Because my hourlong ESPN special was pre-empted by that basketball guy...

...I'll tell you now where I've been: Limpville.

But first the marathon recap: you know by now that I ran a 10+ minute PR at the Cleveland Marathon in May. It was meant to be a training run in prep for a shot at a Boston-worthy 3:40 at some June race. We dance, dance, danced the night away at Neil's BFF's wedding (talk about a guy who gives a great speech!). I got to sleep around 1 a.m., woke up before 5 a.m. and started running by 7 a.m.

It wasn't even 7:30 a.m., however, by the time I stopped running. Shin splints kicked in around 1.5 miles. By two, I was in tears limping on the side before I stopped. Some massaging and ego-kicking later, I ran with the promise that if things didn't loosen by mile ten I was out. Mile five came around, and I started feeling a little better. Around mile seven I realized that my mom and dad were coming out to cheer, and I didn't want to let them down. So, I ran the whole darned thing.

The plus side to stopping and then wobbling in tears for 15 minutes in a marathon is that once you get running again, no one passes you for the last 23 miles. At least that's how it worked out for me. I didn't push myself; I just took in the scenery, really enjoyed Cleveland's outpouring of support (big high-fives to the Shaker Heights cheerleaders!) and had a pleasant Sunday-morning long run with water stations and cheering crowds. That's your typical Sunday, right?

I felt so great, in fact, I was able to run mid-8's the last several miles, race my dad down St. Clair (around 22-23) and finish with a smile on my face. Things swelled, and I limped to my much-deserved mole-chicken pizza at the Beach Club Bistro, but it was all to be expected. I had run a marathon. My best one yet.

Well, it might be the last one. The shin splints, as it turned out, weren't shin splints after all. They were this:
What you're seeing is shots from my MRI. The x-rays, which I don't have, show it better. One fracture all the way down my right tibia, a small crack around it, and stress syndrome occurring on my left.

It took me so long to tune out pain of training in my fitness life that I managed to miss distress signals when my body was actually hurt. Poop.

I waited about 3-4 weeks before I saw a doctor (not because I was stubborn -- I had run a marathon, of course things were going to feel funky!). There were x-rays, follow-ups, errant radiologists, denied MRI claims and then the final MRI. The pics were so concerning to the radiologist at Clinic Sports Health that he called Dr. T the minute I left the room. Yet, after six weeks of walking on this stuff, I barely notice my leg is ready to crumble.

So, you can imagine how rough the first couple days were of being on crutches. Not the actual crutching, but the remembering. Because I walked on them for six weeks, I don't feel the pain of fractured bones. My brain has discontinued its subscription that feeling. It's just some aching.

When my leg bares weight, I don't get a pang. I just remember, "shoot... Neil's going to catch me walking and I'm going to be busted!" Horrible, I know. But it helps. By Monday I should be totally trained to not walk like a normal human being.

Good thing is I'm OK to crutch around. I crutched about a mile my first night, and it felt amazing to be out, moving and getting in some form of new cardio. Because my left leg has some stress going on, I still need to be careful. So far my crutching isn't quite aggressive enough to yield more injury. Unless, of course you know of any crutch races this weekend....?

I'm just thanking my lucky stars Dr. T pushed for more info when radiology told him my leg was fine and that playing tennis last weekend didn't actually crumble my leg. Then I would have had to go through all of that change-of-address stuff again. I don't think I'd be a happy resident of Limpville for long.

Thinking about your worst enemy

IT bands, shin splints, stress fractures and sore quads are nothing. The pain that slows me the most is in my head.

No, I'm not talking about migraines (although I struggle with those sometimes too). I'm talking self-inflicted sabotage. The wall before "the" wall. The engine that could but became wholly convinced she couldn't so she took a nap.

In my last post, I mentioned all the time I wasted last week pondering my race feelings. Do I like it? Should I be doing it? Should I sit on my lazy butt instead? Thank the angel on my shoulder for winning that battle.

It's no secret that racing isn't exactly a massage. But it sure feels great when you're done -- the exercise, the adrenaline, the endorphins, the pride, the camaraderie, the achievement. And fresh off Saturday's race, I have to admit racing a good one doesn't hurt remotely as bad as I remembered. So why all the hate?

Honestly, I can't explain it.

What I realized today, however, is that tune-up races take the wuss out of your stride. For weeks I had struggled with running my targeted paces. Sub-8's were for sprinting miles. But after Saturday's race, I've felt pretty comfortable running base miles in the low-7's without going breathless the way I might have last week.

Is my watch broken? No. Has my fitness changed in a matter of days? No. Apparently proving to my brain that I could run 7:40 over 10 miles was enough to banish the wuss covering the accelerator. Now how can I get that feeling to stick around (and ditch the wuss)?

My friend Melissa told me when I first started training that I overthink on the run, and I keep her voice with me still whenever the wuss starts creeping into my head. But all too often the wuss wins.

Case in point: a couple weeks ago, I pumped up my treadmill pace to 9 mph without really knowing actual pace. I ran with healthy effort for two miles before the math worked out in my head -- 6:40 pace. Then I started questioning myself. Well ahead of my 5K PR and not even struggling, suddenly I was stumbling over myself. It's as if my brain says "you're not allowed to do THAT!" and my legs comply. It's just not right.

After reading Matt Fitzgerald's Brain Training last year, I've made some serious breakthroughs with mind over matter. But I have such a long way to go. Sure, greater confidence comes with experience. I just need to make sure the wuss on my back doesn't stop me from getting that experience.

Not a perfect 10, but a happy 10.

It's been so long since I've been happy with racing that I wondered why I registered for the Hermes Cleveland 10-Miler.

Seriously, racing 10 miles this weekend? Is that really the best use of my Saturday morning?

One pretty decent 18-miler and a few mid-distance runs aside, most of my outings have been junk since the Akron Half. On Saturday morning I wondered whether I even enjoyed racing.

Despite all the negative energy, I made it to the start with ESpeed and Salty, and I just wanted to run a healthy race. Beating my PR (1:21) would be rad, but not imperative. Taking a nap would have been nice. But then the gun went off, and I took off at a comfortable pace, weaving among a pretty huge sell-out crowd into the streets of Cleveland near West side.

The downside of showing up relaxed and expectation-free: I hadn't thought at all about my approach. A ten-miler is an interesting race. Obviously not a sprint, ten miles isn't a long-distance race either. And while it's twice a five-miler, I consider the intensity closer to a fiver than a half marathon. But where?

I decided early to run "comfortable, but not relaxed." It was my mantra. Stay comfortable, not relaxed. And it was easy the first couple miles: start-line adrenaline was pumping, beat of a couple thousand runner's racing feet was bumping. I was content with mile-one 7:23 split, but wasn't sure whether mile two's 7:53 split was my final glimpse of sub-8's. Shin splints had come to attack.

My race day attire was pretty flawless for the first time ever. Simple dri-fit Nike tee with new compression shorts and socks couldn't have been more breathable and less chafing. And it was the first time I didn't have to spend too much energy tugging at shorts riding up my chunky thighs. Perfect!

I'd made the compression-sock investment a few weeks earlier when several people recommended them for my shin splints. Yes, it's spring and the splints were back. I've been treating them with major hill therapy (4-5 mph on the treadmill at 10-12% grade for 2-3 miles) and figured the compression couldn't hurt.

The socks have worked wonders for my tibial tendinitis and achilles tenditis (both sides). So, if you see me at work, run, sleep or play, I'm wearing a pair.

At this race I donned a new pair of pink compression socks, which were the best pair yet. I swear they squeeze out my morning tibial and achilles aches. Unfortunately, however, they didn't scare away the splints.

I started tightening up around the middle of mile two, and then, oh, how the mental battle began! Should I stop? Of course you shouldn't; you should run harder. But this burns something fierce. Yeah, but are your shins going to break? Besides: since when is a race not supposed to hurt?

And the devil side was right. Races aren't supposed to tickle.

So, I stayed comfortable cardiovascularly, tried to ignore the fact that I have shins, checked out all the pretty houses along Lake Ave and just ran from one mile marker to the next. Pretty soon they were flying by (I even missed mile four!), my splints had eased and I was posting a pretty decent 5-mile split (38:48), which is just a minute off my 5-mile PR.

Then came the wind. I practiced my drafting techniques, skipping from dude to dude, trying to catch some relief from the gusts. It was remarkable what a difference some shield made, but I couldn't stick with anyone long enough to make a difference. Miles 6 and 7 were rough, but didn't turn out too bad: 7:54 and 8:02 splits.

One point of confidence I did bring to the race is finishing speed. I've lately take 6-8 miles to really feel warmed up, comfortable and ready to go. And that feeling didn't fail me on Saturday. I crossed the mile 7 marker and was finally off to the race.

Three miles? I can run three miles. And so I did.

I can't pretend to understand well enough how my body works, but, boy, was it fun to run those final miles. My body felt loose, and I was running a pretty good clip without losing my breath. Mile eight passed in 7:43, and it just seemed too easy. I wished all my miles felt so light. We weaved around neighborhoods and ticked away mile nine in 7:36 like I was having a picnic.

After high-fiving the volunteers at the last mile-marker and turning onto the curvy bike path toward the finish, I tried to stay comfortable without letting my exuberance peak too soon. The twists and turns helped temper my excitement for the finish, and probably slowed me down more than some of the downhills sped me up, but it was really glee from a ten-miler feeling so darn good that powered me toward the beachfront finish.

As I took some of the final turns, I noticed a pink-shirted chica trucking up on my right. I turned on my final quarter-mile jets past her and crossed the finish in 1:16:47 -- a little more than four minutes faster than my previous PR.

Oh, did that race feel great. I hugged Miranda, the pink-shirted runner who raced me to the finish, for helping me meet my goal (secretly I wanted but didn't expect to run 1:17). And as I ticked through my watch, I was really proud of my finishing speed. The last twisty-turny mile measured only 0.96 on my watch, but I covered it in 6:46 (~7:04/mile).

ESpeed, who finally rang out her Boston quads, found me fast. We cheered Salty, Monica and other friends to the finish before catching some killer egg dish from the finishing tent (whoever picked out the egg dish for post-race food should get the Nobel Prize for Awesomeness).

It was a strange feeling leaving the race. For the first time in a long, long time, I felt content. Even at the Holy Cross 5K, where I won and picked up a major PR, I didn't feel happy with my race. My Akron Half was really great for me, but I walked away with so many "but"s. Was this race perfect? No. Was it the best I could have run that day? Who knows. Was it comfortable, relaxed, smart, fun and healthy? Absofrickinlutely.

It's high time I remind myself that I'm not close to good enough a runner to get down on myself and my running results when they're not what dreams are made of. Am I running to win? Nope. I'm running to be healthy, to challenge myself and, when possible, beat all runners named GP.

Racing may not feel fab when you're doing it, but it should feel great when you're done. And, you know, it really does.

A little off the sides

Just like most chicks, I've suffered from poor body image all my life. My worst fears about my arms or butt or thighs were always confirmed by people I was meant to respect or revere (last words my late swim coach ever spoke to me: "next year we'll have to work on those fat legs of yours"), and sometimes I wonder how I didn't end up with some serious disorders.

While I've dropped 10-15 pounds since high school (mostly trimmed baby fat and bulky butterflier's muscle to lean), I still feel plenty of chunk to junk when I'm running. Sure, now it's more about carrying less baggage on the run than looking like Filippa Hamilton, but how can not feel guilty for putting my adult self through the torture I survived as a teen?

Well, I can say I'm more healthy about it now. I have the mix of exercise (i.e., various forms of cardio, strength and flexibility training) that makes for healthy living, and, I'd say, at least 95% of the eating part down. But if you've known me for 5-10 minutes, you're aware of the mind-blowing indulgence that makes up that spare 5%, which gives me an extra 5-15 pounds I don't want to carry past my 30th birthday.

So, for the first time since I was a teenager, I'm actively trying to shed some weight... and admitting it out loud. Hey! Blogging about marathons and triathlons has kept me honest. It could work with butt-chopping too!

The timing couldn't be better: I'm in between big races right now and won't start training for the Pittsburgh Marathon until December. And some sustainable adjustments should get me on the right track before those miles start stacking up.

No, no, no... I'm not saying a permanent good-bye to cupcakes or bread pudding or crepes. I'll just be revisiting the concept of moderation and seeing what it means for my back fat.

It's hard to cut back overall calories when you're training—you need the extra energy and stored jolts to get through the next hard workout—but I know I scarf thousands of spare calories on bad days, birthdays, depressed days, I'll-eat-better-tomorrow days, Saturdays, wedding days that add up faster than the national debt.

Maybe I need some shock diversion therapy with buttercream or something. Just no gimmicks or fads, please: I have races to run! But I hope by February I'll make some progress to carry through spring. Something tells me running hills in Pittsburgh will feel better with less junk in my trunk. And that's all I want: to feel great.

(Cuppie on a scale by Jessie Oleson, cakespy.com)

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.

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.

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.

30 Miles, 26 Hours

Sure, I made it through Sunday's run bucket-of-chickenless, but that wasn't the only downside to a good run. There's the whole my being an idiot that came into play.

Eager to write and talk about the run, I plopped on the couch (still pretty gross, too), tucking my leg beneath me and making my achilles squeal. It felt like something serious all of Sunday and the better part of Monday. I rode an easy hour on my bike on Tuesday and took the legs for a test run on Wednesday after work.

Fingers were crossed.

Creakedy start —achilles sketchy, calves reluctant and tight— those first two long miles, and it almost seemed like a bad idea until I pushed through Little Italy, passed a cyclist up the hill, eventually hit my "base" stride and cut all the apocryphal thoughts ('you were marathon-training and you injured yourself sitting?') these tweaks induce.

The short, slow test run turned into a pretty good hill exercise and 11-mile run a touch under 9:00/mile. Warm-up miles were tragically slow, but I tackled each incline and flew the downhills to pick up the pace. And the achilles scare? All just a bad rumor.

Not that it helped my super tight legs today! I took the buses (express into downtown, transfer to HealthLine) to work in the morning and tried to keep my legs stretched and warm all day. It didn't matter: I started running on a cold, rainy day, and my calves were stiff as stones.

Seven some miles later, I met E on the Marginal, where it was 15-20 degrees warmer and 100 percent sunnier than when I started. My calves? About 70 percent less stiff.

We took the scenic lakefront route home, and I dipped and peaked all over the place. At some points I suffered from post-work malaise; other times I was just pumped to be finishing my long run on a week day. The post-work thing, however, is pretty rough for me, so I finished that few miles feeling more ragged than usual. E, as usual, talked me through it. Whew!

We reached the end of my street (just past 19 miles), and I bid E on the rest of her Wednesday run. I ran the slowest cool-down in human history and smiled. Feeling tight, rough and a little slow, I still managed 19 around 8:50/mile. Now I need a massage...

Will Run for Food

One of my favorite parts of the recovery-eating obsession is picking out the healthy foods I’ll eat after a run. Granted, I get consumed in it sometimes during a run, but it works in other ways too.

Runner’s lunches, for instance, have become bigger carrots in my training regimen than the old cupcake trick of 2007.

What’s a runner’s lunch? It’s a delicious but healthy recovery meal (like everything bagels and green antioxidant-rich protein shakes or seduction bread with pomegranate and grilled chicken) that I take to work and can only eat if I run during lunch. Works like a charm.

I’ve worked my new job since early January 2008, and I never ran during lunch until October! While I had been content to train after work or in the mornings, the month off after Akron and the time change really threw me for a loop this year. Because I’ve never run during this time of year, I wasn’t prepared for that shift. Lucky for me, I have the option to make a change.

It took many attempts to get my butt out of the office during the day. Finally, I brought a bagel-and-shake combo, which I could only eat if I ran my workout, to put me over the edge. And it’s worked ever since. It helps that I don’t bring a backup lunch—so it’s either run or starve—and love the stuff I bring to eat. What can I say? I’m all about incentives.

And Thursday’s run was chock full of rewards. Not only did I have a healthy Whole Foods bean burrito and bialy bagel waiting for me, I trucked up Cedar Hill for 2x30-second hill repeats and through the Heights for a 4.5-miler that ended running down Mayfield hill in Little Italy (I intend on remembering the feeling of running down that hill next time I do 6x60-second repeats up that thing!).

Recovery or not, Friday hit me hard. It had much more to do with a stressful month than running, but I crashed hard at the end of the day. I took a much-needed nap and didn’t do much else Friday but crab and eat. But I did celebrate the 21st Amendment anniversary with my brother, Neil and Greg at Willoughby Brewing Company at night. And I was reminded why I don’t drink alcohol anymore.

No quips here about people drinking; it’s just never been for me. I spent a few months in college becoming an Irish whiskey expert, but alcohol has always hit me hard for days no matter how much or little I drank.

Like the ¾ pint of IPA I drank last night. Blah! The beer was fine (as was the bread pudding with turkey butter I ate with it) and didn’t affect me much last night. But I woke up today feeling groggy and way too yuck. My head feels heavy and my body’s so bloated.

It was a struggle to push through my 5-mile Fartlek (which didn’t get started until some time around noon) and I kept damning myself for doing something I knew was bad for me. Even if I was totally responsible about it. I guess the 21st Amendment just isn’t for all of us. Some people should be bound to their own prohibition.

Good news is I welcomed myself back from the run with another burrito-and-bagel recovery, complete with antioxidant-rich tea and a probiotic shake. So, it may be all mental—the alcoholic downside, the recovery-meal upside—but it all works for me.

Well, Now What?

Taking a break in October wasn’t too difficult: my ITB was aching something rough, I was a little fatigued from the crammed training and getting behind in my life. Never have the states of my house, thesis and ironing been so wrecked.

A month off, a pilates obsession and a few hip abductor exercises later, I’m starting my training again. But this time, I’m going to do it right. At least I’ll try.

Today I began training for the Cleveland Marathon on May 17. That gives me a little less than 24 weeks to build, which should work much better than my “three weeks to a new marathon you” gig last summer.

I’ve been reading a new book this fall, called Brain Training for Runners by Matt Fitzgerald. (Sounds cheesy, doesn't it?) While it’s not a book about easy ways or tricks to training yourself to 26.2, the book helped me in just a few weeks to break down many of the mental barriers I like to build between myself and great times. In fact, I used many of the lessons I learned from the book at the Turkey Trot to achieve a 5-miler PR.

But it’s nothing new. And it’s nothing my running friends haven’t told me all along. It’s nothing my dad never told me growing up. Nothing Melissa hasn’t been reminding me for the past year and a half.

Fitzgerald’s book explains the physiology behind running and fatigue and how your brain responds to those things. And how to get over some of those triggers. Like defeating yourself. For some reason, though, reading about what my muscle fibers are doing and why I feel a certain way… well, that clicks.

And when I start to get tired at mile two, I can tell myself that my legs aren’t dying, that the burning is good, that I can push at this level and beyond.

Best of all is that the training plan for marathon takes a healthy course, building miles slowly over 24 weeks and incorporating some Fartleks, hill repeats and cross-training with the distance runs.

Obviously it’s a healthier route than my last-minute job in August, and I’m already liking it better than most other plans I’ve followed from pubs like Runner’s World. As I mentioned, the mileage builds slowly. So, week one doesn’t have a sudden 15-miler popped in on a Saturday. This week’s long: a 5-miler at base pace on Saturday. Then it ekes up from there.

To kick it off right, I woke up early for 30 minutes of morning pilates today and then ran the Heights for 4 miles at 9:05/mile during lunch. Only 23.5 weeks to go!

WANTED: Marathon Training Intern

Responsibilities include, but are not limited to: assessing maps of my Saturday distance runs (which have been curbed midway for the past two weeks by dehydration and subsequent swelling); establishing water stops at hydrationally advantageous locations along the routes; knowing when I need nutrition or a splash of electrolytes; charging my iPod Shuffle before I leave for a projected 4-hour run; reminding me to stop for fluids even when I think oh, I’m just fine; cheering me along the way when I start looking rough; massaging the stiff out of my knee; stretching the stiff out of my quads; kneading the sore from my feet; yelling inspirational phrases as I cross 20 miles; drying my shoes after 2.5 hours in the rain; and making me quality recovery meals upon returning home.

Internship starts four weeks ago; incumbent must provide own transportation, enthusiasm and water bottles. Self-starters OK. Previous experience with desperate novice runner a plus; patience and mind-reading ability a must. Position is unpaid, but intern will receive partial credit for my success. Apply within.

Please Note: Iron G in 2015 is now a whirlyball blog

OK, I’m not joining the professional whirlyball circuit yet. But who knows where this life will take me!

We played for work last week, and while we were all initially skeptical, I think we walked away pretty big fans. If you’re not familiar, think lacrosse mixed with basketball in bumper cars. It looks something like this:



For the past couple weeks, though, life has taken me farther down the new-homeowner path than the marathon-in-September way. Two weeks in a row I’ve ditched my high-mileage days for yard work. Granted, I have fewer weeds and a pretty cleaned-out front yard as a result of it… but I’m thinking neither of those things will get me through miles 13-26 at Akron.

Last week was a step ahead, albeit a small one, from the previous week: 7 + 6 + 5 = 18 miles. The saddest part is that Sunday’s run was supposed to be 16. But, hey, I have boxwoods and a hydrangea.

Over my six miles with Salty, I learned a bit about racing from a girl who knows her stuff. I quipped to her, as I have quipped many times here, that my speed work and tempo runs tend to be faster than my race paces. WTF, right?

But I’m getting a sense that I, umm, don’t really race when I’m… off to the races. At least not as much as I should. It’s not that I don’t try when I race, but I can’t say I feel really taxed at any point except the last 100 yards of any race when I’m trying to book.

It’s as if my [personal] financial conservatism has flooded my racing philosophy—I’m always saving up for something. And it figures the one place where I’m conservative would infect the rest of me…

Perhaps I just need to stop overthinking.

I was lost in my thoughts this morning, though, when I cruised Euclid around 6 a.m. Not only were the streets pretty quiet (there were a good number of runners and cyclist, nevertheless), it was perfectly chilly for a mid-June morning. What a pleasant break from the heat!

It was an easy 5-miler around 9:30/mile, which really is one of the better ways to start the day. I’m often torn about what kind of shape I’m in because I ran the first four miles around 9:30/mile, ticked at least a minute off the last mile and like I could have kept going and going. Then, of course, there are those other days when I can’t run down the street at a noticeable clip.

While today was a little bumpy on the homefront, I still felt pretty well energized all day. I was (this) close to running tomorrow’s workout after work today, but I opted for a walk with Neo instead. The evening weather was just as pleasant and autumnal as the morning. And that’s really something you should share.

Slow Times at Ridgemont High

My first week back to marathon training didn’t exactly kick off on the foot my training plan intended. I completed my speed work and the easy 5+, but totally skipped the 6.5 tempo, my Saturday 14 and the Sunday five. Life, it turns out, goes on.

At least I have good excuses for two of the three. I skipped the tempo out of sheer laziness and weather-wimpitude. The idea of running anything tempo in 90+ degrees just wasn’t happening for me. Naps were more my speed.

But I did get out! I met Monica, Salty, CJ and co. on Saturday morning for ~6.5 miles on the NC trails. While the sun and heat were blazing that day, we were pretty sheltered by trees and even took the big ol’ NC hill that normally wipes me out. Because it was only a 1+ hour run, I didn’t carry water with me, but was grateful for a mid-point water stop. Surprisingly, though, I wasn’t parched despite the weather. Wippee on that!

Sunday was all house, all day. We painted the tragically colored kitchen to something much prettier, and I spent most of the day getting scorched in the sun while pulling out all things living, dead and intrusive in my garden. It was a workout! This weekend is front-yard landscaping. And I intend on actually completing my runs as scheduled.

Just like I intended last week.

The weather shouldn’t provide too many excuses for me now. I headed out right after work yesterday for what should have been speed day. Instead of 800s, I ran seven miles around my neighborhood and up and down Lakeshore at about 10:00/mile. It started as my speed warm-up, but kept extending. Slower and slower and slower.

While it wasn’t too hot or muggy on Tuesday, it was warm enough to slow my already garden-aching legs. I just didn’t have any kick. I was happy to get our and run, nevertheless, and at least get some good miles under my feet. Maybe today will be the day for speed.

So far, last week’s mileage (15.5 miles) has only a slight edge on this week (7 miles). Now, if I can only get over 40 miles… that’s when I’m allowing myself dessert. It’s the new plan.

Week One in the North

It’s warm-up week here in Euclid, and I’m digging in and holding out for the weekend to really get settled. So, I’m just free-running this week and trying to return to some semblance of my former healthy diet.

It’s hard to believe now, 1.5 weeks later, that I made it three months without dessert. You wouldn’t know it from the sugar in my body. In fact, I may have developed an extra sugar bag near my intestines. Where else could it all be processed and held?

But I merely sacrificed an apple and some dried mango for my sweet tooth today—shortly after my first new-house run. I wound for 30 minutes through what E-Speed calls “the comb” and then ran to the Cleveland border and back for a full hour and a little more than 6 miles.

It was a cool day and a pleasant evening for a run, and now I’m totally convinced that getting acclimated to summer weather is going to be one of those tough, one-day smacks in the face that happens one morning when I’m forced to race, race, race!

Don’t get me wrong: weather this year has been tops for running. In my book, at least. A few hot days here and there, a rainy half mary… I’d rather take the gloom and chills over heat and dehydration.

I’ll take whatever comes my way these days, however. While I’m still at a loss for my stuff (after the move), I’m still glowing from the commute improvement.

Even after missing my turn—you get used to a route home, and when you’re going the opposite direction, it takes some practice!—and plugging through some slow-moving MLK traffic, I still made it home in 30 minutes. Beeee-autiful!

I pulled into my driveway energized and ready to run. So, I did.

We're He-re!

After one awesome move, a lot of stairs, plenty of boxes and bruises, tons of dessert and a weekend with family, we're in! Neil and I—eleven strong with friends and family—moved to Euclid. And I'm ready to run!

Short of two runs, I took off training for the past week and abandoned pretty much all nutritional sense. The dessert emancipation has been pretty badly abused, but not too far from deserved.

But I think it’s time to get back to marathon training in my new land.

Five Things I Learned at the Cleveland Half Marathon

1. Running in the rain isn’t half bad.
Weeks before any event, I track the weather day-by-day to see how my race day will fair. Even 2-3 weeks out, May 18 wasn’t looking good. And as a non-rain runner, I was making too much of the weather. I always do.

I woke up on Sunday morning, pained to hear lots of drops slapping the windowsill. To my surprise, though, I just got up, put on a baseball cap and rainy-running jacket, and piled into the car with my mom, who dropped me off at the starting line (thanks, mom!).

One of the biggest benefits of training in the blogosphere: getting to know plenty of non-wimps. Afraid of a little rain? Try Salty’s Nor’easter battle at Boston or a couple of E-Speed’s and Monica’s blustery races this winter. Plus, after running in the rain and traily mud with JenC & co. a few weeks ago, I actually thought this might be fun.

And it was.

I made it to the starting corral about 15 minutes before the start and waded through the crowd on an unsuccessful attempt at finding Landon (he ran a stellar full marathon) near the 4:00:00 pacer. By the time I made it to the front of the corral, the pacers had just put up their signs, and people really closed in behind me. So, I stayed put.

Because I ended up next to the 3:10:00 pacer for the start, I blew across the start after the gun and got out of the way. I had anticipated a blast of runners blowing by me, but the whole route seemed wide enough to accommodate the crowd and I didn’t feel slowed or cramped (or that I was slowing or cramping anyone else) the whole 13.1. Nice job, Cleveland!

The coolest part was that I could see the front of the pack for most of the first mile. Granted, it was a straightaway. For a middle-of-the-pack runner, however, that’s pretty cool.

And by the time I crossed the mile-1 marker at 8:17, I was pretty soaked and pretty OK with it.

2. It is possible to run into people you know mid-race.
After my last couple races, my friend Melissa (who’s about to have a baby in 1.5 hours!) reminded me not to over-think my runs and not to psych myself out mid-race whether I’m running too fast or too slow. So, I didn’t.

In fact, after I crossed the mile-2 marker at 16:56 (8:39 split) I stopped focusing on my pace and just ran. I’d check my time at each marker to make sure I was keeping my general desired pace, but I didn’t calculate my times or focus on how long each mile took.

I just ran, ran and absorbed the scenery of Cleveland’s inner East side, lakefront houses on the near West and about 30 guy runners lined up and peeing into the trees of OH-2 between miles 4-5. Ahh, where nature meets the city.

Often on the route, however, I’d get these jolts of energy. And it wasn’t the breaks in the rain, the GU or the prospect of first desserts (OK, maybe a little of the dessert); it was the awesome people roadside cheering us on.

I felt like a bleeping rock star under the West 3rd bridge (which is where, JenC indicates, E-Speed was leading the race’s best cheers!), down Lake Avenue and throughout downtown. Wow-ee. Plus, it was totally rad running into people like Greg on the OH-2 bridge and Kathy on Lake Avenue. What are the chances?

I wish I could have seen the scores of other people, including TriGuyJT, Charlie and JenC running the half, Monica volunteering at Mile 17, Salty and her mom rooting us on (and anyone else I'm forgetting), but I'm glad everyone braved the rain and joined the party!

3. Wearing a local college T-shirt, however, is also a good way to get cheers.
Not much thought went into throwing on my John Carroll T-shirt on Sunday morning. One T-shirt that doesn’t chafe is just as good as the next, right? Well, the crowds went wild.

At least 10-12 times between Lakewood (when I took off my jacket) and the finish, I had individuals or entire crowds cheering for John Carroll. I’d hear “Yeah, JCU!” and “Go John Carroll!” and “JCU! Woo hoo!”

The best cheer, however, came from a St. Ignatius crowd (the high school and college are closely associated) that yelled out “Hey! JCU!” and cheered loudly while performing an impromptu wave. I have to say my feeling-special-o-meter was off the charts there. It may not have been the Wellesley girls, but I’ll take this Cleveland version!

4. GU is easier to open than Hammer Gel.
I wasn’t too keen on the Hammer Gel version of gooey energy gunk. At least not the container. I hereby declare myself a GU girl.

Around mile 5, I walked through a water stop (actually, I walked through all water stops—some faster than others) to take down a chocolate GU and power through the next couple miles. Smooth as can be! But when I hit the Hammer Gel station closer to mile 9, it wasn’t so pretty.

Don’t get me wrong: the gel was plentiful, the volunteers rocked and I had my water ready to go. I just couldn’t get the stupid package open! My first try tore the gel right above the tear line and subsequent attempts got me closer, but got me no gel! I went for the second pouch and did the same thing. Grrr!

So, I just stopped running, walked and focused on the Hammer Gel. By the time I finally got the thing open, took it down and started running again, I had probably wasted—beginning to end—at least two minutes. At least I know, for next time, that I can shave off a couple minute by not letting the extra hammer-detailed tab on Hammer Gel defeat me!

5. An easy half marathon makes a nice distraction.
Except for the weather-worrying and a few moments of “have I trained enough?” despair, I didn’t spend much time thinking about the race. Between big work projects and the move, I didn’t have much brain left to focus on the race. And it actually turned out to be a good thing.

Not only did I avoid wasting energy being nervous about the race, I ran a totally laid-back half marathon, managed a PR at 1:53:27 (I hit the 10K at 53:55) and earned myself some major dessert-love in the process (still waiting on photos from my mom)!

Neil, my mom and Philip met me at the finish, equipped with smiles, a Boston Cream pie and spoon. Now that's love if I've ever seen it.

I walked away from the finish line still feeling pretty energetic, plenty proud and honestly thinking, “that’s it?” Who would have thought I’d come such a long way? I still remember when I finished my first full mile. Last year.

So, what’s a girl to do?

Full marathon.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Hudson

Just to recap: I was running through Hudson last week when an approaching car, which was about to blow through a stop sign, almost hit me when I was in the middle of the street, in the middle of the crosswalk. It was almost the second time a car struck me, but that Jag had some good brakes.

The other incidents I described (the meanies in Stow, the nicies in Euclid) weren't car related at all, but just me, losing my sidewalk grip with two left feet.

Strangely enough, I can dance!

Most of the past week’s training, however, took a backseat to my continued battle against stress. It was all self-induced, really, and, therefore, my fault. But would it win?

The hardest part was shaking off the stress-battle fatigue and getting my butt outside. And I knew with the Cleveland Half speeding up on May 18, I should really consider getting in some miles before race day. What a bright idea!

So, I woke up early on Saturday and took a Stow-to-Hudson 16-miler (we move in two weeks, so it was my last one here) on what turned out to be a near-perfect morning. It started out super chilly—higher winds, bigger clouds and temps in the upper 40s—but warmed up to the lower 60s about 30 minutes down the road.

It was yet another good exercise in running with a jacket, without a jacket, with a jacket and getting stuck halfway out of it too. One of these days I need to invent some type of force field that can cover and uncover me when I hit x degrees. Put it on the to-do list!

But a funny thing happened when I was crossing Oviatt and Aurora: I saw a police officer ticketing a driver for running the stop sign and hitting, you guessed it, a runner. No, it wasn’t me! It was, though, the same intersection where I was almost bumped on Thursday.

I didn’t really stop to talk (it pulled a crowd), but as I slowly trotted by, I heard everyone saying that drivers have to start acknowledging runners and that pedestrians have to learn to stand their ground, follow traffic rules and take their right of way—lest drivers forget they must yield. Within reason for pedestrians, obviously.

That last part came from the police officer. And I think that as communities like downtown Hudson try to attract a pedestrian crowd, getting drivers not to run over those pedestrians will be key!

Instead of eavesdropping at that scene, I stopped for Vitamin Water at Heinen’s and practiced drinking on the run. I’ve toyed with walking through race water stops the past couple races and have gone pretty much stitchless on race day since the middle of last year. Knock on wood.

And on Saturday, I managed to drink (I’d walk, sip and then run) sans stitch for most of the run and then belly-breathe my way out of an almost stitch right around mile 10.

The only real problem, which is a regular on my long runs, was my foot aches around miles 12-13. Every time I run 11+ miles, I get achy feet. Even in new shoes. When I first started feeling the pain last year, I thought it would subside with time and conditioning, but it seems to have an 11-mile trigger.

Granted, it’s not a painful experience and, therefore, not a real concern. It’s just more of an annoyance. Perhaps at mile 10 I’ll change shoes. We’ll see.

I finished the 16-miler around 2.5 hours (9:30/mile), ran upstairs, showered, dressed, moved boxes into my car and sped to Cleveland for my brother’s graduation. (Congrats to Nino on his big college graduation! Here’s to his bright future and imminent world-changing!) Let me tell you that carrying boxes down three flights of stairs after a 16-miler doesn’t feel remotely as peachy on the knees as you might have guessed. At least it wasn't up three flights of stairs.

Yet my legs didn’t feel remotely as stiff when I woke on Sunday as I might have thought.

I woke up around 6:15 a.m. on Sunday to run a few miles with Landon (6.25 miles to be exact) for our last outing before the Cleveland races. Landon’s going the full 26.2; I’ll quit halfway. It was incredible to see how desolate a cloudy 6 a.m. Sunday can be. We saw maybe 2-3 people and twice as many cars.

We started the run pretty fast (after I warmed up to our meeting spot), but had to slow down once my legs woke up and stiffened up around mile three. I managed to keep rolling at the speed of stiff, but mostly enjoyed the trip with Landon out to the park and back before taking a walk break to his house and then making the stiff, stiff, stiff run back to my house before it started to rain.

So, my outlook for the Cleveland Half is good. While I don’t feel as prepared as the Akron Half, I’m confident in my ability to finish 13.1. But I don’t know that I’ll have a time goal. Maybe just to beat my last time (1:54:10) or just have fun doing it.

Marathon Training Week 5: 33 miles

Beware the Wily Road Warrior

So, it almost happened again: I was almost hit by a car. But first, the early week.

Stress and stuff was still irking me on Monday and Tuesday, but I hit the road on Monday for five miles. I decided to ditch the marathon training assignments until after the half because my stress-waddiness and lack of energy haven’t blended at all with the concept of running 30+ miles a week or coming home to run over ten miles after work.

Go with what works, right?

Despite every intention to run again on Tuesday, I fell for the Cleveland sports spell and lay on my living room floor mesmerized by playoffs and Yankee spankings. Lucky for me, my resistance bands, yoga mat and weights lay also on the living room floor near the television.

Cross-training Tuesday it was! I returned to some serious stretching, ab work and lower-back exercises, which will have to become part of my everyday once our relocation is complete.

Wednesday morning seemed really promising. I walked into work around 7 a.m. and almost took a detour into my gym bag. There hasn’t been a more perfect morning this year, and somehow I didn’t run through it.

If you live in NEOhio or love the Weather Channel, you’ll know it was all downhill from there. Clouds, wind, storms, rain. You name it.

When I left work, however, it seemed to brighten up (no, not because of me) outside, and I decided to drive to Hudson, park at the grocery store, run a few and then pick up dinner.

It’s about an hour drive, so you can imagine the weather, my energy and my bladder were completely different versions of themselves by the time I pulled into Heinen’s. Unfortunately, the only bathroom in downtown Hudson I know of is the one at Main Street Cupcakes, and I just can’t visit until after the Half.

Yet on I ran.

I followed a 6-mile triangular double loop that traveled from Main Street down Aurora to North Hayden and up Streetsboro, if you’re familiar with the area.

It had some climbs and I took a few semi-detours up some hills, but encountered the biggest challenges from the wind, rain and automobiles.

On my second trip around the triangle, I was crossing a side street just as a Jaguar was headed for a stop sign. Or so I thought.

There I was, wearing fire-engine red shorts, a sunny yellow T-shirt and a blindly orange baseball cap, crossing the street. I couldn’t have been more noticeable if I had been wearing enflamed, bottomless chaps with a neon arrow sign that said “Look at me.” But alas, the driver missed both the stop sign and the runner.

It didn’t take me long to know I should watch all cars—stationary or rolling—in front of which I am crossing. And it still blows my mind when you’re staring at a car and its driver, and they both keep moving.

The driver finally noticed the glowing beacon of don’t-hit-me crossing in front of her car and stopped. Meanwhile, I was turned halfway toward the car (ready to brace myself and crash into the windshield instead of going under) with a WTF look on my face. Then WHAM!

The ground hit me.

When I turned away from the car, I momentarily lost my orientation, stumbled and totally wiped out. Thankfully, I didn’t fall on my knees again this time (I’m tired of looking like a nine-year-old girl with scraped knees), but crashed onto my left hip and both palms. I’m a little scraped and bumped; I’m OK for now.

My neck whipped when I hit the ground, so I was wholly disorientated when I finally crawled onto my feet. Not to mention the whip of embarrassment.

Unlike the last car incident, this driver didn’t get out and scream at me. She followed me down the street, pulled into a driveway and offered me a ride. Another driver also pulled up to offer a ride along the way. I must have been a pathetic sight. So, two points for Hudson.

Once I collected myself and stopped my whimpering and limpering, I started back into my three-mile loop just as the ran really started to pour. I was just about the start feeling all Eeyore again, but I’m kind of bored with feeling sorry for myself. And off I ran.

My right felt a little tweaky; my head and neck felt a little off; and my left hammy just wasn’t right. Nevertheless, I finished the trek around Hudson and walked into my favorite grocery store, semi-sweaty, rained-on, dirty, a little bloody and really scraped. I can only imagine the meticulous produce boys weren’t digging my digging for good apples today.

All this falling and car-dodging got me thinking, though: how do communities rate for runner courtesy? Obviously singular circumstances with individuals don’t speak to the whole community, but I wonder what a thorough investigation might find.

The two times I had incidents in Stow, for example, I was yelled at when I was hit by a car, ignored when I wiped out near an intersection and beeped at when I slowly crossed the street all bloody and limping.

I wiped out on Babbitt Road in Euclid last summer, and the passers-by couldn’t have been more helpful. All traffic stopped (I was on the sidewalk), two people offered me a ride, another offered to call an ambulance, one person came out of his house to help and another woman parked her car and came to me with a First Aid kit. Impressive.

I’ll give Hudson the benefit of the doubt this time. Besides, they do have some pretty good cupcakes. Have I ever mentioned that? While they don’t seem to have the same stop-at-stop-signs tradition we follow in other parts of the country, I did get two offers of help. And that’s not so bad.

If nothing else, today was perfect training for incidents, injuries and inclement weather. I had a mean stitch miles 1-3 and kind of started praying for a bathroom when I was 2.5 miles out. Diving face-first into the cement, however, totally made me lose the stitch and forget about my bladder. So, next time you’re in a bad running situation… you know what to do ;-)

Quick! Before it Rains!

I don’t know about you, but I’m a total wimp when it comes to rain (unless, of course, I’m running through mud in the woods!). All that wet makes things go the wrong way—my shoes, my clothes, the cars on the road—and makes me go a little nervous.

So, it’s good news that I finished my first 30+ mile week (this year) on Sunday morning while it was still sunny and just a little bit chilled.

The week began, as you know, with a stitchy short run, which didn’t bode well for my future. But things picked up on Thursday, when I met Salty at North Chagrin for an hour-long run on the trails.

I headed to North Chagrin right after work (with a Trader Joe’s pit-stop) and showed up over 30 minutes early—it turns out that when you don’t live an hour away from everything, you don’t have to leave over an hour early to get everywhere! That’s a lesson I’m eager to learn after we move. But it did give me time to run a 10:00 warm-up and rub out a kinky right calf that had been bothering me for a few days.

I was worried that my calf-tweaking was a sign of another injury, but it warmed, faded and hasn’t returned (knock on wood). Disaster averted?

Before this year, I hadn’t done much running-buddy running. And I’ll admit that the first time I ran with Landon, I was a little wary of running with people, thinking that I’d be too slow, too quiet, too weak, too drifty, too blah. Perhaps I’ll never know what accommodations my recent buds have made for me (soon, you can all start a support group ;-), but it’s all gone pretty smoothly and helped me get my run and knowledge on.

That’s the best part: everyone with whom I’ve run knows far more about racing and running and training and hydration than I’ll ever know. It’s like running school and it’s awesome. While I feel bad that I have little to contribute to their knowledge banks, my all-occasion sarcasm should suffice, right? And I think my endless collection of “this is how I hurt myself this time” stories are true keepsakes!

Another bonus: these people always seem to know where we’re going! You don’t have to ask Neil about our trip to San Fran (I turned an afternoon stroll through Pacific Heights to Golden Gate Park and across the bridge into a 15-mile all-day/all-night death march that left Neil bleeding and my tendon serrated) to know I’m not a good measurer of distance and time. I also have zero orientation in the woods. And while I realize knowing the trails comes with practice, it’s nice to run with people who have a clue.

Salty did a masterful job winding us through the trails and getting back to the parking lot in exactly an hour. We kept a nice pace, scaled a killer hill (not much brilliant story-sharing on that one!) and ran on a really pleasant evening last week. Yet my stitches came back to haunt me.

Not that I wish pain on anyone, but it made me feel better knowing that Salty has had her share of run-stopping stitches too. Plenty of articles I’ve read seemed to say, “Problem with stitches? Well, you’re either a wuss or you’re just plain out of shape.”

Au contraire, mon ami! Stitches happen to the best of ‘em.

Part of my stitch problem was mental—I’d fear their onset and freak when I felt them start churning their wrath. I’d spend time reading about preventing the things, but all the approaches I hadn’t taken would cross my mind when I started obsessing over what may or may not be a cramp in my side when I ran.

I’m a head case. I know.

So, thank you, Salty, for my stitchy reassurance!

Whether or not it was that reassurance, a mental lapse or some extra core-strengthening, I went stitch-free for the whole weekend. All 20+ miles of it!

On Saturday, I hit the Towpath with Neil for about 7 miles. Stealing an idea from Kate, I invited Neil to ride his bike on the path while I ran—that way he could take a leisurely ride, the way he likes it, and I could run a decent pace without having to worry about him—and it turned into a peachy afternoon jaunt.

After a warm-up, I ran semi-tempo for about three miles (9:30, 9:00, 8:18) before cooling down 3.5 miles back around 9:30-10:00/mile. Not only was it swell to spend time with him and have Neil as a semi-running buddy, it was clutch for me to have someone to distract me from the sounds of the woods. For some reason, the animal sounds seemed louder on Saturday, and it would have freaked me out had I been by myself.

Plus, Neil was prepared to throw his banana nut bread Clif Bar at any bear that crossed our paths. Swoon: my hero!

Finally, on Sunday, I woke up a little early and ate a low-digestion breakfast of a Think Thin bar and orange blossom iced tea, before heading out for my long run. I skipped Saturday’s Hermes 10-miler to focus on getting my longer-distances runs in. And I finally broke my 10-mile barrier with a 13.3-mile run from Stow to Hudson.

Word to the wise: if you ever use MapMyRun.com or any other brilliant tool for plotting out your next trip, don’t check the elevation until after the run. If you don’t hate yourself, that is.

I knew the trek between Stow and Hudson (no, I didn’t stop for cupcakes—I have a couple more weeks on that—but I did chug a B+guarana Vitamin Water that gave me heart palpitations for the rest of the day) was bumpy by car, but I didn’t process the hills until I saw this:
Elevation is shown at the bottom in blue. Yick! Instead of letting the thought defeat me, I tried to stay proud of my hill-running as I huffed and puffed up one and down the other. It was like winning a prize, however, kicking through the final stretch: not only has recent construction in my area created an accident runner’s bridge on a highway bridge I cross to get home, but I could feel every degree of downhill as I cruised into my neighborhood. Ahh.

I finished in 2:10:00 (~9:45/mile) and sealed my confidence that I’ll finish the Cleveland Half all right. It was my longest run in both time and distance since, well, the Akron Half.

Cleveland is two weeks from this Sunday, so I have time for a couple more long runs in and out of the rain. I won’t be breaking any speed records. But I might get to run half the race with Landon, who will run the full marathon, if I can keep up with him.

Either way, I do get cupcakes at the finish!

Marathon Training Week 3: 30 miles

Ten Miles on the Towpath (Week One Wrap)

Yesterday, I almost did a crazy thing: I thought about putting my name into the NYC Marathon lottery. How cool would that be? Running my first (or second marathon) in my favorite city? I mean, if Katie Holmes can run 11:00/mile at NYC, I could do 8:00.

But then I thought better of it.

Not only was I wary of signing up for a marathon that—should I even get the lottery selection—I would run about one month after Akron, I wasn’t too hip to signing up for two marathons before I’ve even completed one. What if I can’t even finish the first one?

Sure, it’s a romantic idea. But the opportunity should be there for years to come. So, NYC: someday.

The thought entered my mind when I was reading my Galloway training book and followed a link to the NYC Marathon site. And then it was reinforced by an episode of How I Met Your Mother. What if…?

SMACK! Back to reality. And back to marathon training.

After my 5 x 1000 at 5K pace last Monday, I ran five easy miles on Tuesday, rested on Wednesday and ran about 6 tempo miles with Landon on Thursday. We ran up and down Lakeshore and almost exclusively into the wind, no matter which way we turned.

By Thursday my legs were pretty beat. Until last week, my training had been “run a little here, run a little there,” in preparation for the real plan. First weeks are always tough. Landon and I had intended on running the tempo at 8:30/mile for 6.5, which we deemed “comfortably hard” for us.

But as my [lack of] shape dictated, the pace of “comfortably hard” quickly went down as the miles went up. We probably started the run close to 8:45/mile and ended around 9:45-50/mile. Neither of us felt like we were going to barf by run’s end, but I certainly felt well worked. And well in need of conditioning. Whew!

You know by now that running with Landon (and some miles with Neil) has been pretty much the extent of my buddy running experience. Well, Monica was nice enough to invite this rookie to the Towpath last Saturday and we ran probably the most pleasant 10 miles I’ve ever logged.

Not only was I introduced to the concept of running groups (the idea has long intimidated me—I imagined a very strict group of champion running people who were going to push me to run 7:00/mile for 16 miles until I cried), I finally found my way to the Towpath. I’ve lived in the Akron area for over three years and never realized that a) this thing was right by my house; b) the extra parking by Winking Lizard Peninsula was for the Towpath and not the bar; and c) the Towpath is awesome.

I had come to the Towpath on Saturday morning hoping to run 14 miles (per my plan), but an overbooked Saturday limited me to about 90 minutes for running. More on that later.

So, Monica found me at the Towpath, where I also met other people in the running group, as well as a bunch from a Vertical Runner group that was meeting same time, same place. We kicked out onto the path and everyone pretty much ran at their own pace—some sped ahead, some stayed back, some stuck with our 9:40ish/mile pace. Most of the group fell off around 2-3 miles out, but Monica and I ran to five miles and then trekked back for a full ten.

Even for this non-nature person, the Towpath was pretty darn cool. The path itself had a good surface that was easy on my feet, joints and mind (no huge potholes to negotiate), and is surrounded by woods, some residential areas and no spaces that look particular thick with bear hiding places. But there was still plenty of wildlife to see, including a beaver, a big ol’ goose and a herring. Considering I get excited when I see a deer (I don’t get into the woods much), I had quite the sightseeing trip.

Aside from the healthy pace (isn’t about time I run at a healthy pace), I think the Towpath and good company made for one perfect 10-miler. We ran for about 1:36:00 on the path, and then I ran a bit past my car and around an extra block for a full 1:40:00 on Saturday.

I would have loved to have run the full 14 or longer—I felt fantastic!—but I had to move into step two for Saturday: signing for my new house. Neil and I met our transferring agent at no better place than the McDonald’s near our apartment. We skimmed through a stack of papers (some more diligently than others), signed, signed, signed and voila! Closed on Monday. Woo hoo!

We each toasted with a French fry and I was onto the next segment of my Saturday: Melissa’s baby shower.

Lucky for me, the shower was only a few miles away and raging with food. When we clinked our singular fries, I was taken back to the days I actually ate those things and I rejoiced momentarily in the incredible saltiness and joyous grease that makes them such a forbidden fruit (or, for that matter, starchy vegetable). Sigh.

One French fry would neither kill me nor tie over my hunger, so I jumped into grilled chicken breast, turkey wraps, broccoli salad and fresh salsa galore. Talk about picking up your protein! My biggest Saturday challenge, however, was neither running 10 miles nor buying a house nor stopping after a single French fry. It was avoiding dessert.

There were chocolate chip cookies and frosted cookies, cake, a trifle, more cookies, brownies and some other dish with cream, pretzels and jello. And I sat right next to it as I chomped on things that were neither sweet nor horrendously bad for me. I just kept my Cleveland Half in mind and stayed away.

Somehow, I made it out alive.

What this exercise in dessert-sacrifice reminded me why I’m doing it: to maintain my focus. And the discipline I develop by nixing sweets resonates in other parts of my training life. Forgoing baby shower dessert is like overcoming post-work slump and actually running the miles assigned for the day. Or waking up early on Saturday and getting in a quality 10-miler. Sure, you think the alternative is somehow sweeter, but in the end, it not only keeps me focused on my goals, but helps me achieve that end and feel swell doing it.

Marathon Training Week 1: 24 miles