice was a harsh croak. I came home from work and went straight to bed, totally spent from being awake for nine hours. I could do nothing more than lie there and read while ingesting cough medicine, Nyquil, and various pills. I turned my light off between 8:30 and 9:00 every night. I had no appetite and I lost eight pounds in less than a week. I hung on by the skin of my teeth until Friday when I finally took a day off from work. I was absolutely wasted. The marathon and being truly sick for the first time in years smashed me flat.
Well, there was one bright spot, which was Tuesday afternoon. I met one of my hashing buddies at an Ann Arbor beer bar for their Stouts & Porters Celebration. I had three amazing rich, dark beers. After parting ways I was walking through Nickels Arcade and passed a barber shop. I jerked to a halt, pivoted on my heel, went inside, and fifteen minutes later I emerged with my first real haircut in two years. I say "real" because the last "haircut" I had was the one I gave to myself a year ago with my utility scissors while standing in my bathtub. I had the barber eliminate a couple inches of raggedy frazzled crap and give some shape to the rest, which as allowed my curls to come out and play:
The best part: it only cost $16 ($20 with tip).I am a firm believer in cheap haircuts.
Today, my legs feel okay and the cold has receded, though it has left a sizable amount of flotsam in the form of goopy snot in my lungs and sinuses which I am perpetually hacking up. I still have very little desire to eat and not much energy. That's fine, however, since...
I DON'T HAVE TO GET UP AND GO RUNNING!
That's the best feeling of all.
Final stats: 4:54:34 (11:15/M), 66/88 F35-39, 1087/1295 OA
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Ouch
You know you ran a marathon recently when you have to use a handicapped stall every time you go to the bathroom. Those safety bars are the only thing standing between me and an embarrassing toilet-related incident.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Twelve Hour Shift
Yesterday morning my alarm went off at 5:55. Instead of bounding out of bed to run 3 miles, I reset it for an hour later. The cost of this extra hour snuggled in bed with the kitties was that I would have to run after work. Remember how I mentioned Punishment Runs last week? This was one of them.
I had to take one of the kitties to the vet first, and when I finished around 5:30 it was becoming dark and cold. I allowed myself a small mental whine of "I don't wanna go running now...it's too dark!" before thinking, "Hey, stupid, you run in the morning when it's even darker and colder, so shut up, put the clothes on, and get out there. Jeez, it's only three miles, quit being such a baby."
So I did. I left the house at 6:15 PM instead of 6:15 AM. Same amount of light, same temperature, wholly different atmosphere. The traffic was heavier; it was the tail end of rush hour. There were more people walking dogs. The cemetery seemed less creepy. The ambient noise level was higher. I didn't feel as if I were the only person on earth as I often do in the early morning.
While I enjoyed being lazy and getting out of bed at the last possible moment, I prefer running in the morning. I like completing my run before I go to work, meaning I can proceed directly to comfortable clothes and the sofa when I get home in the afternoon. I enjoy the calm and quiet of the predawn streets. And yes, there is a selfish element of "I'm hardcore!" when I get up at 5:45 and run five or six miles, especially now that the temperatures when I leave the house are in the low 20s and it's snowing.
That said...once again, this morning, I didn't get up until 7:00, which means I will be doing another Punishment Run after work. Is this a trend? Will the trend become a habit...and then the normal routine?
------------
Things you do not wish to experience before running a marathon:
Waking up with a scratchy throat and sniffles.
Since I began running, my immune system has become more robust and I rarely get sick. I know from experience that a sore throat, which used to be a harbinger of doom, will rarely morph into a full-blown cold. I hope that with my ample daily water intake (3 liters) and nightly sleep (7-8 hours) this thing will not progress past the minor annoyance stage.This race is going to be difficult enough without throwing a viral infection on top of it.
Tonight I must begin packing for my trip. The forecast for Saturday in Charlotte has race morning temperatures in the low forties, which is perfect. I'll pack clothing for any possible weather event and then I'll probably just end up wearing my trusty running skirt and Chelsea Market short-sleeved shirt.
Returning to Detroit could get ugly. Another major storm is predicted to blow through the Great Lakes region Saturday. I hope it leaves Michigan behind by Sunday afternoon. Nevertheless, I will have plenty of reading material on hand in case I end up trapped in airport hell.
Only three days left until the race!
I had to take one of the kitties to the vet first, and when I finished around 5:30 it was becoming dark and cold. I allowed myself a small mental whine of "I don't wanna go running now...it's too dark!" before thinking, "Hey, stupid, you run in the morning when it's even darker and colder, so shut up, put the clothes on, and get out there. Jeez, it's only three miles, quit being such a baby."
So I did. I left the house at 6:15 PM instead of 6:15 AM. Same amount of light, same temperature, wholly different atmosphere. The traffic was heavier; it was the tail end of rush hour. There were more people walking dogs. The cemetery seemed less creepy. The ambient noise level was higher. I didn't feel as if I were the only person on earth as I often do in the early morning.
While I enjoyed being lazy and getting out of bed at the last possible moment, I prefer running in the morning. I like completing my run before I go to work, meaning I can proceed directly to comfortable clothes and the sofa when I get home in the afternoon. I enjoy the calm and quiet of the predawn streets. And yes, there is a selfish element of "I'm hardcore!" when I get up at 5:45 and run five or six miles, especially now that the temperatures when I leave the house are in the low 20s and it's snowing.
That said...once again, this morning, I didn't get up until 7:00, which means I will be doing another Punishment Run after work. Is this a trend? Will the trend become a habit...and then the normal routine?
------------
Things you do not wish to experience before running a marathon:
Waking up with a scratchy throat and sniffles.
Since I began running, my immune system has become more robust and I rarely get sick. I know from experience that a sore throat, which used to be a harbinger of doom, will rarely morph into a full-blown cold. I hope that with my ample daily water intake (3 liters) and nightly sleep (7-8 hours) this thing will not progress past the minor annoyance stage.This race is going to be difficult enough without throwing a viral infection on top of it.
Tonight I must begin packing for my trip. The forecast for Saturday in Charlotte has race morning temperatures in the low forties, which is perfect. I'll pack clothing for any possible weather event and then I'll probably just end up wearing my trusty running skirt and Chelsea Market short-sleeved shirt.
Returning to Detroit could get ugly. Another major storm is predicted to blow through the Great Lakes region Saturday. I hope it leaves Michigan behind by Sunday afternoon. Nevertheless, I will have plenty of reading material on hand in case I end up trapped in airport hell.
Only three days left until the race!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Thursday Thoughts: Things are Looking Up
Wednesday morning's run was a huge improvement over Tuesday's, meaning I managed to stay upright and did not trip and fall on my face!
My knuckle is a mess. When I fell on top of it, a piece of my flesh was gouged out. There is a divot in the back of my hand. Next to it is a pasty, wrinkly thing I think is a flap of skin, yet I don't really feel like peeling it off. Next to that is an abrasion that perpetually weeps clear fluid. Yummy! My chin is starting to darken. I see the epic bruise approaching.
When I left the house this morning, there were snowflakes lazily drifting through the glow of the streetlight. It looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been freshly agitated. I ran five miles through the falling snow, feeling it dampen my face. I swung through the subdivision on the east side of town, and when I rounded a curve that would start me on my homeward trek, a brisk and cutting west wind smacked me in the face. I had kept the wind at my side or back until then and the sudden pushback and burst of snow into my eyes was an unwelcome reminder that the real meat of winter is irrevocably approaching. In two months when the snow is deep and hard-packed and the wind slices through my warmest clothing, I will long for this kind of morning.
Punishment runs. Who else does this? Hit the snooze button one too many times, thereby missing one's opportunity for a morning run: "I will run after work as punishment." Eat one too many sushi rolls or brownies: "Well, I guess I have to run an extra mile as punishment." I do this a lot. Guilt is a powerful motivator.
Last night I armed myself with my drain snake, a bucket, and a pair of latex gloves and did battle with my ever-recalcitrant kitchen sink drain. I snaked the fuck out of that thing, I snaked it so hard I ran the entire 25-foot length of the cord into the pipe from the kitchen and did it again from the basement. And you know what...I FIXED IT. I FIXED that fucker. FIXED. I solved a problem that had been a constant annoyance for years by making a slight adjustment to something, and it's FIXED. People, you don't know how satisfying it is for me to tackle a home maintenance issue and obtain a positive outcome. I am not a handyman type. I get nervous around tools. Taking things apart-- and having to put them back together correctly-- is frightening. Therefore, to face down plumbing and have everything turn out well is a huge ego boost. Next thing you know I'll rebuild my engine. :)
My knuckle is a mess. When I fell on top of it, a piece of my flesh was gouged out. There is a divot in the back of my hand. Next to it is a pasty, wrinkly thing I think is a flap of skin, yet I don't really feel like peeling it off. Next to that is an abrasion that perpetually weeps clear fluid. Yummy! My chin is starting to darken. I see the epic bruise approaching.
When I left the house this morning, there were snowflakes lazily drifting through the glow of the streetlight. It looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been freshly agitated. I ran five miles through the falling snow, feeling it dampen my face. I swung through the subdivision on the east side of town, and when I rounded a curve that would start me on my homeward trek, a brisk and cutting west wind smacked me in the face. I had kept the wind at my side or back until then and the sudden pushback and burst of snow into my eyes was an unwelcome reminder that the real meat of winter is irrevocably approaching. In two months when the snow is deep and hard-packed and the wind slices through my warmest clothing, I will long for this kind of morning.
Punishment runs. Who else does this? Hit the snooze button one too many times, thereby missing one's opportunity for a morning run: "I will run after work as punishment." Eat one too many sushi rolls or brownies: "Well, I guess I have to run an extra mile as punishment." I do this a lot. Guilt is a powerful motivator.
Last night I armed myself with my drain snake, a bucket, and a pair of latex gloves and did battle with my ever-recalcitrant kitchen sink drain. I snaked the fuck out of that thing, I snaked it so hard I ran the entire 25-foot length of the cord into the pipe from the kitchen and did it again from the basement. And you know what...I FIXED IT. I FIXED that fucker. FIXED. I solved a problem that had been a constant annoyance for years by making a slight adjustment to something, and it's FIXED. People, you don't know how satisfying it is for me to tackle a home maintenance issue and obtain a positive outcome. I am not a handyman type. I get nervous around tools. Taking things apart-- and having to put them back together correctly-- is frightening. Therefore, to face down plumbing and have everything turn out well is a huge ego boost. Next thing you know I'll rebuild my engine. :)
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Concrete Punch
I trotted down my driveway around 6:15 intending to do my three-mile loop. At the last moment I swerved away from my usual course and decided to do three-mile loop Version B. "Something different, for once," I thought. I was motoring along the sidewalk when my left foot caught the edge of an upthrust slab of concrete. Instantly I was airborne, arms flailing. I desperately tried to get my right leg up and under me. If it hadn't rained overnight I might have succeeded, but instead my shoe failed to grip the wet pavement and I was going down. My left knee hit first, followed by my left palm which I had thrust out to catch myself. Scrape. Fail. My body turned and I fell onto my right arm, hand trapped under me and grinding on the ground. Then my chin hit, just under my jaw on the right side. Finally, the worst of all: forehead, meet concrete. My scrambling had done nothing to check my descent to the pavement. The pain as my head connected with the ground was stunning, instantaneous, overwhelming. The knob on the pain-o-meter was cranked past eleven so hard and fast it broke.
BAM!
This all happened in about two seconds, but I saw the rain-darkened surface rushing toward my face and knew it was going to be bad. I turned my head slightly, which I think saved my teeth and nose from being broken (good for me, bad for my dentist).
My head ricocheted and I barrel rolled onto someone's lawn, fetching up on my knees and forearms. I cradled my head gently, hand against the spot above my eye, cool wet grass against my face, soaking through my pants and shirt. I could do little more than croak "Oh my God" a few times and then I started panting because I felt like I was going to barf right there on that nice tidy Chelsea lawn. I had two thoughts: one, I really hope I didn't sustain a concussion. Two, I really hope the owner of this house doesn't see me and come outside. I knelt there for a while until the immediate agony subsided and then I slowly got to my feet. All motivation for my run was gone. I had to get home and assess the damage. My hand was throbbing; I looked down and saw blood. My chin was starting to tingle; I had been so consumed by the awfulness of the pain in my head I barely realized my chin was a victim as well. My left hand was stinging like crazy. Even the toes on my left foot hurt where I had stubbed them against that cockeyed slab, that slab which started it all. I looked back and saw it and I GLARED.
I walked the quarter-mile home and went right up to the bathroom to take a look.
Two things to consider:
1. I have been running around town for four years and despite Chelsea's occasionally uneven sidewalks, I have never tripped.
2. Last night I was conversing with the owner of the New Chelsea Market and expressed my preference for running in the dark predawn hours when the streets are quiet and mostly deserted. I said I had never felt anything but comfortable because of the abundant street lights. Never had any problems because I couldn't see where I was going.
I suppose I was asking for it.
It has been zero days since our last accident.
BAM!
This all happened in about two seconds, but I saw the rain-darkened surface rushing toward my face and knew it was going to be bad. I turned my head slightly, which I think saved my teeth and nose from being broken (good for me, bad for my dentist).
My head ricocheted and I barrel rolled onto someone's lawn, fetching up on my knees and forearms. I cradled my head gently, hand against the spot above my eye, cool wet grass against my face, soaking through my pants and shirt. I could do little more than croak "Oh my God" a few times and then I started panting because I felt like I was going to barf right there on that nice tidy Chelsea lawn. I had two thoughts: one, I really hope I didn't sustain a concussion. Two, I really hope the owner of this house doesn't see me and come outside. I knelt there for a while until the immediate agony subsided and then I slowly got to my feet. All motivation for my run was gone. I had to get home and assess the damage. My hand was throbbing; I looked down and saw blood. My chin was starting to tingle; I had been so consumed by the awfulness of the pain in my head I barely realized my chin was a victim as well. My left hand was stinging like crazy. Even the toes on my left foot hurt where I had stubbed them against that cockeyed slab, that slab which started it all. I looked back and saw it and I GLARED.
I walked the quarter-mile home and went right up to the bathroom to take a look.
The red dot in the center of my forehead was a totally evil pimple I conquered the night before. The little red line above my eyebrow is the culprit. Do not be fooled by its innocent appearance.
Some chin music. If you look really carefully there's a fleck of gray concrete stuck to my face right by the corner of my mouth.
I discovered a chunk of stone under my ring after I got in the shower. It must have been jammed through the open design when I landed on my hand. While I was in the shower I started feeling odd, kind of unsteady and vaguely nauseated. I decided it would be best if I finished up quickly because I didn't want to pass out in the shower. I had hit my head one time too many that morning. I went and laid down for about 10 minutes (with Bouhaki, who was all snuggled up under the covers with his head on my pillow...CUTENESS), drank a cup of water, and I was fine. Well, not totally fine, since my face felt like it had been clobbered, but I was upright and functional.
I inspected the development of the scrapes throughout the day and I am happy (?) to report that my chin is swollen and is already blooming into a nice bruise, and my hand and head have darkened up as well.
I inspected the development of the scrapes throughout the day and I am happy (?) to report that my chin is swollen and is already blooming into a nice bruise, and my hand and head have darkened up as well.
My middle knuckle took the brunt of it. My poor ring is all gouged up.
Forehead scrape. It looks like nothing but it felt like being hit with a hammer.
Thank goodness for big chins, because without mine I probably would have busted my teeth.
I suspect that in the coming days both areas will become a spectrum of colorful bruising. I will take pictures, of course.
1. I have been running around town for four years and despite Chelsea's occasionally uneven sidewalks, I have never tripped.
2. Last night I was conversing with the owner of the New Chelsea Market and expressed my preference for running in the dark predawn hours when the streets are quiet and mostly deserted. I said I had never felt anything but comfortable because of the abundant street lights. Never had any problems because I couldn't see where I was going.
I suppose I was asking for it.
It has been zero days since our last accident.
Monday, November 22, 2010
20 on 20
Last weekend I was visiting my ancestral homeland in northeast Ohio and when I'm three weeks out from a marathon and I find myself in the Cleveland area, you know what that means:
TOWPATH TRAIL TWENTY MILER!
Flat as a pancake, no traffic, and with an overabundance of scenery...what could be better?
I was up at 7:00 am Saturday the 20th (hence the title of this post) and on the way to the trail at 7:30. When I arrived shortly before 8:00, there was a scant smattering of cars in the parking lot at the Lock 39 trailhead, which all but assured I would see almost no one else on the path.
Solitude. That's how I roll.
I trotted off at an easy 9:30/mile and allowed my mind and legs to go on autopilot as I listened to my iPod. I kept an eye out for birds and was rewarded with sightings of a red-tailed hawk, a northern flicker, a downy woodpecker, cardinals, chickadees, juncos, blue jays, and mallards. The last time I ran here (March) I saw wood ducks, but no such luck this time.
I turned around ten miles in just after passing the Brandywine ski area in Sagamore Hills. I took a pit stop at mile 11, stripped off my jacket (it was now over 50 degrees) and convinced my weary legs to start moving again. I had nine more miles to cover.
A few weeks ago I trotted fifteen and a half miles and felt hardly a twinge from any body part for the duration of the run. I felt so good I even managed to pull off a couple of sub-9:00 miles at the very end. Not so this time. Everything was protesting loudly, from the balls of my feet to my little toes to my ankles to my calf muscles to my knees to my hips to my back. I forced myself to run four miles straight through to mile 15 whereupon my reward was to walk that entire mile, leaving me with only four miles to finish the run. I made another pit stop at the canal visitor's center with 1.75 miles to go (my GI issues were in rare form that day) and then gritted my teeth and plodded onward. I was so glad to see the information kiosk by the path up to the parking lot come into view. Three and a half hours after I started, it was over. It was the toughest, slowest 20-miler I have ever done, but I got it done.
In less than three weeks I will have to run that far and then 10K more. I am resigned to the fact that this race is going to hurt, and hurt a lot. This haphazard training season was not to my benefit. However, my body is holding up (mostly) and I am determined to gut this one out. I may have to downshift into a walk/run pattern, which I have never done. So be it. This will be my fifth marathon, and I have nothing to be embarrassed about.
And now, some pictures:
TOWPATH TRAIL TWENTY MILER!
Flat as a pancake, no traffic, and with an overabundance of scenery...what could be better?
I was up at 7:00 am Saturday the 20th (hence the title of this post) and on the way to the trail at 7:30. When I arrived shortly before 8:00, there was a scant smattering of cars in the parking lot at the Lock 39 trailhead, which all but assured I would see almost no one else on the path.
Solitude. That's how I roll.
I trotted off at an easy 9:30/mile and allowed my mind and legs to go on autopilot as I listened to my iPod. I kept an eye out for birds and was rewarded with sightings of a red-tailed hawk, a northern flicker, a downy woodpecker, cardinals, chickadees, juncos, blue jays, and mallards. The last time I ran here (March) I saw wood ducks, but no such luck this time.
I turned around ten miles in just after passing the Brandywine ski area in Sagamore Hills. I took a pit stop at mile 11, stripped off my jacket (it was now over 50 degrees) and convinced my weary legs to start moving again. I had nine more miles to cover.
A few weeks ago I trotted fifteen and a half miles and felt hardly a twinge from any body part for the duration of the run. I felt so good I even managed to pull off a couple of sub-9:00 miles at the very end. Not so this time. Everything was protesting loudly, from the balls of my feet to my little toes to my ankles to my calf muscles to my knees to my hips to my back. I forced myself to run four miles straight through to mile 15 whereupon my reward was to walk that entire mile, leaving me with only four miles to finish the run. I made another pit stop at the canal visitor's center with 1.75 miles to go (my GI issues were in rare form that day) and then gritted my teeth and plodded onward. I was so glad to see the information kiosk by the path up to the parking lot come into view. Three and a half hours after I started, it was over. It was the toughest, slowest 20-miler I have ever done, but I got it done.
In less than three weeks I will have to run that far and then 10K more. I am resigned to the fact that this race is going to hurt, and hurt a lot. This haphazard training season was not to my benefit. However, my body is holding up (mostly) and I am determined to gut this one out. I may have to downshift into a walk/run pattern, which I have never done. So be it. This will be my fifth marathon, and I have nothing to be embarrassed about.
And now, some pictures:
If you dismantle something historic, you had better make sure you put it back together correctly. There was a construction project taking place at one of the original canal structures, and blocks like this were stacked all over the place, each one marked with chalk.
Left Hand Brewing's Twin SIsters Double IPA. Lunch at the B Spot in Woodmere before I departed for Michigan on Sunday. I love me some IPAs.
And because there aren't enough cat pictures on the Internet:
Bouhaki helps me fold the Mount Everest of laundry.
Darwin is the perfect lap cat, right down to the question mark tail.
I will be returning to the ancestral homeland with the Engineer for Thanksgiving. A visit to Thirsty Dog Brewing has been placed at the top of my list of Things To Do.
This morning it was unusually warm (58 degrees) and the temperature crept up to 64 by the afternoon. Needless to say, for November in Michigan, it was odd. I took advantage of the balmy conditions and walked to and from my yoga class after work (2 miles round trip). Now, however, I can hear rain pattering on the window next to me and the wind blowing up the driveway. The cold front is moving through. Tomorrow's high will barely reach the low 40s.
That's the Midwest for you! Summer one day and winter the next.
Weight: holding steady at 181. No loss, but no gain, either, and that's a good thing, especially after a weekend with the family.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Baby Steps
Today's birthday suit weight: 181.4.
It's not much, but it's a start.
I visited my long-dormant Daily Plate account, which has now partnered with Livestrong.com. I installed the app on my iPhone. I've resumed tracking everything I eat. I know this is the best way to hold myself accountable for my caloric consumption.
One day at a time. One pound at a time.
It's not much, but it's a start.
I visited my long-dormant Daily Plate account, which has now partnered with Livestrong.com. I installed the app on my iPhone. I've resumed tracking everything I eat. I know this is the best way to hold myself accountable for my caloric consumption.
One day at a time. One pound at a time.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Backsliding into November
In hashing, "backsliding" is when you fail to show up to a hash for an extended period of time. In my hash one can expect to flirt with backsliderdom after four consecutive no-shows on Sunday afternoons. I am happy to say that in the year and a half I have been hashing I have never been slapped with a down-down1 for backsliding.
The same cannot be said of my weight loss. When it comes to that, I am backsliding. Badly.
This is difficult for me to admit, but laying it out here will make me accountable. I went to the doctor on Monday morning and SOP there is to hop on a scale before anything else happens. The resulting number was one I have not seen since early 2007. I knew it was going to be bad, but I was not prepared for just how bad.
Three and a half years. Three and a half years of weight loss essentially down the drain. I wanted to cry.
182. That's what it said. 182. One hundred and eighty two pounds. There. I said it. Do you know how fucking crushed I feel at writing that number? (On the bright side, this is still 40 pounds less than I was at my heaviest.)
Now I know why my pace has been falling into the basement. I'm carting around 25 pounds (that's one economy-sized box of cat litter) more than I was when I was training for Cleveland and New York in 2009.
I can point fingers every which way in an attempt to lay the blame for this debacle (injury! nasty weather! beer!) but in the end, all the fingers point directly at me. It's my fault. I became lenient with my diet and I wasn't exercising enough. I let things slide. Backslide.
A few rays of hope, though: one, I've been through this before and I know what I have to do to reverse this unfortunate trend. Two, the last time I weighed this much I was in the nascent stages of Phase II of my running career and thought that anything over four miles was impossibly far.
Last Saturday I ran 15.5 miles and felt fresh as a daisy throughout. Yeah, I went slo-o-o-o-w-ly (average pace was 11:06, but that includes a fair bit of walking), but I ran fifteen miles at once. And that's while weighing 180 pounds.
It's time to dust off my Weight Watchers cookbooks and start doing weekly meal plans again. That worked wonders the first time around. Having ingredients on hand for five or six preplanned meals does tend to thwart the temptation to eat poorly. The rest of it is willpower and determination.
Additionally, I have kicked what's left of my training for Thunder Road into high gear. Fifteen miles last weekend will segue into 20 this coming weekend (to be run on the Towpath Trail through the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, one of my favorite places to do 20-milers) and I'm back to doing all of my midweek runs, including my Thursday runs with my peeps at the Running Fit store. The aggravation and frustration of August and September have receded and I am happy to report that my hamstring has ceased to be an issue. That is not to say I will be sprinting through the closing meters of any Beer Miles (or anything, for that matter) anytime soon.
One little bit at a time. I can't think "I have to lose 25 POUNDS?" or I will be defeated before I even begin. My first task is to just get below 180 again. Three pounds.
On a lighter note, the last weekend of October was an eventful one. Here are some pictures. Let me show you them.
This was during my 12-mile saunter2 around Ft. Wayne, Indiana, with the Engineer on October 30. We found a bowling ball in the middle of a soccer field. This is the most incongruous object I've ever seen on a run. After we finally got back to the car we visited the Trion Tavern in New Haven for some well-earned brews.
The same cannot be said of my weight loss. When it comes to that, I am backsliding. Badly.
This is difficult for me to admit, but laying it out here will make me accountable. I went to the doctor on Monday morning and SOP there is to hop on a scale before anything else happens. The resulting number was one I have not seen since early 2007. I knew it was going to be bad, but I was not prepared for just how bad.
Three and a half years. Three and a half years of weight loss essentially down the drain. I wanted to cry.
182. That's what it said. 182. One hundred and eighty two pounds. There. I said it. Do you know how fucking crushed I feel at writing that number? (On the bright side, this is still 40 pounds less than I was at my heaviest.)
Now I know why my pace has been falling into the basement. I'm carting around 25 pounds (that's one economy-sized box of cat litter) more than I was when I was training for Cleveland and New York in 2009.
I can point fingers every which way in an attempt to lay the blame for this debacle (injury! nasty weather! beer!) but in the end, all the fingers point directly at me. It's my fault. I became lenient with my diet and I wasn't exercising enough. I let things slide. Backslide.
A few rays of hope, though: one, I've been through this before and I know what I have to do to reverse this unfortunate trend. Two, the last time I weighed this much I was in the nascent stages of Phase II of my running career and thought that anything over four miles was impossibly far.
Last Saturday I ran 15.5 miles and felt fresh as a daisy throughout. Yeah, I went slo-o-o-o-w-ly (average pace was 11:06, but that includes a fair bit of walking), but I ran fifteen miles at once. And that's while weighing 180 pounds.
It's time to dust off my Weight Watchers cookbooks and start doing weekly meal plans again. That worked wonders the first time around. Having ingredients on hand for five or six preplanned meals does tend to thwart the temptation to eat poorly. The rest of it is willpower and determination.
Additionally, I have kicked what's left of my training for Thunder Road into high gear. Fifteen miles last weekend will segue into 20 this coming weekend (to be run on the Towpath Trail through the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, one of my favorite places to do 20-milers) and I'm back to doing all of my midweek runs, including my Thursday runs with my peeps at the Running Fit store. The aggravation and frustration of August and September have receded and I am happy to report that my hamstring has ceased to be an issue. That is not to say I will be sprinting through the closing meters of any Beer Miles (or anything, for that matter) anytime soon.
One little bit at a time. I can't think "I have to lose 25 POUNDS?" or I will be defeated before I even begin. My first task is to just get below 180 again. Three pounds.
On a lighter note, the last weekend of October was an eventful one. Here are some pictures. Let me show you them.
The Redhead and I FINALLY run a race together! This was the Run Thru Hell on Halloween. We are rocking some awesome Salvation Army-supplied Scooby Doo-inspired costumes. For the record it was about 32 degrees and I was freezing, but not as freezing as poor Redhead who is used to Florida temperatures and was wearing a sleeveless dress.
Spike as a socially awkward parental-basement-dwelling World of Warcraft player. He stayed in character the whole morning. The persona was inspired by "the greatest shirt in the world." His mom told him he had to get out and do something physical with people IRL. So he did. He also met an awesome girl who doesn't care about the weird satiny yellow shorts and crazy T-shirt and glasses wrapped with tape3. Oh, he also set a new 10K personal best. Not bad for a guy who hasn't seen sunlight in about two weeks.
The sign kind of says it all, doesn't it? For more riffs on the "Pure Michigan" tourism ad campaign, go here. You might not get it if you don't live in Michigan, but they're still funny. I laughed the hardest at "Royal Oak," "Downriver," and "U of M Football."
After all the excitement, what better way to relax than with a four-pack of Dark Horse Brewing's Scotty Karate Scotch Ale while I dole out candy to 200+ ungrateful brats?
And there went October. I have a little more than four weeks before Thunder Road...onward!
1: A "down-down" is when one is made to chug a small amount of beer as punishment for an infraction real or imagined. I have done many, many down-downs.
2: It took three hours, but in my defense, there was awesome fossiliferous limestone used as a building material that I had to look at and get all carbonate sedimentologically nostalgic about.
3: By the way that chick went home with him. Daphne, what a ho. Velma would never do that.
2: It took three hours, but in my defense, there was awesome fossiliferous limestone used as a building material that I had to look at and get all carbonate sedimentologically nostalgic about.
3: By the way that chick went home with him. Daphne, what a ho. Velma would never do that.
Friday, October 29, 2010
My Bad...I Guess...
Having lived in the Midwest for most of my life I know how quickly it gets dark at this time of year once the sun slips past the horizon. A run which begins in daylight at 6:00 pm will end in near-darkness an hour later. Said expedited twilight is enhanced when clouds blanket the sky.
I need to be aware of this when I do things like dress in all black and attempt to cross a busy road (in a crosswalk and with the green light right-of-way) near the end of a five-mile run.
A lady in an SUV driving into the crosswalk to make a right turn on red will screech to a halt as I pass in front of her, then pull around the corner where I am now waiting to make the next crossing, and will yell at me out her passenger-side window.
I was terribly embarrassed and didn't say anything. I thought about snapping back, "Give me a break, it wasn't dark when I left an hour ago."
She drove away in a huff, and as I crossed the next street I thought, "Note to self: from now on, BRING SAFETY VEST." It won't even be a point of contention in another couple of weeks because we will be switching back to standard time on November 7 and it will be dark at 6:00 (sob). My safety vest and headlamp will become default equipment in my winter running gear set.
My run was otherwise uneventful but for the fact that it was the first time I've run with the Thursday Night Gang since early June. The long, hot, horrible summer is over and I have no reason not to head to the Running Fit store on Thursday evenings to hang with my peeps. We even hit Banfield's afterward for beers (Bell's Two Hearted Ale).
On tap for tomorrow: 14 miles (hopefully) and then the Run Thru Hell 10K on Sunday morning!
I need to be aware of this when I do things like dress in all black and attempt to cross a busy road (in a crosswalk and with the green light right-of-way) near the end of a five-mile run.
A lady in an SUV driving into the crosswalk to make a right turn on red will screech to a halt as I pass in front of her, then pull around the corner where I am now waiting to make the next crossing, and will yell at me out her passenger-side window.
I was terribly embarrassed and didn't say anything. I thought about snapping back, "Give me a break, it wasn't dark when I left an hour ago."
She drove away in a huff, and as I crossed the next street I thought, "Note to self: from now on, BRING SAFETY VEST." It won't even be a point of contention in another couple of weeks because we will be switching back to standard time on November 7 and it will be dark at 6:00 (sob). My safety vest and headlamp will become default equipment in my winter running gear set.
My run was otherwise uneventful but for the fact that it was the first time I've run with the Thursday Night Gang since early June. The long, hot, horrible summer is over and I have no reason not to head to the Running Fit store on Thursday evenings to hang with my peeps. We even hit Banfield's afterward for beers (Bell's Two Hearted Ale).
On tap for tomorrow: 14 miles (hopefully) and then the Run Thru Hell 10K on Sunday morning!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Grand Rapids Half Marathon
Six months ago, fresh off the emotional high of the Boston Marathon, I ambitiously set a goal of qualifying for another Boston at the Grand Rapids Marathon in October.
Life had other plans, as it often does.
From a dreadfully hot and humid summer that sapped me of willpower at every turn to the fateful hamstring injury in August, this was not a season to remember. I struggled, I fought, I complained, I bitched, moaned, and basically gave up.
It was the giving up that hung on my spirit more than anything. Once upon a time I went after my goals with fire in my heart and I flung myself headlong into any endeavor, gritting my teeth and powering through the long and lonely miles. That winter season of training for Cleveland, was anything as difficult as that, really? And here I was whining about running when it was insufferably hot. What about all those awful mornings when I slid out the door into a dark, frozen world and ran 6 or 7 miles? Where was that version of me when I needed her most?
Skulking around in the shadows, just beyond my field of vision...so close, yet so far away.
When I finally backed away from the full marathon, it was a huge relief. I knew that even with the spotty training I had cobbled together since mid-August I could run a half marathon. The conditioning and overall fitness I had spent the past three years building up would be enough to carry me the 13.1 miles I needed. It was going to be hard but I would survive.
So it was I found myself huddled in the crowd at the start of the Grand Rapids race on Sunday, October 17. My dad and the Engineer were by my side and somewhere in the crowd were Spike and the Redhead and three more of my running buddies (Lorenda, Larry, and Amanda). We were in this together. 13.1 miles, I had run that distance a score of times. What's 13 miles? I could do that in my sleep. Except...my sleep had lasted two months. It was time to wake up and run.
Temperature: about 45 degrees. The sun was rising and it was calm and clear. I was wearing my trusty running skirt and my special Chelsea Market shirt. I felt relaxed and ready. I was covered in Body Glide and I had a freshly charged Garmy. Bring it.
The race itself was rather uneventful. We weaved around the streets of Grand Rapids, crossing the river, winding through downtown, past riverfront and warehouses and grassy meadows. I maintained a nice, easy 9:00-9:15 pace. I stopped for a bathroom break around mile 8.5, without which I probably would have broken 2 hours, but that's okay. Around mile 10 fatigue settled in and I knew the last three miles were going to require some pushing. I hadn't run this far in a long time. Like, two months. I told you my training had gone off the rails. Gone off the rails? It was a trainwreck. A pileup.
Miles 11 and 12 slid by and before I knew it I made the last turn with about a half mile to go. I could see the finish line banner in the distance. I was almost done. So close. I was tired. I was ready for it to be over.
Onward, I told myself. You're almost done. This doesn't hurt as badly as the last half mile at Cleveland, and you're not trying to qualify for Boston, so just glide on down there nice and easy, no need to sprint (remember the hamstring debacle!), just keep it slow and steady...
I crossed the finish line and it was done. My sixth half marathon, and my second slowest at 2:05:28. I fought for that 2:05, however. I don't have anything to be ashamed of.
Late last week I met up with the Redhead for lunch as we are wont to do seeing as how we work half a mile from each other. We were unable to connect on race day to my great sadness, but that meant that last Friday we were able to get our run nerd on in fine form, including matching race shirts and medals!
Life had other plans, as it often does.
From a dreadfully hot and humid summer that sapped me of willpower at every turn to the fateful hamstring injury in August, this was not a season to remember. I struggled, I fought, I complained, I bitched, moaned, and basically gave up.
It was the giving up that hung on my spirit more than anything. Once upon a time I went after my goals with fire in my heart and I flung myself headlong into any endeavor, gritting my teeth and powering through the long and lonely miles. That winter season of training for Cleveland, was anything as difficult as that, really? And here I was whining about running when it was insufferably hot. What about all those awful mornings when I slid out the door into a dark, frozen world and ran 6 or 7 miles? Where was that version of me when I needed her most?
Skulking around in the shadows, just beyond my field of vision...so close, yet so far away.
When I finally backed away from the full marathon, it was a huge relief. I knew that even with the spotty training I had cobbled together since mid-August I could run a half marathon. The conditioning and overall fitness I had spent the past three years building up would be enough to carry me the 13.1 miles I needed. It was going to be hard but I would survive.
So it was I found myself huddled in the crowd at the start of the Grand Rapids race on Sunday, October 17. My dad and the Engineer were by my side and somewhere in the crowd were Spike and the Redhead and three more of my running buddies (Lorenda, Larry, and Amanda). We were in this together. 13.1 miles, I had run that distance a score of times. What's 13 miles? I could do that in my sleep. Except...my sleep had lasted two months. It was time to wake up and run.
Temperature: about 45 degrees. The sun was rising and it was calm and clear. I was wearing my trusty running skirt and my special Chelsea Market shirt. I felt relaxed and ready. I was covered in Body Glide and I had a freshly charged Garmy. Bring it.
The race itself was rather uneventful. We weaved around the streets of Grand Rapids, crossing the river, winding through downtown, past riverfront and warehouses and grassy meadows. I maintained a nice, easy 9:00-9:15 pace. I stopped for a bathroom break around mile 8.5, without which I probably would have broken 2 hours, but that's okay. Around mile 10 fatigue settled in and I knew the last three miles were going to require some pushing. I hadn't run this far in a long time. Like, two months. I told you my training had gone off the rails. Gone off the rails? It was a trainwreck. A pileup.
Miles 11 and 12 slid by and before I knew it I made the last turn with about a half mile to go. I could see the finish line banner in the distance. I was almost done. So close. I was tired. I was ready for it to be over.
Onward, I told myself. You're almost done. This doesn't hurt as badly as the last half mile at Cleveland, and you're not trying to qualify for Boston, so just glide on down there nice and easy, no need to sprint (remember the hamstring debacle!), just keep it slow and steady...
Late last week I met up with the Redhead for lunch as we are wont to do seeing as how we work half a mile from each other. We were unable to connect on race day to my great sadness, but that meant that last Friday we were able to get our run nerd on in fine form, including matching race shirts and medals!
Don't mind us, we're just a couple of weird runner chicks...
I can't fully relax, however, because come December 11 I will be running a marathon. A full one this time. I'm not letting this one slip away. Thunder Road is waiting. Charlotte, here I come.
For the record, my hamstring didn't give me a single twinge for the entire race. Not a quiver, not a clench, nothing. That, my friends, is the biggest triumph of all.
Onward!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Thursday Thoughts: Three, Two, One...
Three...
Days until the Grand Rapids Half Marathon, where I will be running with my Dad, the Redhead, and the Engineer while Spike runs the full marathon. Truthfully, if I was running the full on Sunday like I planned...I'd be crapping my pants right about now with fear. I'm so glad I only have to run 13 miles. 13 miles is nothing.
Two...
Years since I ran my first marathon, Detroit. At this time two years ago I was an excited, nervous wreck with an ice bag strapped to my ankle because I was desperately trying to get rid of a mysterious ankle ache that had been plaguing me for days.
One...
(plus approximately seven) Hours until I get to see Sufjan Stevens LIVE IN CONCERT TONIGHT.
It's all good, folks.
Days until the Grand Rapids Half Marathon, where I will be running with my Dad, the Redhead, and the Engineer while Spike runs the full marathon. Truthfully, if I was running the full on Sunday like I planned...I'd be crapping my pants right about now with fear. I'm so glad I only have to run 13 miles. 13 miles is nothing.
Two...
Years since I ran my first marathon, Detroit. At this time two years ago I was an excited, nervous wreck with an ice bag strapped to my ankle because I was desperately trying to get rid of a mysterious ankle ache that had been plaguing me for days.
One...
(plus approximately seven) Hours until I get to see Sufjan Stevens LIVE IN CONCERT TONIGHT.
It's all good, folks.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Slow Runner
That would be me, not the band.
For the time being I've accepted my status as more of a tortoise than a hare. Not that I was ever super-fast to begin with, but there once was a time when I could run a 7:30 mile and not think too much of it. In fact, it felt casual and carefree. Why, just a year ago I ran a half marathon at an average pace of 7:51 per mile.
Not so much at the moment. Since the beginning of the hamstring debacle in the middle of August, my runs have been more about survival than speed. Too many days off have taken their toll.
The Grand Rapids Half Marathon is this coming Sunday. I was supposed to be staring down another Boston qualifying attempt in the marathon, and instead I will be lining up with my dad and the Redhead and hoping to maintain a 9:30 pace for 13.1 miles. Not that running with my dad, the Redhead (and possibly my sweetie, the Engineer) is that distasteful a prospect. I am sure I will enjoy myself no matter what. Any day running is better than a day without.
On October 3 I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K for the fourth time. This is a race I never miss. The thrill of running into Michigan Stadium has yet to lose its luster. Last year I ran the race in 23:46. This year I eked out a 27:24. After a crowd-clogged first mile (9:21) I was able to open up and run an 8:31 mile 2...and then my hamstring decided to revolt again. I was so mad. I had been running steadily and without pain for weeks, and now this. I limped my way through an 8:49 mile 3 to the finish.
It was not the outcome I had hoped for. Fine. Get over it and move on. The half marathon is waiting, and after that, the Thunder Road Marathon in December. Once that race is done with, I am going to back off goal-oriented training. I have been training for once major race or another for three years, and I'm tired of it. I just want to get up in the morning and run whatever distance I feel like, not something that's prescribed on a spreadsheet. I want to be able to run only three miles instead of a scheduled five and not feel guilty. I want to be able to blow off a run here and there because it's pouring rain when I wake up and not beat myself up about it. I need more cross-training and strength training.
The past two years were amazing in terms of my growth and improvement as a runner. I knew the upward trajectory could not last forever. Eventually I was going to crest the hill, reach the apex, the apogee, and begin to descend. I seem to be on a downside at the moment. I hope to pull myself out of this valley. I realize that the sub-22:00 5K, the 3:30 marathon may be beyond my ability. That's okay. I just want running to be fun again.
I may be slow, but I'm working on it.
For the time being I've accepted my status as more of a tortoise than a hare. Not that I was ever super-fast to begin with, but there once was a time when I could run a 7:30 mile and not think too much of it. In fact, it felt casual and carefree. Why, just a year ago I ran a half marathon at an average pace of 7:51 per mile.
Not so much at the moment. Since the beginning of the hamstring debacle in the middle of August, my runs have been more about survival than speed. Too many days off have taken their toll.
The Grand Rapids Half Marathon is this coming Sunday. I was supposed to be staring down another Boston qualifying attempt in the marathon, and instead I will be lining up with my dad and the Redhead and hoping to maintain a 9:30 pace for 13.1 miles. Not that running with my dad, the Redhead (and possibly my sweetie, the Engineer) is that distasteful a prospect. I am sure I will enjoy myself no matter what. Any day running is better than a day without.
On October 3 I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K for the fourth time. This is a race I never miss. The thrill of running into Michigan Stadium has yet to lose its luster. Last year I ran the race in 23:46. This year I eked out a 27:24. After a crowd-clogged first mile (9:21) I was able to open up and run an 8:31 mile 2...and then my hamstring decided to revolt again. I was so mad. I had been running steadily and without pain for weeks, and now this. I limped my way through an 8:49 mile 3 to the finish.
It was not the outcome I had hoped for. Fine. Get over it and move on. The half marathon is waiting, and after that, the Thunder Road Marathon in December. Once that race is done with, I am going to back off goal-oriented training. I have been training for once major race or another for three years, and I'm tired of it. I just want to get up in the morning and run whatever distance I feel like, not something that's prescribed on a spreadsheet. I want to be able to run only three miles instead of a scheduled five and not feel guilty. I want to be able to blow off a run here and there because it's pouring rain when I wake up and not beat myself up about it. I need more cross-training and strength training.
The past two years were amazing in terms of my growth and improvement as a runner. I knew the upward trajectory could not last forever. Eventually I was going to crest the hill, reach the apex, the apogee, and begin to descend. I seem to be on a downside at the moment. I hope to pull myself out of this valley. I realize that the sub-22:00 5K, the 3:30 marathon may be beyond my ability. That's okay. I just want running to be fun again.
I may be slow, but I'm working on it.
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