Oh, yeah: I ran a 5K last Sunday. Not only did I win my age group, I crossed as first female. Well, technically.
In lieu of speedwork during a week with a crabby calf, I decided to give a local 5K a try. While I had been disappointed in my previous race, I wasn’t out for blood on this race. In fact, I played some pretty hard tennis pretty late the previous evening, didn’t get much sleep and had almost no rest for my legs by Sunday morning.
Sometimes that’s just the way things work.
I was running a little bit late to the race and feared I wouldn’t get any warm-up let alone a proper one before the race. Lucky for me, the gun went off half an hour late. Unlucky for me, I warmed up to more tightness than usual and then sat around for half an hour waiting for the race to start!
My goal: run an even race and use it as a tempo around 7:30/mile. While I wasn’t feeling quite able at the start, I warmed into the race about 2-3 minutes into the race. 5K races always leave my anxious: there’s little room for mess-up, no spare seconds for anything, and I don’t have a clue how to run them well.
Last race I went pretty balls out the first mile and then tanked around mile two. At this Most Excellent race, I crossed a perfectly marked mile one at 7:09 (my Garmin and the marker were dead on) and felt fine.
In fact, I felt A-OK the first two uneventful miles. It was just a tempo run on the Cleveland Heights streets I trot during lunch three days a week. I slowed for the water stop (and didn’t drink too much water this time) at 1.7 and then cross two at 7:27.
Then the course turned EVIL.
The last 1.3? All uphill.
I was explaining to Neil last night that running this 5K didn’t feel any shorter than running the marathon. Mentally. I’m in shape to run way more than 3.1 miles, but even though I was running a steady pace, albeit uphill, it still seemed to be taking forever to find the finish. Until I found out where I was, that is.
“You’re first female 5K,” one woman cheered. Hmm? I picked up pace a bit. “First female: finish is just up the road,” another lady shouted down the way. Wow. Me? No way. While I was sick of the incline and feeling tennis sore, I picked up pace with my spirits (I’d slowed down for about .5 mile, according to my Garmin) and pushed to the finish.
I crossed in a PR 23:11 (7:57 last mile…yick!) to the ring of “First Female 5K,” received a pat on the back and engaged in a fruitless search for the glazed donuts I saw before the race (I only found the empty boxes). After settling for a chocolate macaroon bar, I cooled down with a few track laps and plopped down to massage a cramped calf. A race official stopped by to tell me I wasn’t first female and that I should enjoy the post-race treats.
Thanks.
Total upside to sticking around: I finally had a chance to meet Charlie, who ran an awesome 10K, in person! We hung out for the awards, where I found that I lost on chip time by two seconds (gun time I won by :18), but still picked up the same prize for winning my age group.
Regrets? No. Sure, if I had seen a woman two seconds ahead of me, I would have chased her down. But I ran my best race pace yet on pretty tired legs and crossed the finish line first for the first time. And I ended up getting a glazed donut the next morning. That’s a most excellent race.
7.7.09
6.7.09
Another Lesson Learned
For the first time in a very long time, I’ve learned something that I didn’t learn too late to put in play. Last time this moment hit I was in college and I found that if you did the readings and work all semester, you didn’t have to cram for finals. Cha-ching.
Here I am, years later, with another useful lesson: running yourself into the ground doesn’t make for good marathon training. Brilliant!
Lucky for me, I survived my last two poor training methods to try a third. Will it be the charm?
It didn’t take long for me to decide on the Akron Marathon – I didn’t meet my goal at Cleveland; I felt fantastic after two weeks off running; and I learned E-Speed was pacing my group at the race. Can we say stars aligning?
OK, maybe I’m just reaching. But we’ll see if stars align in a few months. While I haven’t been at this marathon game for long (and only running, period, since 2007), I’m giving my own plan a try this time around. I’ve collected tips and workouts from various sources I’ve used over the past two years (Runner’s World, Galloway, Fitzgerald) and created a 15-week plan for the summer.
Here in Week Four, I can honestly say so far, so good.
My typical week involves a base run with hill repeats on Monday, cross-training on Tuesday and Thursday, speed work on Wednesday, optional tempos on Friday, endurance on Saturday and restful Sunday. Yoga 3-4 times a week is blended with cycling and soon-to-be swimming for cross. I’ve also continued a pilates regimen and weight training for strength. And I’d like to integrate more races for kicks.
I was a little afraid of scaling back to 3-4 runs each week. Will it be enough? My previous plans ran me 6-7 days with high miles. But this time I’m focusing on the quality of my workouts and meeting my targeted paces. Instead of pace ranges, I’m being very particular about my goals. And I’m hoping that by late September I’ll finally be able to recognize a pace and run it in a stable fashion.
(A girl can dream.)
Only time (and the race) will tell if my approach to marathon training will work. With all the last-minute injuries and pains I’ve experienced these past three big races, I figure it can’t hurt to try. Cramming, it turns out, doesn’t work well for running either.
Here I am, years later, with another useful lesson: running yourself into the ground doesn’t make for good marathon training. Brilliant!
Lucky for me, I survived my last two poor training methods to try a third. Will it be the charm?
It didn’t take long for me to decide on the Akron Marathon – I didn’t meet my goal at Cleveland; I felt fantastic after two weeks off running; and I learned E-Speed was pacing my group at the race. Can we say stars aligning?
OK, maybe I’m just reaching. But we’ll see if stars align in a few months. While I haven’t been at this marathon game for long (and only running, period, since 2007), I’m giving my own plan a try this time around. I’ve collected tips and workouts from various sources I’ve used over the past two years (Runner’s World, Galloway, Fitzgerald) and created a 15-week plan for the summer.
Here in Week Four, I can honestly say so far, so good.
My typical week involves a base run with hill repeats on Monday, cross-training on Tuesday and Thursday, speed work on Wednesday, optional tempos on Friday, endurance on Saturday and restful Sunday. Yoga 3-4 times a week is blended with cycling and soon-to-be swimming for cross. I’ve also continued a pilates regimen and weight training for strength. And I’d like to integrate more races for kicks.
I was a little afraid of scaling back to 3-4 runs each week. Will it be enough? My previous plans ran me 6-7 days with high miles. But this time I’m focusing on the quality of my workouts and meeting my targeted paces. Instead of pace ranges, I’m being very particular about my goals. And I’m hoping that by late September I’ll finally be able to recognize a pace and run it in a stable fashion.
(A girl can dream.)
Only time (and the race) will tell if my approach to marathon training will work. With all the last-minute injuries and pains I’ve experienced these past three big races, I figure it can’t hurt to try. Cramming, it turns out, doesn’t work well for running either.
10.6.09
Flag Day and its 5K
So, I’ve had much better races than the Flag Day 5K I just ran, but it was all worthwhile because I did get to cheer on E-Speed and Salty to their incredible sub-19 races (typically I just hear about these ladies kicking butt; today I saw them kicking in action)!
Talk about a junky (and not at all smart) lead-up week, though: first five-days-straight running in at least a month left me more ragged and worn than expected, while other life/work stuff beat me up in the head. I guess it happens.
My guess is the extra cycling, aerobics and pilates might have added insult to preventing injury, but my mood weighed the most today. At least the weather cooperated.
Enough crabbing, here’s how it went down: I hitched a ride with E-Speed and made it to Deep Woods with enough time to register, stretch, warm-up and mosey around before the start. My warm-up felt plain poopy, so I trotted a half-mile out and back, prodded my calf to loosen and waited at the start, where I wish the chicas good racing, and used a pin to scratch off the misspelling of my last name on my racing bib.
Cue the anthem, runners set and go.
Obviously, I don’t start toeing the line. But these no-chip races make me anxious about the precious seconds added to my time—I realize I’m not breaking records, but I have my pride at stake! (What’s left of it on a day like today, anyway.)
Lucky for me that negative attitude subsided, even while feeling pretty sluggish, as I tried to take advantage of the first downhill. I rooted on E and Salty around the first hairpin turn, ran behind a slow-moving, exhaust-spewing truck, tried to flee a guy who grunted like he was dying a painful death every 15-20 seconds and was happy to cross mile 1at 6:45.
If only that feeling (and downhills) had lasted.
Well, I momentarily escaped the grunter, despite slowing way down in mile 2. My cardio still felt great—the cycling intervals, in particular, are working wonders—but my legs just weren’t with it. I slowly trotted the water stop (just before tripping over a sewer), downed too much water and picked up a stitch before crossing mile 2 at 14:57 (8:12 split).
Note: by the time I crossed mile 2, the winner was already finished.
Just before heading up some final hills (man, was I pokey up those hills!), I walked for 15-20 seconds to try working out the stitch. While I wasn’t cool with walking in a 3.1-mile race, I was even less cool with the cramp. It didn’t totally subside until after the race; I’ll have to learn to work stitches out on the run in the future.
Slugging up the “final” hill, Mr. Grunter came hurling his agony back in earshot. I knew I shouldn’t have wimped out and slowed down! I let him pass me in the woods, but never separated enough to stop hearing him yelp as if he’d been shot every 20 seconds.
Ahh!
Faked out by a subtle downhill and cheering from what turned out to be a softball game and not the finish line, I sped up a while before exiting the woods. It’s strange the way 3.1 miles feels like such a long haul when you’re running a bad day!
When we actually emerged from the woods, I could see two things: 1) big red numbers ticking down the straightaway at the finish line and 2) mad Mr. Grunter hoofing down the last hill.
As the clock ticked toward 24, I looked through my bag of tricks to see what I had left: Speed? No, I dropped that last week. Endurance? So seven weeks ago. Spite? Ha! An abundance!
I didn’t go into today’s race with a real goal, but I knew I’d regret not outrunning Sir Gruntsalot for giving agony such a bad name. My closing speed isn’t much to write home about right now, but I was able to hoof it down the final stretch, pass Gruntasaurus Rex and finish the last 1.1 miles in 9:01 (8:13 split for the mile, :48 for the 0.1).
My watch time, which accounts for the starting delay, was 23:58 (7:42/mile).
The official time, with added start gap, probably puts me over 24, so this is my time, and I’m sticking to it!
It wasn’t a good race for me (albeit a 5K PR—a perk of having run only one other 5K!), and it didn’t leave me feeling great about much, but the post-race spoils were super, as was the post-race pie with E and David and the opportunity to cheer for the girls.
Now I just have to get back to rest and recovery. I’ve felt pretty creakedy the past couple days, and it’s high time I get back to training like a good girl and trying to make it to Akron sans injury.
Talk about a junky (and not at all smart) lead-up week, though: first five-days-straight running in at least a month left me more ragged and worn than expected, while other life/work stuff beat me up in the head. I guess it happens.
My guess is the extra cycling, aerobics and pilates might have added insult to preventing injury, but my mood weighed the most today. At least the weather cooperated.
Enough crabbing, here’s how it went down: I hitched a ride with E-Speed and made it to Deep Woods with enough time to register, stretch, warm-up and mosey around before the start. My warm-up felt plain poopy, so I trotted a half-mile out and back, prodded my calf to loosen and waited at the start, where I wish the chicas good racing, and used a pin to scratch off the misspelling of my last name on my racing bib.
Cue the anthem, runners set and go.
Obviously, I don’t start toeing the line. But these no-chip races make me anxious about the precious seconds added to my time—I realize I’m not breaking records, but I have my pride at stake! (What’s left of it on a day like today, anyway.)
Lucky for me that negative attitude subsided, even while feeling pretty sluggish, as I tried to take advantage of the first downhill. I rooted on E and Salty around the first hairpin turn, ran behind a slow-moving, exhaust-spewing truck, tried to flee a guy who grunted like he was dying a painful death every 15-20 seconds and was happy to cross mile 1at 6:45.
If only that feeling (and downhills) had lasted.
Well, I momentarily escaped the grunter, despite slowing way down in mile 2. My cardio still felt great—the cycling intervals, in particular, are working wonders—but my legs just weren’t with it. I slowly trotted the water stop (just before tripping over a sewer), downed too much water and picked up a stitch before crossing mile 2 at 14:57 (8:12 split).
Note: by the time I crossed mile 2, the winner was already finished.
Just before heading up some final hills (man, was I pokey up those hills!), I walked for 15-20 seconds to try working out the stitch. While I wasn’t cool with walking in a 3.1-mile race, I was even less cool with the cramp. It didn’t totally subside until after the race; I’ll have to learn to work stitches out on the run in the future.
Slugging up the “final” hill, Mr. Grunter came hurling his agony back in earshot. I knew I shouldn’t have wimped out and slowed down! I let him pass me in the woods, but never separated enough to stop hearing him yelp as if he’d been shot every 20 seconds.
Ahh!
Faked out by a subtle downhill and cheering from what turned out to be a softball game and not the finish line, I sped up a while before exiting the woods. It’s strange the way 3.1 miles feels like such a long haul when you’re running a bad day!
When we actually emerged from the woods, I could see two things: 1) big red numbers ticking down the straightaway at the finish line and 2) mad Mr. Grunter hoofing down the last hill.
As the clock ticked toward 24, I looked through my bag of tricks to see what I had left: Speed? No, I dropped that last week. Endurance? So seven weeks ago. Spite? Ha! An abundance!
I didn’t go into today’s race with a real goal, but I knew I’d regret not outrunning Sir Gruntsalot for giving agony such a bad name. My closing speed isn’t much to write home about right now, but I was able to hoof it down the final stretch, pass Gruntasaurus Rex and finish the last 1.1 miles in 9:01 (8:13 split for the mile, :48 for the 0.1).
My watch time, which accounts for the starting delay, was 23:58 (7:42/mile).
The official time, with added start gap, probably puts me over 24, so this is my time, and I’m sticking to it!
It wasn’t a good race for me (albeit a 5K PR—a perk of having run only one other 5K!), and it didn’t leave me feeling great about much, but the post-race spoils were super, as was the post-race pie with E and David and the opportunity to cheer for the girls.
Now I just have to get back to rest and recovery. I’ve felt pretty creakedy the past couple days, and it’s high time I get back to training like a good girl and trying to make it to Akron sans injury.
2.6.09
That’s the Stuff
My doctor joked each week that we knew exactly what would make my shin splints and achilles better. I just wasn’t willing to do it. And had I known that two weeks of non-impact with plenty of stretching would have done the trick, I probably would have listened. For once.
But I didn’t.
I did, however, listen to his post-race prescription and tested my rested legs today. What a difference a fortnight makes!
Being the good girl I’m determined to become, I warmed up with yoga moves, dancer’s lunges and dynamic stretches before starting slowly into my first three-miler back. It’s a weird place: I haven’t run in two weeks, but it’s just two weeks removed from being injured yet in decent marathon shape. So, I could have run five, six, twelve miles if I wanted. But that’s not what good girls do.
I woke up my Garmin, which was ready to retire to Florida, and ran a short three-mile route up and down Lakeshore. And while I was wearing the Garmin, I tried not to pay attention to pace. This run was all about shaking off rust and feeling out what’s mended and what still needs to heal.
It was a relief to finally start a run without the crippling grip of dire shin splints and an achilles that just won’t quit. In fact, it was kind of strange to warm-up without excruciating pain: it was the first time since late March that it happened!
Aside from a little right achilles ache and some right calf knots (the original injury was left achilles), I felt fantastic. My legs weren’t fatigued at all and felt strong through each mile. As I stayed strong (but relaxed) the whole run, I could feel how my cardio has benefited from 15-25 miles cycling every day for the past two weeks.
And I must have looked strong doing it too: an older man stopped me on Lakeshore to ask if I was the superstar E-Speed! He and his wife were proud to see that a speedster from Euclid ran so well at the Cleveland Half. While I broke it to him that I wasn’t Ms. Speedy, I promised to pass on the praise. Next time I’ll have to run with E-Speed autographs on hand!
Running home along the lake, I stopped at 3 miles before trotting a cool-down home, where I plugged in my Garmin to check out the splints—mile 1 at 9:24, mile 2 at 8:20, mile 3 at 8:00. Oddly enough, the last two miles felt slower, easier, more relaxed than the first. Now we’ll just see how I feel in the morning!
But I didn’t.
I did, however, listen to his post-race prescription and tested my rested legs today. What a difference a fortnight makes!
Being the good girl I’m determined to become, I warmed up with yoga moves, dancer’s lunges and dynamic stretches before starting slowly into my first three-miler back. It’s a weird place: I haven’t run in two weeks, but it’s just two weeks removed from being injured yet in decent marathon shape. So, I could have run five, six, twelve miles if I wanted. But that’s not what good girls do.
I woke up my Garmin, which was ready to retire to Florida, and ran a short three-mile route up and down Lakeshore. And while I was wearing the Garmin, I tried not to pay attention to pace. This run was all about shaking off rust and feeling out what’s mended and what still needs to heal.
It was a relief to finally start a run without the crippling grip of dire shin splints and an achilles that just won’t quit. In fact, it was kind of strange to warm-up without excruciating pain: it was the first time since late March that it happened!
Aside from a little right achilles ache and some right calf knots (the original injury was left achilles), I felt fantastic. My legs weren’t fatigued at all and felt strong through each mile. As I stayed strong (but relaxed) the whole run, I could feel how my cardio has benefited from 15-25 miles cycling every day for the past two weeks.
And I must have looked strong doing it too: an older man stopped me on Lakeshore to ask if I was the superstar E-Speed! He and his wife were proud to see that a speedster from Euclid ran so well at the Cleveland Half. While I broke it to him that I wasn’t Ms. Speedy, I promised to pass on the praise. Next time I’ll have to run with E-Speed autographs on hand!
Running home along the lake, I stopped at 3 miles before trotting a cool-down home, where I plugged in my Garmin to check out the splints—mile 1 at 9:24, mile 2 at 8:20, mile 3 at 8:00. Oddly enough, the last two miles felt slower, easier, more relaxed than the first. Now we’ll just see how I feel in the morning!
18.5.09
Marathon #2: Check
After months of long runs, early mornings, doctor appointments, dessert hiatus and yammering about marathon strategy and not much else, I was hopping in place listening to my 3:40 pace group leader at the Cleveland Marathon. Finally! And as the announcer counted down to the start, I fixed my eyes on the pacer’s balloon-festooned pace sign, where I planned to train my eyes for the next three hours and forty minutes.
The best laid plans.
Let’s call the pacer Marlon. (Just because.) So, Marlon’s getting us pumped to start, explaining that he takes downhills fast so we can catch some “free” speed. We waddled to the starting line, and he shot out the gates.
Good for Marlon.
Not so good for the 50 people trying to weave through droves to find him. We sped down East Ninth Street toward the Rock Hall to swing a left on Erieside.
Hello Marlon and good bye.
Three-quarters of a mile into my 26.2 race, I had lost my pacer. What now?
The day started out swell: I drove downtown with E-Speed and Landon, found bathrooms fast and didn’t feel crippled by shin splints and tight calves for the first time in weeks. E helped get me sufficiently warmed and somehow Salty found me at the start. It was my day. I could feel it! I just had to stick with my pace group.
Why the desperation? We all know I have no ability to pace myself. Even with my Garmin. I’m either all or nothing. No smart in between. I knew I could physically run 8:24/mile for 26.2. But I hadn’t arrived ready to do it on my own.
Imagine my panic when I crossed mile 1 at 8:40 with no Marlon balloons in sight. I was 1/26th of the way into the race and I was already 16 seconds behind! By mile 2, I couldn’t even spy him up the straightaways and fell 37 seconds back.
Logic would have weighed me down in a marathon, so I left that part of my brain at home on Sunday. Thirty-seven seconds isn’t an impossible thing to make up over 24.2 miles. Nor is it impossible over 2-3.
It just isn’t a smart thing.
I inched up my pace on the Lorain-Carnegie bridge and through the west side, pulling within striking distance by crossing mile 4 at 33:52 (8:28/pace). But where was Marlon?
Turns out I wasn’t the only one hunting for the 3:40 group. By mile 5, I had run with at least 20 people (4-5 at a time) who saw the 3:40 goal pinned to my back and latched on a few miles at a time. Even the appointment as pseudo-pacer, however, didn’t sharpen my pacing skills. Panic held me and picked up these first nine splits:
Mile 1: 8:40
Mile 2: 8:45
Mile 3: 8:20
Mile 4: 8:07 (33:52, 8:28/mile)
Mile 5: 8:13
Mile 6: 8:10
Mile 7: 8:18 (58:33, 8:21/mile)
Mile 8: 8:36
Mile 9: 8:50 (1:15:59, 8:26/mile)
Somehow after getting ahead of 8:24 pace, I still couldn’t catch even a good rumor about where Marlon might be waving his balloons. And as I turned onto the highway, into the sun, I felt totally deflated. I gave up. My hammy tweaked and super-tightened as we climbed the first highway hill and I crossed…
Mile 10: 10:16
Lucky for me: I have the world’s most incredible friends.
All but socking myself in the face, I was slumping hard when Salty (who rocked the 10K hard!) appeared on the bridge through downtown to help me through some hard miles. She talked me through my self-pity, blocked the wind off the lake and helped get me to the half mark with these splits:
Mile 11: 9:15
Mile 12: 8:52
Mile 13: 9:52
Not even the joy of halfway would make my hamstring quit. At first I slowed down, took a 30-second walk break and eventually paused to stretch. Then it was 5:00 on/:30 walk for three miles. Nothing. Until I heard the 3:50 stampede heading my way.
Pained but excited, I flipped around every few seconds to scan the group, and in the middle of it all, I found Landon!
(I’ve wanted to run a marathon with Landon since the day I started running. Somehow it all worked out!)
We knew by miles 17-18 we weren’t meeting our respective goals, and once I knew my hammy could hold pace with Landon, we decided to finish the race together. And what could have been a dreadful experience turned into one of my favorite days.
Over the river and through the Rockefeller Park woods in search of few and far between aid stations did we go!
Shade along East Boulevard and MLK served us well, but I would have taken aid stations over trees. Don’t get me wrong: the volunteers were top notch! But the aid stations every 2-2.5 left me parched and floopy as we flopped from one station to the next.
But where there wasn’t Powerade, there was power support. Like my mom and Neil hanging on some shady parts of St. Clair (I was so loopy when we passed that I didn’t recognize Neil until he was running next to Landon for several seconds), and then E and Salty waiting for us around mile 22 or 23!
For weeks I’d envisioned reaching E (the day’s half-marathon superstar) and taking off for an incredible 3:40 finish! Unfortunately, this wasn’t the race.
E kept us alive those last miles. While I felt bad we couldn’t pick it up for her to really run us to the finish, I couldn’t be more grateful for her motivational spirit that stretch (her parents, from Mich., were even there cheering for everyone!).
With the last 0.2 to go, she hopped on the sidewalk and rooted us the whole way, and Landon told me to take off if I had it in me. Too tight to really pick up pace, I bid him to go… and go he did. Landon took off in an incredible sprint to the finish.
And what a finishing stretch: my mom and Neil cheered from one side, my dad shouted from the other and E rooted from the sidewalk. Then I waddled across the finish in4:11:20 (9:35/mile) 4:12:19 (9:37/mile). Great race.
Not only did I get to run a marathon with Landon, I had way-rad family out to cheer and outstanding friends run me through one heck of a race. Sure, I didn’t run a great time, but I had a great time running it. And how can I complain about a learning experience and a PR?
On my way out, I stopped by the medical tent to thank my doctor for getting me to the race (and thanked my massotherapist for her part of the magic online) and headed home ready to heal my aches, sprains and all the new ouches.
But it’s nothing a little pie can’t cure (click to replay):
The best laid plans.
Let’s call the pacer Marlon. (Just because.) So, Marlon’s getting us pumped to start, explaining that he takes downhills fast so we can catch some “free” speed. We waddled to the starting line, and he shot out the gates.Good for Marlon.
Not so good for the 50 people trying to weave through droves to find him. We sped down East Ninth Street toward the Rock Hall to swing a left on Erieside.
Hello Marlon and good bye.
Three-quarters of a mile into my 26.2 race, I had lost my pacer. What now?
The day started out swell: I drove downtown with E-Speed and Landon, found bathrooms fast and didn’t feel crippled by shin splints and tight calves for the first time in weeks. E helped get me sufficiently warmed and somehow Salty found me at the start. It was my day. I could feel it! I just had to stick with my pace group.Why the desperation? We all know I have no ability to pace myself. Even with my Garmin. I’m either all or nothing. No smart in between. I knew I could physically run 8:24/mile for 26.2. But I hadn’t arrived ready to do it on my own.
Imagine my panic when I crossed mile 1 at 8:40 with no Marlon balloons in sight. I was 1/26th of the way into the race and I was already 16 seconds behind! By mile 2, I couldn’t even spy him up the straightaways and fell 37 seconds back.
Logic would have weighed me down in a marathon, so I left that part of my brain at home on Sunday. Thirty-seven seconds isn’t an impossible thing to make up over 24.2 miles. Nor is it impossible over 2-3.
It just isn’t a smart thing.
I inched up my pace on the Lorain-Carnegie bridge and through the west side, pulling within striking distance by crossing mile 4 at 33:52 (8:28/pace). But where was Marlon?
Turns out I wasn’t the only one hunting for the 3:40 group. By mile 5, I had run with at least 20 people (4-5 at a time) who saw the 3:40 goal pinned to my back and latched on a few miles at a time. Even the appointment as pseudo-pacer, however, didn’t sharpen my pacing skills. Panic held me and picked up these first nine splits:
Mile 1: 8:40
Mile 2: 8:45
Mile 3: 8:20
Mile 4: 8:07 (33:52, 8:28/mile)
Mile 5: 8:13
Mile 6: 8:10
Mile 7: 8:18 (58:33, 8:21/mile)
Mile 8: 8:36
Mile 9: 8:50 (1:15:59, 8:26/mile)
Somehow after getting ahead of 8:24 pace, I still couldn’t catch even a good rumor about where Marlon might be waving his balloons. And as I turned onto the highway, into the sun, I felt totally deflated. I gave up. My hammy tweaked and super-tightened as we climbed the first highway hill and I crossed…
Mile 10: 10:16
Lucky for me: I have the world’s most incredible friends.
All but socking myself in the face, I was slumping hard when Salty (who rocked the 10K hard!) appeared on the bridge through downtown to help me through some hard miles. She talked me through my self-pity, blocked the wind off the lake and helped get me to the half mark with these splits:Mile 11: 9:15
Mile 12: 8:52
Mile 13: 9:52
Not even the joy of halfway would make my hamstring quit. At first I slowed down, took a 30-second walk break and eventually paused to stretch. Then it was 5:00 on/:30 walk for three miles. Nothing. Until I heard the 3:50 stampede heading my way.
Pained but excited, I flipped around every few seconds to scan the group, and in the middle of it all, I found Landon!(I’ve wanted to run a marathon with Landon since the day I started running. Somehow it all worked out!)
We knew by miles 17-18 we weren’t meeting our respective goals, and once I knew my hammy could hold pace with Landon, we decided to finish the race together. And what could have been a dreadful experience turned into one of my favorite days.
Over the river and through the Rockefeller Park woods in search of few and far between aid stations did we go!
Shade along East Boulevard and MLK served us well, but I would have taken aid stations over trees. Don’t get me wrong: the volunteers were top notch! But the aid stations every 2-2.5 left me parched and floopy as we flopped from one station to the next.
But where there wasn’t Powerade, there was power support. Like my mom and Neil hanging on some shady parts of St. Clair (I was so loopy when we passed that I didn’t recognize Neil until he was running next to Landon for several seconds), and then E and Salty waiting for us around mile 22 or 23!
For weeks I’d envisioned reaching E (the day’s half-marathon superstar) and taking off for an incredible 3:40 finish! Unfortunately, this wasn’t the race.
E kept us alive those last miles. While I felt bad we couldn’t pick it up for her to really run us to the finish, I couldn’t be more grateful for her motivational spirit that stretch (her parents, from Mich., were even there cheering for everyone!).With the last 0.2 to go, she hopped on the sidewalk and rooted us the whole way, and Landon told me to take off if I had it in me. Too tight to really pick up pace, I bid him to go… and go he did. Landon took off in an incredible sprint to the finish.
And what a finishing stretch: my mom and Neil cheered from one side, my dad shouted from the other and E rooted from the sidewalk. Then I waddled across the finish in
Not only did I get to run a marathon with Landon, I had way-rad family out to cheer and outstanding friends run me through one heck of a race. Sure, I didn’t run a great time, but I had a great time running it. And how can I complain about a learning experience and a PR?On my way out, I stopped by the medical tent to thank my doctor for getting me to the race (and thanked my massotherapist for her part of the magic online) and headed home ready to heal my aches, sprains and all the new ouches.
But it’s nothing a little pie can’t cure (click to replay):
14.4.09
Glimmers of Hope
Signs of hope aren’t just showing up in the economy these days. They’re all over my legs.
Neil and I visited our nation’s capital last week (All I wanted was to see the president while we were in DC; 30 minutes into our trip, Obama rode by, waving, in his motorcade!), which provided ample distraction from my non-running.
Even if every 1/3 people on the DC streets was jogging. All the time.
It wasn’t all rest, however: we walked 10-15 miles each day, which averages more mileage than I run in average marathon training week! Neil (you can imagine) was thrilled! I’m one helluva vacation partner. At least we totally deserved those dogs at Ben's Chili Bowl.
We did the occasional street-crossing sprint. And by “occasional” I mean every 3-5 streets. It was rough at first—my achilles and calves were suffering big time—but stopped feeling dangerous after the first day and a half.
I was (this) close to taking a run, but I resisted.
Until today.
I’ve been resting since last, last Thursday. It made me a little anxious to not run for a week and a half. Sure, I’ve been cycling, stretching, yogaing and doing other aerobics. But would it be the same?
Well, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t too bad either. I loaded my ipod with laid-back songs and struck out for a slow, short run. The pain wasn’t all gone and the stiffness stuck around at the start. But it was just feint pain and stiffness—as if I couldn’t quite forget what it was like to run in pain. I wasn’t optimistic.
Then around mile two, it started to rain and my legs warmed up. I picked up pace slightly (from 10’s to 9’s) and fought the urge to figure out what I could do.
After the first five miles, I felt great—in my achilles, calves, legs, lungs—so I took an extra mile lap around the neighborhood to run an even 6 miles. It was a good run back. Phew!
What’s next? I’ll start slowly building up to my workouts and see what I can get out of this last month. Sure, I’ll modify my time goals. In a few weeks.
Neil and I visited our nation’s capital last week (All I wanted was to see the president while we were in DC; 30 minutes into our trip, Obama rode by, waving, in his motorcade!), which provided ample distraction from my non-running.
Even if every 1/3 people on the DC streets was jogging. All the time.
It wasn’t all rest, however: we walked 10-15 miles each day, which averages more mileage than I run in average marathon training week! Neil (you can imagine) was thrilled! I’m one helluva vacation partner. At least we totally deserved those dogs at Ben's Chili Bowl.We did the occasional street-crossing sprint. And by “occasional” I mean every 3-5 streets. It was rough at first—my achilles and calves were suffering big time—but stopped feeling dangerous after the first day and a half.
I was (this) close to taking a run, but I resisted.
Until today.
I’ve been resting since last, last Thursday. It made me a little anxious to not run for a week and a half. Sure, I’ve been cycling, stretching, yogaing and doing other aerobics. But would it be the same?
Well, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t too bad either. I loaded my ipod with laid-back songs and struck out for a slow, short run. The pain wasn’t all gone and the stiffness stuck around at the start. But it was just feint pain and stiffness—as if I couldn’t quite forget what it was like to run in pain. I wasn’t optimistic.
Then around mile two, it started to rain and my legs warmed up. I picked up pace slightly (from 10’s to 9’s) and fought the urge to figure out what I could do.
After the first five miles, I felt great—in my achilles, calves, legs, lungs—so I took an extra mile lap around the neighborhood to run an even 6 miles. It was a good run back. Phew!
What’s next? I’ll start slowly building up to my workouts and see what I can get out of this last month. Sure, I’ll modify my time goals. In a few weeks.
4.4.09
Running Skirts and Marathon Dreams
The marathon must be getting close. Not only do I have my regularly scheduled nagging injury, but I had my first absurd dream about the race last night.
In the dream: I ran way off course, missed the turnaround by six miles, had to swim part of the way, ran a stretch wearing my winter coat and carrying my computer bag, was forced to stop and have lunch with some visiting friends, ran all uphills backward and realized I hadn’t bought my finish-line Boston crème pie before the race. As you can imagine, I didn’t meet my goal—I looked down at my dream watch to see it ticking past 7:42:00 and then I woke up.
Good thing is the tight calves/shin split/achy achilles/slight runner’s knee thing I’ve had going on this week didn’t make an appearance. I hope that’s the only part of that dream that makes an appearance (although running the uphills backward sounds interesting).
I’d like to blame these aches and pains on that Sunday after my tempo, but I think it has more to do with a tight glute from weeks ago. Around mile 15-16 I felt the glute tightness creeping back for a few minutes. Either that tightness trickled down or all the compensating is paying off in all the wrong ways.
My mid-distance and long runs last week started out creakedy and stiff. Stretches and a couple miles of warm-ups smoothed it all away. Not so for last Saturday’s outing. I took a she-runs/he-bikes ride with Neil and never warmed up. For over an hour!
Typically I keep up a pace with which Neil can casually pedal along side. But last Saturday’s pace was akin to my post-marathon recovery. These legs just weren’t moving.
So, I rested.
It was all yoga and pilates for Sunday and Monday. More on Tuesday and Wednesday with an hour of cycling each. Then Thursday was the day of reckoning. It was also the day that I learned the truth about running skirts.
If you’ve ever seen me run, you’ll know I’m not a pretty lil’ runner (in form or fashion). I put little thought into my ensembles—just whether they’ll keep me warm or cool enough. Mix that with my lifelong shorts-wearing hesitation, and you just have one big damn mess: me.
I gave in a couple years ago and bought a bulk of running shorts. They work just fine, even with all the inevitable riding up of any pair on the planet. Then I noticed running skirts—basically a fitted tennis skirt with longer “bloomers”—and thought I could get on board with that. It seemed Puritan enough for modest me.
My new skirt came in the mail on Thursday. I bounced home from work, threw on my running clothes and hit the streets for my first run in a while. Would my legs work?
They did, I think. I was so damn distracted by how severely the skort was riding up and began to expect all the nasty catcalls from the extraordinary number of piggish dudes out that day. Not at all what I had envisioned for new line of modest running clothes.
So, I ran to the library to drop off the West Wing and fix the skirt parts one of many “last times.” I ran well over 10:00/mile the first 1-2 and wondered if I was doing more damage than good. Nothing felt like it was getting worse in that first 20 minutes; nothing felt like it was getting better. I decided to give myself a 30-40-minute window for warming up. After that I’d just turn around and waltz home.
What do you know? At 35:00 I started feeling almost human again. I comfortably picked up pace into the 9:00’s and then the mid-8:00’s. I finished my scheduled 9+miler at the end of my driveway, walked slowly inside, cooled down a bit on my bike and yogaed away.
Soreness was inevitable on Friday. But it wasn’t worse than any other day. I walked a bunch before and after work, rode my bike, massaged and stretched. And this morning, I feel like I could run without agony. We’ll see.
On one hand, it’s a major bummer that this hitch in my plan is happening just when I started hitting my paces and times. I’ll take it easy this week and most of next, and make a game-week decision about the Hermes 10-Miler. Argh.
On the other hand, this type of thing happens. To me, it typically happens the week or two before the race. This year, I have time to recover. I’m 17 weeks into a 24-week plan… that’s 11 more weeks than I’ve ever stuck to any plan! So, I’ll chalk it up to part of the learning curve and get back to stretching.
In the dream: I ran way off course, missed the turnaround by six miles, had to swim part of the way, ran a stretch wearing my winter coat and carrying my computer bag, was forced to stop and have lunch with some visiting friends, ran all uphills backward and realized I hadn’t bought my finish-line Boston crème pie before the race. As you can imagine, I didn’t meet my goal—I looked down at my dream watch to see it ticking past 7:42:00 and then I woke up.
Good thing is the tight calves/shin split/achy achilles/slight runner’s knee thing I’ve had going on this week didn’t make an appearance. I hope that’s the only part of that dream that makes an appearance (although running the uphills backward sounds interesting).
I’d like to blame these aches and pains on that Sunday after my tempo, but I think it has more to do with a tight glute from weeks ago. Around mile 15-16 I felt the glute tightness creeping back for a few minutes. Either that tightness trickled down or all the compensating is paying off in all the wrong ways.
My mid-distance and long runs last week started out creakedy and stiff. Stretches and a couple miles of warm-ups smoothed it all away. Not so for last Saturday’s outing. I took a she-runs/he-bikes ride with Neil and never warmed up. For over an hour!
Typically I keep up a pace with which Neil can casually pedal along side. But last Saturday’s pace was akin to my post-marathon recovery. These legs just weren’t moving.
So, I rested.
It was all yoga and pilates for Sunday and Monday. More on Tuesday and Wednesday with an hour of cycling each. Then Thursday was the day of reckoning. It was also the day that I learned the truth about running skirts.
If you’ve ever seen me run, you’ll know I’m not a pretty lil’ runner (in form or fashion). I put little thought into my ensembles—just whether they’ll keep me warm or cool enough. Mix that with my lifelong shorts-wearing hesitation, and you just have one big damn mess: me.
I gave in a couple years ago and bought a bulk of running shorts. They work just fine, even with all the inevitable riding up of any pair on the planet. Then I noticed running skirts—basically a fitted tennis skirt with longer “bloomers”—and thought I could get on board with that. It seemed Puritan enough for modest me.
My new skirt came in the mail on Thursday. I bounced home from work, threw on my running clothes and hit the streets for my first run in a while. Would my legs work?
They did, I think. I was so damn distracted by how severely the skort was riding up and began to expect all the nasty catcalls from the extraordinary number of piggish dudes out that day. Not at all what I had envisioned for new line of modest running clothes.
So, I ran to the library to drop off the West Wing and fix the skirt parts one of many “last times.” I ran well over 10:00/mile the first 1-2 and wondered if I was doing more damage than good. Nothing felt like it was getting worse in that first 20 minutes; nothing felt like it was getting better. I decided to give myself a 30-40-minute window for warming up. After that I’d just turn around and waltz home.
What do you know? At 35:00 I started feeling almost human again. I comfortably picked up pace into the 9:00’s and then the mid-8:00’s. I finished my scheduled 9+miler at the end of my driveway, walked slowly inside, cooled down a bit on my bike and yogaed away.
Soreness was inevitable on Friday. But it wasn’t worse than any other day. I walked a bunch before and after work, rode my bike, massaged and stretched. And this morning, I feel like I could run without agony. We’ll see.
On one hand, it’s a major bummer that this hitch in my plan is happening just when I started hitting my paces and times. I’ll take it easy this week and most of next, and make a game-week decision about the Hermes 10-Miler. Argh.
On the other hand, this type of thing happens. To me, it typically happens the week or two before the race. This year, I have time to recover. I’m 17 weeks into a 24-week plan… that’s 11 more weeks than I’ve ever stuck to any plan! So, I’ll chalk it up to part of the learning curve and get back to stretching.
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