I have an outfit for my alma mater's important athletic events. I must wash my hands immediately prior to leaving work each day. My current pair of running shoes needs to be the pair sitting closest to the closet wall.
Superstitious? Or suffering from a litte OCD?
Whatever my condition is, I'm pumped about and scared due to my final pre-CLE 20-miler. Of the three times that I've run 20 miles, this was my best. I failed to run one while training for Glass City last year; Joe and Rob got me through my first while training for Columbus last September, then I did one a few weeks ago. Yesterday, I ran 20 miles more than 15 seconds per mile faster than the other two times that I ran that distance. And I felt awesome during and after the run. Of note: my hamstring, which tends to be really annoying in the days immediately following a long run in excess of 13 miles, feels fine.
I should only be happy, right? Probably. BUT, some things didn't go right:
1.) I didn't eat prior to the run.
2.) I only fueled once--at mile 7.5-ish.
3.) After a pit-stop at home to pick up Joe for my last 2.4, I stiffened up and slowed to 9:00+ per mile.
On one hand, I feel stupid. I didn't treat my body properly, and I worry that in the coming days, I am going to pay for it. On the other hand, I feel that even with those disadvantages, which I did unto myself, I kicked some ass. Back to the other hand, I may have spent myself and my body's vengeful wrath is waiting to sneak up and wreak havoc on me.
I think I'm going to be cautiously optimistic as I taper toward CLE. The Glass City Half will be a real test for me this coming Sunday--will I run hard and go for a PR? Or will I take it easy and run for the fun of it?
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 17, 2013
Boston: We Must Be Optimistic
Here I am: Another blogger sharing her thoughts regarding the tragedy that unfolded on Monday at the Boston Marathon. I've had a couple of days to take in, process, and begin to mentally recover from what transpired. I'm not going to wax poetic or denounce humanity. I'm just going to walk you through my perspective.
Monday, April 15th. It didn't occur to me at all in the morning that the race was underway. I went about my day then around 3:30 got into my car to drive home, but not without first checking Facebook. A post from the Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon read, "Our thoughts are with those injured at The Boston Marathon, as well as the race organizers and first responders working at the scene." Was it another blazing hot Boston Marathon like in 2012 resulting in runners needing medical attention? Before I put away my phone, similar posts appeared from news outlets. Still, I wasn't sure of what was happening.
I put down my phone, hit the road, and turned the XM to MSNBC. I quickly learned that not much earlier there had been two explosions near the finish of the race. Details were understandably scarce and in retrospect I'm thankful for that; had I known during my drive home what the extent of the damage was, I would have been a mess in the car. When I got home around 4:00, it was all over the television: Two explosions near the finish of the Boston Marathon, about 20 injured, and the same footage over and over of marathoners triumphantly nearing the finish of the coveted Boston Marathon, one of whom was knocked to the ground by the concussion of the first blast. This was serious.
I took to the internet to get more details. In my face were raw photos of the sidewalk along Boylston Street spattered with blood and laden with faces of people visibly experiencing shock and horror. My emotions swung back and forth from sad to terrified. One image in particular made me feel physically ill: A young man being pushed in a wheel chair toward help, his lower limbs gone and his femoral artery being squeezed closed by the bare hand of a complete stranger and civilian alongside him. As Monday evening went on, the number of those injured rose. By Tuesday, the death toll was three and nearly 200 were injured, far too many of which lost limbs. The carnage was, to me, only comparable to what soldiers witness in combat.
But it was just a race.
Some may read this and say, "Just a race?" I know,the The Boston Marathon is not "just" a race. I think that what I mean is clear, though. I can't imagine that runners or spectators were thinking on Monday morning that any kind of tragedy was likely to take place that day. They were going to run and watch the mack daddy of all marathons; to watch a bunch of bad-asses run what many only dream of doing, or to run as one of those bad-asses. But now, a few lives are gone and so many are changed forever.
I know, I said that I wouldn't wax poetic.
I've never been to The Boston Marathon. Honestly, I didn't even care about it until last year. Nevertheless, what happened on Monday afternoon has hit me really, really hard. Maybe I'm turning into a sap as I get older. Maybe I just can't stomach such incomprehensible events. Maybe I'm especially touched because I'm a runner and I know how it should feel to cross that finish line after 26.2 miles and how it should feel to watch a loved onedo accomplish the same. Thousands of people didn't get to experience those feelings on Monday afternoon.
I remain optimistic. Moments ago, I saw a photo on the news of a shirtless runner (you know, one of those aforementioned bad-asses) elevating a spectator's wounded leg, which was tied in a makeshift tourniquet that was presumably that runner's shirt. In all of the event footage, my attention is drawn not to those scattering in terror, but to those running toward the wounded. And inside me, I want to run Boston exponentially more than I did prior to Monday afternoon.
We must be optimists.
</poetic waxing>
Monday, April 15th. It didn't occur to me at all in the morning that the race was underway. I went about my day then around 3:30 got into my car to drive home, but not without first checking Facebook. A post from the Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon read, "Our thoughts are with those injured at The Boston Marathon, as well as the race organizers and first responders working at the scene." Was it another blazing hot Boston Marathon like in 2012 resulting in runners needing medical attention? Before I put away my phone, similar posts appeared from news outlets. Still, I wasn't sure of what was happening.
I put down my phone, hit the road, and turned the XM to MSNBC. I quickly learned that not much earlier there had been two explosions near the finish of the race. Details were understandably scarce and in retrospect I'm thankful for that; had I known during my drive home what the extent of the damage was, I would have been a mess in the car. When I got home around 4:00, it was all over the television: Two explosions near the finish of the Boston Marathon, about 20 injured, and the same footage over and over of marathoners triumphantly nearing the finish of the coveted Boston Marathon, one of whom was knocked to the ground by the concussion of the first blast. This was serious.
I took to the internet to get more details. In my face were raw photos of the sidewalk along Boylston Street spattered with blood and laden with faces of people visibly experiencing shock and horror. My emotions swung back and forth from sad to terrified. One image in particular made me feel physically ill: A young man being pushed in a wheel chair toward help, his lower limbs gone and his femoral artery being squeezed closed by the bare hand of a complete stranger and civilian alongside him. As Monday evening went on, the number of those injured rose. By Tuesday, the death toll was three and nearly 200 were injured, far too many of which lost limbs. The carnage was, to me, only comparable to what soldiers witness in combat.
But it was just a race.
Some may read this and say, "Just a race?" I know,
I know, I said that I wouldn't wax poetic.
I've never been to The Boston Marathon. Honestly, I didn't even care about it until last year. Nevertheless, what happened on Monday afternoon has hit me really, really hard. Maybe I'm turning into a sap as I get older. Maybe I just can't stomach such incomprehensible events. Maybe I'm especially touched because I'm a runner and I know how it should feel to cross that finish line after 26.2 miles and how it should feel to watch a loved one
I remain optimistic. Moments ago, I saw a photo on the news of a shirtless runner (you know, one of those aforementioned bad-asses) elevating a spectator's wounded leg, which was tied in a makeshift tourniquet that was presumably that runner's shirt. In all of the event footage, my attention is drawn not to those scattering in terror, but to those running toward the wounded. And inside me, I want to run Boston exponentially more than I did prior to Monday afternoon.
We must be optimists.
</poetic waxing>
Apr 3, 2013
Training to Improve
After running 20 miles a couple of days ago, I had an epiphany. I think that my running is actually improving.
Last week was rough. I had a lot of nasal-to-throat drainage on Wednesday, and by the end of the work day on Thursday I was full-blown sick. Joe pushed me through 5 miles that evening, but my illness trumped everything Friday morning when I had to cut 5 miles down to 2.5. With reluctance I chose to rest on Saturday and Sunday, despite needing to run 10 and 20 miles respectively, in an effort to get well. Also, I needed to make sure that Joe's surprise 30th birthday party was a blast.
It wasn't for naught! By Sunday evening, in spite of the guilt of not running all weekend, I felt healthy. AND all of the birthday festivities were awesome. We got a good night of sleep on Sunday, I slept in on Monday, and then went out to run that 20-miler. I had been so good about doing all of my long runs since training for the Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon started that I didn't want to let one sick weekend ruin my streak, which I imagine would subsequently also ruin my confidence in training and my ability to perform on May 19th.
Back to the point, I think that my running is actually improving. I already said that, right?
What was this aforementioned epiphany exactly? What am I doing better now than before? And why did I notice any of it?
I run comfortably.
While training for my first two marathons last year, I generally tried to run hard in every training run as if I was some badass, experienced runner. I ran for the enjoyment of looking at my splits on Garmin Connect. I relished in finishing training runs in goal race time.
I was not and am not a badass, experienced runner. I was disappointed in myself for not running negative splits for an entire long run. I felt like all of the work I had done was for nothing if I ran 30 to 45 seconds slower per mile than my race goal pace.
Lately, I've been running at a pace that feels good. I am honest with myself about how much I can tolerate. I find a pace at which I know I can run faster, and I choose to maintain it or even slow down. Instead of doing what I can, I'm happy simply knowing that I can.
I endure in discomfort.
I suck at golf. I always like the idea of going to play, and I am usually in good spirits until my second stroke. At best I triple bogie hole after hole. I turn into a sourpuss and although I never quit, I become huffy and puffy and as a result, I play worse and worse. Eventually, I start just claiming stroke limit on each hole so that I don't need to play it out.
I've never had such a meltdown while running, but I've definitely done some mental "getting to know myself" under crappy conditions. Last summer was blazing hot and humid, which resulted in running shorter distances than I should have, rather than slowing down or even walking now and then. While training for my first two marathons, I only ran one of my two planned 20-milers because it was just too hard. Wind kicks up toward the end of a run? Meh, I'll just call it quits.
No more of that. I am training with a purpose; I have goals, and I'm less likely to achieve if I don't do what I know I need to do. No more quitting, no more complaining, and no more excuses.
I finish strong.
I used to train hard from start to finish. No warm-up, just straight into race pace. It was fine on shorter runs of 5 or 7 miles, but it was a challenge to maintain week after week on long runs. The last few miles always showed the same thing: slower and slower splits, struggling to even finish training runs. Oh, you want to "race" to the end of the driveway? You have fun with that. I'll just stay back here all slow because I can't run any faster.
I mentioned earlier that I'm consciously saving my energy when I know that it's there. All of that running comfortably pays off when for the last half or even full mile, I can kick it up a notch to finish faster than race goal pace. I can "win" those sprints around the corner to the driveway. Well, less and less since Joe is getting faster and faster. Even for him, it's due to training smarter. This shouldn't be exclusive to training, either; even in a race, don't you prefer to finish looking strong for the camera? I feel a lot better saving it for the end.
Improvements aren't just measured by PRs and medals. I've been thinking a lot about the way that I feel during and after training runs. Even if I don't beat that pesky 3:53 in Cleveland on May 19th, I know that I am now a better runner than I used to be.
Last week was rough. I had a lot of nasal-to-throat drainage on Wednesday, and by the end of the work day on Thursday I was full-blown sick. Joe pushed me through 5 miles that evening, but my illness trumped everything Friday morning when I had to cut 5 miles down to 2.5. With reluctance I chose to rest on Saturday and Sunday, despite needing to run 10 and 20 miles respectively, in an effort to get well. Also, I needed to make sure that Joe's surprise 30th birthday party was a blast.
It wasn't for naught! By Sunday evening, in spite of the guilt of not running all weekend, I felt healthy. AND all of the birthday festivities were awesome. We got a good night of sleep on Sunday, I slept in on Monday, and then went out to run that 20-miler. I had been so good about doing all of my long runs since training for the Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon started that I didn't want to let one sick weekend ruin my streak, which I imagine would subsequently also ruin my confidence in training and my ability to perform on May 19th.
Back to the point, I think that my running is actually improving. I already said that, right?
What was this aforementioned epiphany exactly? What am I doing better now than before? And why did I notice any of it?
I run comfortably.
While training for my first two marathons last year, I generally tried to run hard in every training run as if I was some badass, experienced runner. I ran for the enjoyment of looking at my splits on Garmin Connect. I relished in finishing training runs in goal race time.
I was not and am not a badass, experienced runner. I was disappointed in myself for not running negative splits for an entire long run. I felt like all of the work I had done was for nothing if I ran 30 to 45 seconds slower per mile than my race goal pace.
Lately, I've been running at a pace that feels good. I am honest with myself about how much I can tolerate. I find a pace at which I know I can run faster, and I choose to maintain it or even slow down. Instead of doing what I can, I'm happy simply knowing that I can.
I endure in discomfort.
I suck at golf. I always like the idea of going to play, and I am usually in good spirits until my second stroke. At best I triple bogie hole after hole. I turn into a sourpuss and although I never quit, I become huffy and puffy and as a result, I play worse and worse. Eventually, I start just claiming stroke limit on each hole so that I don't need to play it out.
I've never had such a meltdown while running, but I've definitely done some mental "getting to know myself" under crappy conditions. Last summer was blazing hot and humid, which resulted in running shorter distances than I should have, rather than slowing down or even walking now and then. While training for my first two marathons, I only ran one of my two planned 20-milers because it was just too hard. Wind kicks up toward the end of a run? Meh, I'll just call it quits.
No more of that. I am training with a purpose; I have goals, and I'm less likely to achieve if I don't do what I know I need to do. No more quitting, no more complaining, and no more excuses.
I finish strong.
I used to train hard from start to finish. No warm-up, just straight into race pace. It was fine on shorter runs of 5 or 7 miles, but it was a challenge to maintain week after week on long runs. The last few miles always showed the same thing: slower and slower splits, struggling to even finish training runs. Oh, you want to "race" to the end of the driveway? You have fun with that. I'll just stay back here all slow because I can't run any faster.
I mentioned earlier that I'm consciously saving my energy when I know that it's there. All of that running comfortably pays off when for the last half or even full mile, I can kick it up a notch to finish faster than race goal pace. I can "win" those sprints around the corner to the driveway. Well, less and less since Joe is getting faster and faster. Even for him, it's due to training smarter. This shouldn't be exclusive to training, either; even in a race, don't you prefer to finish looking strong for the camera? I feel a lot better saving it for the end.
Improvements aren't just measured by PRs and medals. I've been thinking a lot about the way that I feel during and after training runs. Even if I don't beat that pesky 3:53 in Cleveland on May 19th, I know that I am now a better runner than I used to be.
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