13.1.... finally

It has only taken me how long to get there?

At least I finally did it. If I tried, and didn't make it through the training due to injury....again... I would have been so utterly frustrated.

But it all worked out, and yesterday I finished 13.1 miles in just ten seconds per mile off my targeted pace.

Those ten seconds per mile still rankle, quite a bit actually but given how my body feels today I'm not quite sure I had the minute plus total time left in me at the end of that race. I literally feel like I left it all out there, and my legs feel unlike they've ever felt before.

Every quad muscle can be felt, every hamstring twinges when I move. My knees complain, even my upper body is aching. The callous on the under part of my pinky toe is sore from my weird feet.

And I'm sunburnt on the bridge of my nose.

These are my thoughts/things I've learned, upon completing 13.1 miles-

1. Always run a race with your watch, unless you really aren't trying to meet any time goals. I trained for the past few months with a watch, and decided to forgo it on race day. However, I had no way of keeping track of my time, mostly because I didn't think to look at the clock as I crossed the starting line, and I was way too sidetracked by taking in the experience throughout the race. I knew I was near my target, but if I had my watch and could see my splits, I might have been able to get that extra ten seconds per mile that I needed.

2. On race day, you never know how it will feel. This I'm learning. Mile 5 and I felt winded and tired. I've run 5 miles, even at the pace I ran on Sunday, and not felt that tired. Maybe it was the nerves. I don't know. But I remember thinking at the 10K mark, 'Wow, and I still have 7 miles to go!'

3. You will be passed. By fat old men, by kids that are in middle school. By overweight middle aged moms and by barbie doll lookalike girls. By people with weird paces and by people who look like they're practically walking. The pros will be finishing before you've even completed four miles. Your friends who have only trained up to 7 miles for the race will cream your time by a whopping 25 minutes. The barefoot guy will pass you (like you're standing still). You will be passed in the last 0.1 miles by fourteen sprinting middle-aged men who suddenly had a spurt of energy and felt the need to finish like rockstars (question: where do they get this energy and why do they have so much of it at the end of the race?) It will happen, especially in a race with 15,000 competitors. So don't let it get to you.

4. W.River Drive and MLK Blvd are NOT scenic. Ok, maybe they are. For the first mile. And then they're downright boring.

5. If you shut off your mind, think only of smiling and feeling the wind on your skin, you will keep moving. Your body is trained to.

6. You will find yourself annoyed shitless by the mindless gabbing of pairs of running buddies in the race, talking and chatting freely like they are out for a sunday stroll. Mostly though, you'll admit that you're just jealous they have someone to talk to and keep them on pace.

7. You will imagine that every male in a white shirt, visible just at the far edge of your vision, is your fiance who sprinted past you at the start line, and who you vividly imagine you will catch up to in a blaze of glory at mile 12 and never see again until after the race. In reality you will never actually see him, or catch up to him, and your competitive nature will seethe inside (at least he won't rub in his 4 minute victory....much)

8. You can train for (and RUN) 13.1 miles with no injury sustained. Potentially, you can run and train for longer distances.

The world is your oyster. And all you want to do is eat it up.

The Body is sometimes stronger than the Mind

I had a whole post mostly written, from before I went out for my mid-week tempo run. It went on and on about how shitty I felt, how my allergies were bothering me, how I opted not to do my run in the a.m. because I didn't want to wake up, and that I was paying for it now because I didn't want to do my run.

And then I put on my shoes and sat down on the couch. I gave myself a deadline. I will be out this door by 6pm, no later. 6 was a good time to start a 7-mile run, it would put me coming in just before dark, since apparently it gets dark earlier now (when did that happen?).

And then, seemingly without thinking, I was moving towards the door and it was 5:30. Usually when I set myself deadlines, last-chance-lines, I wait until that time to start whatever it is I don't want to do. This time, my body was moving without knowing why. And I started running.

So, I had this whole post written out about how miserable my run was going to be, how I dreaded it, but I started moving and found that I felt... good?

My legs felt strong, and my breathing felt solid. My warmup mile went smoothly, maybe a little too fast, but that's always a good sign, meaning that I'm not dragging ass. I started to wonder if I would make it through the 5-mile tempo segment in the middle of the run, telling myself I'd stop at the mid-way point and take a breath, then continue.

Except I reached the midway point and I thought I could go on. My pace felt solid, I was sure I was averaging 9:45 miles or under. I was moving and my stride felt good and my arms were moving forward and not across my body (which is a new thing I've been focusing on, since I read somewhere who knows where, that that not crossing the midline is Good Form) and so I kept going.

I told myself after the turnaround at 2.5 miles that I would stop at the bathrooms, mile 3. But I got to the bathrooms and kept going. I thought I might stop at the bathrooms until I passed them. I guess I'm not stopping at the bathrooms.

Mile 4 rolled around and I started to breathe heavier. I told myself I might take a break when I reached the last half mile marker. Except I reached the half mile marker and kept running. Straight up that big hill I ran, across the bridge I ran. Down the windy gravel turns I ran and to the end of my 5 mile tempo segment I ran. I stopped then, grinned and looked at my watch. It was a good time. And I felt good. A little out of breath, maybe, at the end. But definitely within the definition of 'comfortably fast'. I thought to myself I might stretch out for a little while, but my muscles felt good. I thought, I'll let my heartrate get down before jogging the mile uphill home. But before I knew it I was moving. Well, a cool down is supposed to allow your heartrate to return to normal. So I jogged slowly uphill home.

And the whole time I was wondering what on earth was going on. My body was on autopilot. My mind kept coming up with every excuse in the world, and every excuse was being ignored by my body.

Usually I give in to my mind, it's rather good at making up excuses. But this time... I don't know what happened. But I'm certainly not complaining!

Pushing the Pace

Today was the first day of a graduate level course I'm auditing through a virtual webcast offered at my workplace in collaboration with the University of North Carolina's School of Pharmacy.

Needless to say, my mind is aching now, because it's been a good 5+ years since I took a course, much less a course that involved differential equations and semilog graphs and whatnot.

Of course, since I had the course this morning pretty much until lunch time, and the forecast was for it to be a very hot day, I decided to wake up very early and do my mid-week tempo run from my house before heading to work. Typically if I do a morning run, I prefer to run from work, and then shower and get ready at the gym there, but all of the routes near work are horrendously hilly, which makes running at tempo or doing speedwork on them challenging to say the least. Of course, even the routes near my house are not completely flat, but at least they are not on the torturous side, when it comes to hills.

I didn't sleep hardly all night, due to some recent seasonal allergies that flared up combined with an odd irritable bladder that acted up last night. My alarm went off at at the goddawful hour of 5 a.m. but it was still pitch black. I knew I couldn't start any later than 6 a.m. so I reset the alarm for 5:30 and went back to a fitful sleep, which was interrupted all too soon by the alarm.

This time the sky, though dark, looked a bit more hopeful. I laced up my shoes, munched on a mini Luna bar, and washed it down with a few sips of cold water. As I started my run, I felt odd. I didn't have any of the fears I had that prevented me from running early last time, but I was very alert, much more than I am when I typically run although even then I tend to be vigilant. But the quiet of running in the darkness, before even cars are moving, made every sense more alert. I could hear and feel the crunch of my shoes on the sidewalk, the huff of my breathing. I could feel the cool humidity of the morning air against the top and back of my throat, feel the gleam of sweat that crept up on my breastbone as I warmed up. I slowly moved down the sidewalk and road, seeing only one or two cars, headlights blaring, as I moved to my own night rhythm.

As I reached the trail, I felt a small spike of something in my chest. This was what scared me last time, the dark and empty trail, winding through the woods, lit by the moon in some sections, but mostly shaded and secretive. This time as I approached the trail, a car pulled into the lot and a man got out of it. I slowed down, stretched my tight left calf on the side of the road and watched him. He had come from behind me, a runner, and likely knew I was going to the trail to run, by myself, in the dark. From my distance, I got the impression maybe he was a runner or out to exercise. I told myself to calm down, and jogged over to the trail. As I passed his car, I saw his dog in the backset and him getting the leash out.

Oh. Guy out walking his dog. Ok, that makes sense. I shook my head at my weakness and fear and ran on. The first mile at tempo felt odd, so silent and dark. I padded my way across the high and narrow bridge that crosses above the creek. It is one of my favorite parts of the trail, there is a wonderful purity to running over a bridge that crosses water very high in the air. Mile 1 seemed about on target, although I wasn't exactly sure. According to satellite images, the trail mile markers are slightly off, making calculating my pace on the spot fairly difficult. I knew this mile was slightly long, so arriving at 10:00 seemed about right. I continued on, listening to the crunch of my shoes in the gravel, hearing the honks of the geese in the creek and the sound of running water. Oh yeah, and my breath, which was getting a bit more labored. I passed the second bridge and reached the turnaround where I allowed myself a brief sip of water from the fountain at the bathrooms, then continued on. I was feeling better now, my sweat cool on my skin. I hadn't encountered a soul, aside from two men on bikes with headlights on them who passed me in the other direction within the first half mile. On the return run, as I was feeling a bit more winded, I passed the gentleman with the dog, who waved and smiled at me (the sun was coming up now, so I could actually see). I waved back to him and his jaunty-eared German Shepard. See, he wasn't a bad guy.

Bolstered by this knowledge, I continued my run, up the large grinding hill after the U-turn and across the first bridge again, the sky this time lit pale blue with small white clouds and the creek splashing merrily far below.

I finished my run feeling okay, breathing a bit labored, muscles definitely glad to be done the meat of the run, but overall feeling good. I slowly jogged (nay, stumbled) back up the long uphill mile home, taking in the day it turned into. In the end, my tempo run was a bit above tempo, but it felt good and my muscles were not too upset at my pushing the pace.

It's certainly something to begin a run in the dark and end it with a fine sunny day.

Whatever It Takes

What happens when you have a jam-packed weekend that won't allow for a long run?

Why, you move your long run to Friday, of course.

And what happens when said Friday happens to also have on the books a very early morning starting time, and also said Friday has a previously scheduled dinner/movie combo with the girls?

Why... you do your long run during lunch. In 90+F weather. And 80% humidity.

And you regret it every step of the way.

I had even thought of starting it at 9:30, because after our 7:00am dosing time, I had a few hours of desk work. I could have potentially done my run at 9:30 and then worked through lunch. But sometimes I feel like people would see me running at 9:30 and think to themselves, 'why isn't she at work...'. So I didn't, because I felt guilty. Even though I'd still be getting a full day of work in, if I ran early.

Instead I opted to run at 11:00 am. Oh, it'll only take me an hour and a half. I'll just go really slow so the heat doesn't get to me. No, I don't need any water. In fact, I don't need any food either, that muffin I ate at 6:00 am was plenty for me!

Maybe raving about how good I'm feeling made me due for this one. Sometimes, karma is a bitch.

And boy was she a big one today.

The first mile felt surprisingly good. I had opted to wear a wicking t-shirt, which I never wear running. I thought, well maybe having something covering my skin will help keep me cool. Even though I hate things covering my skin, and in fact run in as little as possible (and before you ask, yes I have rolls, and no I don't care who else sees em!). By mile one I was marveling that the pace felt good. Sure, the air felt like I was running directly behind a semi and breathing in exhaust. No matter how much I sucked, I didn't feel like I was getting much oxygen. But my pace was slow and right now target. The first two miles felt this way, slow and steady. This wasn't going to be so bad!

Then it got worse. The clouds started playing games with me. At times there would be a soft breeze and the sun would get covered by the clouds. My steps would lengthen and I'd breathe deeply. Then the sun would come out. There'd be a cloud 100 yards in front of me casting a shadow on the road, but as I ran, the sun slowly came out until when I reached the point where the shadow had been, there was only vicious burning sun. I made it to the neighborhood behind the business complex that is part of my usual 4.5 mile lunchtime loop. At least here there might be shade, and maybe a sprinkler or two.

Well, maybe no sprinklers. I took off my shirt and left it draped on a piece of metal framework to pick up later, then swung into the neighborhood into some pseudo-shade. And of course, hills, because no run in Upper Merion is complete without hills. I made it back to my shirt and although my legs felt ok, I felt like I was running in a sweatsuit. I was heaving breath and stood bent over my knees, looking wistfully at the underside of a RV construction trailer that if only I could crawl under and hide like a burrowing dog...

I left the shirt there. I still had 5 more miles of this madness, and the thought of putting it back on was more than I could bear. I told myself I'd drive by after work and pick it up.

I trotted slowly on, sometimes my feet barely moving, other times my stride lengthening and feeling better (at least while the wind blowed). The clouds were still my enemies. It was bright and sunny on one particularly annoying out and back 1-mile loop that I had added on for extra mileage. I yelled at the happy blue sky with fluffy white clouds "Come on Clouds, seriously, can I get some shade here??"

Finally, when I started panting and fixating on the small dots of shade underneath the trees to the side of the road, I stepped off into the grass and stopped.

Less than 4 miles in, and I was done. I didn't even know if I would make it back to work, at this point, even if I omitted the extra 3 mile loop I'd tacked on for mileage. After a while (the clouds had come out while I stood and panted, of course), I started again, my trot starting to look like a stumble.

This time I made it to the base of the Hill of Doom, a horribly long and torturous hill, even on the best of days, and it was all I could do to walk. Of course as I heaved my way up this thing (my legs had kicked in at this point, and walking up that bastard of a hill was even enough to make them quake and moan) a girl with long hair came trotting down the other side of the road, waving at me.

"Horrible day for a run!" she called and I nodded and said "Yes" as she streaked on. Softly I muttered to myself "Of course you can talk, because you're running downhill".

At the top of the Hill of Doom I made the decision to continue, for better or worse. Yes, I was miserable. Yes, I was tired. I might not be able to run the whole final three miles (in fact, I would be happy just to roll into work on two legs, who cared about running). Just as long as I didn't miss my 1:00 sample.

I pulled it together for the next mile, only walking briefly on a side street where I was tempted to either climb down a bank and immerse myself in the muddy creek that was by the side of the road, or knock on a complete strangers door and beg for a cup of water, a drink from their hose, anything! I started giving come hither looks to the hoses I passed, coiled up so coyly in the grass. They were just playing hard to get. Teases.

Jones Rd. came and another hill that gets me most of the time. Mostly because I always forget about it until I'm on it. Oh, this road has a hill? Oh crap, it's all uphill! I spend my time dreading hills like the Hill of Doom, and Dehaven, and even Gypsy, but little Jones slips through my mind every time and every time I run it I have that horrible moment of remembering just how hilly it is.

I ran most of this, except for the steep uphill parts (actually a few parts). But managed to continue running all the flats and downhills to get back to work. I stumbled up the long hill into work, trying to keep my dignity, because the second you walk on campus, some douchebag you know from work will mention to you when you see them, 'oh I saw you WALKING the other day, you looked HORRIBLE' and all you want to do is punch them in the face and say, 'Yeah well I was WALKING up a horrible hill after an 8 mile run, so yeah, excuuuuuse me'.

My dignity didn't last long. I walked. At least I was out there, even if I looked like hell. And I did. My sports bra was sweated through, and covered with the little salt globules that collect around my mouth and that on very hot days I have wipe somewhere or else my lips stick together. My shorts were soaked through and bunching annoyingly. My face was no doubt the color of pickled beets, and my entire body looked like I had just emerged from a tub of KY jelly.

By this time I just wanted to get back to the gym. I wouldn't have much time to cool down and shower and stretch, even though I needed it sorely. I managed to stumble up the last hill and down the endless tree-lined stretch of parking lot to the gym, where I immediately went in to bury my face in the water fountain. Fountain water has never tasted so good, and that first drink was like nectar from the gods.

I laid on the mats, trying to regulate my breathing, half-heartedly stretching (surprisingly I wasn't too sore, maybe from all the walking), and then got a very quick cold shower and tried not to pass out as I got dressed.

A few hours later as I was eating lunch, I finally felt more normal. And it's not till now that I realize I didn't go back to pick up my shirt as I had planned. Ah well, its not a shirt I wear too much, since I don't really go for things with short sleeves.

But anyway, I'm glad it's done, glad I survived.

But I will most certainly NOT be doing that again. Even if I have to wake up at 4 in the morning to get a run in.

(Actually luckily for the next few weekends I can do my long runs during the weekend and not have to squeeze them in on a Friday. Yay!)

Dog Daze

We are so there right now. High humidity, high heat. Also, for me (compared to my usual volume), we're at a high mileage too. Nice combo, huh.

Now, granted, my 'high mileage' is nearing 20 miles/week. So really, not that high. I just finished reading 'Once a Runner' because it is always being lauded as the true runner's novel. And it was pretty good, you know, once you got past the hokey vocabulary and the overly dramatic descriptions. But the last chapter 'The Race' was really quite fabulous. And my point in all this is that I know 20 miles is like NOTHING to some people (the book is going on about 140 mile weeks and all that nonsense), but you know, it's something to me.

Even more something is the fact that I feel pretty decent right now. No horrible aches and pains. 8 miles is usually the telling point for me, though, but aside from normal achy muscles and random days where a body part decides it wants to be vocal, there is not much to concern me. I feel pretty good. Even though, apparently, I'm gaining weight and can no longer fit into my pants. Sigh. I will just choose to believe that my pants have shrunk. Yes, that is it.

Anyway, Wednesday I did a 7 mile speed session. As always, I use the word 'speed' loosely. But it was pretty brutal. 6:00 am and it was already humid enough for me to break a sweat on the warmup mile. I set my water bottle out by the side of the little hilly track that runs outside of work. It's not ideal, I hate running repetitious loops, but when you're doing intervals it seems a necessary evil. I could have done without the hills though. Apparently, while my work site designer thought it a good idea to level the fields inside the track that include the softball and tennis courts, they thought they'd leave the track hilly. Like, pretty hilly. 0.47 miles, the first half of which is slightly downhill and the second half of which includes a short steep little fucker of a hill followed by a long slow incline. Which is humorous after the first few laps, but when you get to double digits and are unable to add up how many miles you have left (all you know is 4 more laps, and lord knows what that adds up to), those hills quickly lose their humor. Well, as they say what will not kill you will just make you wish you were dead.

My times were pretty slow, though they felt ungodly fast. And there were a few early morning walkers I felt bad about whizzing past (oh my, did I really whizz? I must be quite happy with myself) and sticks and things I had to avoid, you know, on top of the hills. But I finally finished, although my last 2 miles done at a slow jog were laughable. I looked like I was dead, and felt like at any moment I might keel over. My feet would barely move. That's what 7 miles of speedwork on a humid-ass day will get you. Luckily I had my water bottle to clutch protectively on each jogging interval lap.

But I survived. Tomorrow is an 8 mile slow run, and I'll have to do it mid-day in the heat. I have a study in the early morning hours and will probably cut out of work for a bit of an early 'lunch' that will involve my run, or maybe I'll run after work. Either way, it'll be hot. Or raining. Or maybe both.

Either way, I can take it. I'm feeling pretty good right now, and the thought of an 8 mile run is actually exciting me. And isn't that the weirdest thing you ever heard...

A funny story I have to relate

So I didn't do much this weekend except for drink and eat, but I have this gem of a story told to me by my brilliant fiance.

I just needed to share, because, really, there are no words.

He took Friday off to go climbing, and was supposed to leave at noon. So, he got up around 9 to do his long run, a scheduled 7 1/2 mile run. Except 2 1/2 miles in he was fiddling with his ipod and the Nike+ sensor messed up and he lost his run data for the first 2 1/2 miles.

So he finished his run, and he had only logged 5 miles on his Nike+.

So what did he do?

Went back out and ran another 2 1/2 miles.

I don't know why, but this strikes me as hysterical and completely sums up his strangeness.

So he ran 10 miles instead of his scheduled 7 1/2, just because his damn ipod wasn't working.

*shakes head*

He ended up delaying his departure to climb by several hours and therefore not getting up to the rock in time to climb that day.

This area is shit

This is why I never watch the news.

A jogger was just raped the other day in Fairmount Park.

Somewhere in Deleware County some asshat is assaulting pedestrians and cyclists with blow darts. I shit you not, blow darts.

*shakes head*

I hate to sound like someone's grandmother, but what is this world coming to?