Quest for Four

While I was sitting around last fall and winter, staring longingly at my running shoes and waiting for my ankle to heal, I had some time to ruminate on my running ability and goals. There are certain realities I should face. I’m over 40, my knees hurt, both Achilles tendons are damaged, I have strange big toe pain and some weird problem in my hip. I’m not skinny enough to run distance, but I really don’t care to lose any weight. My best marathon time is 4:32, decent for a regular person, but it’s not going to get me any shoe deals. The intelligent approach would be to stop pushing myself so hard, cross-train on the bike at least as often as I run and, most important of all, lay off the marathons.

I used to be smart, maybe even smart enough to follow this path. But I’m not anymore. I think the oxygen deprivation from all that running has killed the common sense brain cells. So my current plan is to run one or maybe even two marathons this fall, and to complete one in less than four hours. This goal is so ridiculous for me that I may offer it to the Merriam Webster people for consideration as a definition of delusional.

The idea of breaking four hours started germinating in my mind a year ago, when I kept setting personal records at races. It really took hold, however, when I volunteered at the Philly Marathon in November. My assignment at the Marathon was to hand out medals at the finish line. This gig was a blast. I was right there when the winner crossed, and I got to see all of the ecstatic people who finished with Boston Marathon qualifying times. I’ve never been there to witness all of the people coming in under three and four hours. Despite the cool air, they were sweating profusely, and many were stumbling as soon as they finished. I saw a lot of paramedics rushing to help runners who simply could not take another step. Witnessing the sweaty zombies, my brain damage spoke to me. It said, look at these people; you are not working hard enough.

When I mentioned my goal to the bright-eyed jolly members of my running club, they assured me that of course I can do this. That they had to tell me this at the post-run dinner because I can never keep up with them during the run itself did not factor in their conclusion. In fact, they said, I should try to qualify for Boston. They’re not crazy; I’m just so far behind them they’ve never actually seen me run.

I have picked the marathon for the attempt: Steamtown in Scranton on October 10. I’ve also signed up for the Philly Marathon in November as a backup. My training plan requires me to run five days a week, getting up to 50 miles a week by marathon time, cross-train on my bike on a sixth day, and incorporate weight and core training and yoga. I also have to lose at least 10 pounds, which sucks because the only reason I run in the first place is so that I can eat what I like. As of now, I’m up to 29 miles a week, and I’m working hard to bypass the basket of Hershey miniatures that is left for us at work every day. I also spent money I don’t have on a Garmin Forerunner to track my pace, because ordering it was a training tactic I could accomplish while sitting on my butt in front of the computer.

Even if I manage to do all of this, I still don’t know if I can break four. Worse yet, if I do achieve this goal, there’s a darker, scarier idea bouncing around in that otherwise empty head of mine, too impossible to address.

Back on Treadmill

On Tuesday September, 22, I ran for the last time in 2009. At the time, I didn't realize I was finished for the remainder of the year. I thought two months would be sufficient for my achilles tendon to stop hurting. By the end of December, however, while it did hurt less, it still wasn't perfect. This cost me one of my most treasured New Year's day rituals -- running past the drunk attendees of the Mummer's Parade.

The tendon still wasn't perfect at the end of January either. By then, however, the combination of the economy's impact on my checking account, the cold weather, the short days and the lack of running had turned me into Cranky McCrankypants. Really. Godzilla meets the old guy who yells at you to get off his lawn-cranky. Ask anyone who had the misfortune of trying to communicate with me then and only heard some gutteral combination of a hiss and a growl in response.

At this point, I had to weigh the pros and cons of running. Con: I could still snap the achilles tendon. Pros: I could start training for spring races; I could start working toward meeting my New Year's resolution of a four-hour marathon; I could be fit without having to sit for 90 minutes on a bike trainer, the most boring piece of exercise equipment ever created; I could prevent my mood from descending from slightly grouchy to top story on the news psychotic.

In this particular mind-body war, mind won. With a well-taped ankle, I hopped on the treadmill in the last week of January. It wasn't bad. I obviously lost speed and stamina, but all that time on the bike trainer did leave me with some level of fitness.

Six weeks later, I have added mileage and speed, and the ankle is no worse than before. I even ventured outside for the first time last week, and all was well.

So I'm back in training. Despite being far behind where I was last year at this time, I am still hoping to get a 5-k personal record at a race I'm doing in April. I am planning on completing the Broad Street Run in May.

Then there's the four-hour marathon. To do that, hopefully in the second week of October, I'll have to do more weekly mileage than ever before. To do that safely, I can only add that mileage slowly. Which means that as of right now, I'm in marathon training. On a taped-up ankle. But I guess a torn tendon is better than a ruptured soul.

Heeding the Call to Heal the Heel

I have found my runner’s Achilles heel, and it is my Achilles tendon. I had some nagging pain starting in the middle of summer. I am an older, bigger, born-with-the-sloth-gene runner, so I get random pains all the time. It’s my knees, or my toes, or my hip. Despite all the good advice to the contrary, generally I ignore the pain, and generally it mysteriously vanishes.

I told myself all sorts of stories about the new tendon pain. I convinced myself that it was just stiffness or some mild tendonitis, and stretching and icing it down would be a completely sufficient way to deal with it. I believed it couldn’t be a serious problem, because both ankles were bothering me, and what were the chances of tears in both tendons at the same time. I said all this to myself even when the pain in the right tendon turned sharp and a hard bump formed on the ankle.

Then one day something happened that could have either been a dose of reality or another opportunity for delusion. I forgot to pack socks in my gym bag for a six-mile run on the treadmill, and I ran all six miles anyway. For days after that run, the inflammation on my ankle was screaming red, huge and very painful. I stopped running for about a week, and asked every runner I saw what I should do. Everyone said “go see a doctor,” until I got to the person I was looking for, the one who said “it could be your shoes.” So I went to the running store to change shoes.

The tendon felt better after a week off from running, and I embraced the idea that it was just a shoe problem after all. The pain, however, came back quickly. But it returned just a few weeks before the Philadelphia Distance Run, so I decided to do a three-week taper, run the PDR, and then see where I stood.

I had a fantastic PDR, considering that I had hardly run at all for a full month leading up to it. My time was 2:02:53, a personal record by more than nine minutes and very close to my ultimate half-marathon goal of breaking two hours. I felt so good that I went for a run again two days later. Walking home after the run, I again had sharp pain.

I was finally ready to accept reality. My Achilles tendon was injured enough to require a doctor’s visit and to stop me from running at all until I knew what was wrong with it. I did not want to see a doctor before this because I knew the doctor would tell me to stop running, maybe for months. I finally went to a podiatrist this week. He told me to stop running, and he is absolutely right. He believes the tendon has tears in it, and if I keep pressing the issue, it could rupture completely. We’re going to confirm this with an MRI, but the reason I finally broke down to go see a doctor is that deep down, I know he’s right.

So I have to ignore the beautiful perfect autumn running weather happening all around me. Instead I sit bored to tears on an exercise bike in the gym, and will be doing a lot of standing on one foot under the supervision of a physical therapist. And through all of this, I keep repeating my new mantra: “you’re lucky it didn’t snap; you’re lucky it didn’t snap…”

The Yuck Chronicles

Recently, a friend who is marathon training sought my advice for a delicate problem. Remembering that I had previously heartily recommended the purchase and liberal use of Body Glide, she asked in hushed tones whether I ever had chafing in odd places after my long run. When I inquired about which particular odd places, she sheepishly pointed behind her.

Now, I’m still a little too girly to confirm in a forum this public that I’ve ever had direct experience with my butt cheeks getting a little too chummy with each other during runs. Let’s just say I’m familiar with the existence of this issue. Yes, it happens. No, it doesn’t mean you have a big ass.

While embarrassing, on the scale of running related ickiness, this problem doesn’t even approach the highest level of gross. The activity that is arguably the poster child of clean living is actually quite disgusting.

At this point, I would like to warn my reader (Hi Dave!) not to eat while reading this. Below are some of the things that make you go ewwww.

Feet. Runner’s feet are notoriously bad. While some runners are blessed with the genetics that allow them to maintain perfect flip-flop ready tootsies, others quickly develop appendages that look like they should be exhibits in the Mutter Museum. Thick black toenails anyone? Blisters? Scaly toe tips? Pedicurists just love us. As does everyone else when we announce that we feel so much better because the toenail finally fell off. Add to that the sinking realization that the late night excruciating itching between your toes means you have contracted the fungal infection known as athlete’s foot, and you know you will never mate with anyone possessing a foot fetish.

Sweat. We’re moist and stinky. We know this, and it doesn’t stop us from going for coffee or food shopping on the way home from a run. I know of at least two running groups that go straight from their runs to a bar, sans intervening shower. I’ve heard of beer goggles; are there beer nose clips? Also, speaking for myself here, I know that when I work hard on a treadmill, I create a sweat spray rather like a city fountain that lacks water pressure restrictions. This does have the benefit of ensuring the treadmill next to me is the very last one claimed.

Potty. Ah, yes, the phrase “the runs” does have two separate meanings, but they have been known to intersect. Sometimes, usually without warning, all that bouncing up and down dislodges the bagel you placed in your belly earlier in the day. If you are a business that has a restroom, you have an interesting dilemma on your hands when a sweaty, pale and clearly desperate jogger begs you for use of your restroom. If you say yes, you will be enjoying some fine karma, because, believe me, that runner is really in need. You will also be creating some warm fuzzy feelings in that runner for your establishment (thank you again, Copabanana in University City!). The flip side is that they will be in your bathroom for at least ten minutes, and the person following them in should bring a mask and a gross of matches to light. I think you would have to grant bathroom privileges in this instance. Otherwise would be like steaming away from a lifeboat full of shipwreck survivors.

Also, most runners participating in races, particularly races longer than five miles, use the portajohn first. While some portajohns have hand sanitizing lotion in them, most still don’t. Disgusting in and of itself, compounded when you think about that box of soft-pretzels and bagels that everyone is tearing into at the finish line. But we’re all very healthy.

Insanity Loves Company

I’m officially in denial about the Philly Marathon. I refuse to admit that I’m actually going to run it in November, yet I have registered, paid the fee, bought extra pairs of running shoes, crafted a training plan and started following it. I really think I don’t want to do this, so I’m looking for a place to cast blame for compelling me to engage in this self-torture. I have a suspect.

Philly Runners is a local running group that meets a few times a week in front of the Art Museum. It is a free group that welcomes runners of all abilities. It has a core of regulars, some people who show up periodically and others who pop in just once. The group is completely comprised of shiny happy people. Everyone is nice, friendly and non-judgmental. There is no “you don’t run an eight-minute-mile-distance pace?” snobbery.

That said, generally they run an eight-minute-mile pace. Before each run, someone calls out the pace groups. First is faster than seven-minute miles, which maybe yields one or two hands. Then seven to seven and a half, seven and a half to eight, and so on up to 10-minute miles. They will call out a group for over 10 minutes if it seems there is an interest. Most hands go up between eight and eight and a half, and the next largest bulk is between eight and a half and nine. There are people between nine and ten, but it is a much smaller group. I’m in this group, usually watching throngs of skinny 20-somethings take off ahead of me (actually a good number of them are around my age, a fact I choose to ignore).

My perception of reality has become severely bent running with these people. The times I have begun to think of as slow would safely put me in the top third in most local races. You should see the postings on their message board. The one currently with the largest number of replies is seeking people for Saturday morning runs of 17 miles at an eight-minute-mile pace. Another describes the eight people who came for Thursday night’s “hill sprints” in the middle of a thunderstorm a “decent turnout.”

In the real world, I tell others I am thinking of another marathon. The responses I get? “Why the hell would you do that?” “I don’t even like to drive that far!” “You’re going to kill your joints.” Running group responses? “Oh. You know, there’s a 10-mile run on the sand in Sea Isle in August. You should do that too.” “Philly? Me too. I’m going to try to qualify for Boston again.”

Marathons are a way of life in this environment. Autumn is not about falling leaves and apple-picking (except for carb-loading purposes). It’s for training. Those in the group not planning on doing a “full” (I think everyone is already signed up for the Philadelphia Distance Run, a half-marathon in September) almost sound a little defensive when discussing it. And this is why mob mentality is dangerous.

Since you didn’t ask

A couple of my friends are planning to run their first marathons this November, and my sister is planning her first running race period. As a person genetically predisposed toward winning a couch-indentation contest, yet has completed three marathons anyway, I feel I should chime in with my thoughts. I’m actually an ideal person to offer advice on the psychological aspects of training because: A) I can be an emotional basket case; I have more head trips than Keith Richards; and B) I’m a know-it-all. Below are some of the mental tricks I’ve used to help me get through marathon training.

1. Do Not Dwell on the Race Distance. Whether you are a runner who has decided to run a marathon or you are a non-runner planning a five-miler, do not focus on the distance you will have to run in a race that is months away. And, do NOT drive 26.2 miles “to see how long it is.” Example: you are in the early part of your marathon training and you run 8.5 miles. You’re tired, in pain and had to push yourself just to finish. Maybe you were slower than usual or had to walk parts to finish. Your body is angry at you, and it enlists the help of your brain, which says “how will I ever do more than three times that distance?”

Tell your brain to stuff it. You are not prepared to run three times that distance, and that is fine because you do not have to do it tomorrow. Progress occurs with training, but only slowly and over time. Eventually, you will be amazed at the ease of a 10-mile run. On those hard training days you say to yourself that it was hard, but you got the work done. Period.

2. Bad Days Don’t Count. Everyone has them. They suck. You’re slow, you’re tired, you’re cranky. It takes lots of extra time to finish your goal distance for the day, and it was a huge struggle not to quit. They can actually be rewarding. The only questions you ask yourself: did I try? Did I try hard? If so, the day might have felt bad, but it was a victory. You felt like crap and pushed yourself through something you really, really didn’t want to do. Congratulations.

3. Keep a journal. This helps you keep track of why your bad days are bad, your good days are good, which shorts ride up, when your shoes feel flat, etc. Personally, I love to flip through my previous entries to see the advancements I have made over time. It’s very inspiring to see the difference from where you started to where you can get.

4. Know That You Will Get There, in This Race or the Next. The great thing about how popular road races are is that if the training-stopping monkey wrench does invade, there is always another race down the line.

Good luck to all of you racing. Let me know how it's going!

To Marathon or Not to Marathon

As I was crossing the finish line at the Philadelphia Marathon last November with a time of 4 hours and 32 minutes, so close to my goal of 4 1/2 hours, I swore to myself that was my final marathon. I ran that marathon without walk breaks, despite the agony of the final five miles in which each step felt like I was hoisting an anvil. This was my first time achieving this goal, and once I had it, I felt satisfied.

For about a day.

By December, while I was still safely ensconced in the the marathon recovery period, I already knew I was going to enter the New York Marathon lottery. The New York Marathon has 35,000 spots and roughly 90,000 applicants, and they using a random lottery rather than qualifying times to pull their field. I've heard repeatedly that I need to do New York -- that it is an experience like no other. Though I tend to prefer quiet runs to an event feel, I entered the lottery as soon as it opened in January. I told myself that if I didn't get in, I would not run a marathon in 2009.

By February, I was telling myself that if I could run the Broad Street Run in under 88 minutes, I would run the Philly Marathon if I didn't get into New York. My thinking was that if I could meet that goal, with intense training, dieting and coaching I might be able to use the Philly Marathon to attempt a Boston Marathon qualifying time. For my age group, that is three hours and 50 minutes -- 26.2 miles at about an 8:50/minute pace. A ridiculous notion given that, at the time, I had never run any race, not even a 5k, at a pace under nine-minute miles.

My Broad Street time, while good at 91 minutes, did not meet this lofty goal. And I found out last week that I did not get into the 2009 New York Marathon.

So no marathon in 2009. Right? Marathons are brutal stuff. The training is intense -- it eats up all of the late summer and fall. I'd spend three months completely paranoid about injury and making sure that I always find time for my training runs, weight and core training and recovery, and the money for the extra pairs of shoes I'll need and the entrance fee. All to experience intense suffering that I still have not forgotten from last November.

I have another good reason for not running the 2009 Philly Marathon. My older sister, who has had her own hard challenges this past year, is going to run the 8k race that coincides with the marathon. I could run this with her and keep her company. In other words, running the Marathon is not only masochistic, it's selfish.

And yet, I'm on the Marathon website every day, just itching to push the application button. I'm sick, diseased, cursed with a personal-record obsession I just can't heal. But I think I can get close to four hours.