In addition to the acquired wisdom from marathon training that I have already described in this blog, I’ve learned something else. I can’t ever climb Mt. Everest. I sort of knew that I couldn’t before, because I’m terrified of walking on ice, I prefer better food options than items from a can heated on a small burner, and I complain when the office temperature drops below 73 degrees. I also enjoy oxygen. No, the new proof that scaling Everest would be disastrous is that I now know I would be one of those schmucks who dies on the mountain because they refuse to yield the summit when conditions make that necessary. Yes, I would be one of those idiots watching the advancing storm and saying “screw it, I worked too hard to give up now.” And three hours later some poor hapless Sherpa would be stuck trying to drag my ignorant butt off the mountain.
This new self-awareness comes from a sad source. My right Achilles tendon, which has been chronicled in this blog as persistently obstructive to my running happiness, is trying again to play the role of marathon spoiler. It’s a mess. I am certain it is partially torn; there is burning pain and swelling. My marathon is in three weeks and three days. I have two more long runs, one of which is 23 miles, and at least another 30 miles of short runs before I can do a pre-race taper. If I stop running right now, the tendon will improve for the race, but I’ll lose a lot of the performance due to the missed final training weeks. If I maintain the training, there is a high likelihood the tendon will completely rupture.
My last entry was all about the intense work I put into training for this race. The theme was that what I learned from the training was the real reward. That was bull. The reward is crossing the finish line at Steamtown with a significantly faster time than I have ever achieved in a marathon. That’s why I worked so hard, and that’s what I really want. It’s impossible for most people to understand, but I just can’t give up my summit, even if it means surgery, crutches and a year of rehab. At least no Sherpas will have to risk their lives to pull me off the course.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
One Month to Go
The Steamtown Marathon is in one month, and I am trained. This does not mean I’m done my training. My hardest weeks are the next three, which include two individual runs of 22 miles or more and weekly mileage totals between 45- 50 miles. I am at the point, however, that if the race were next week, I could do it, and maybe even do it well.
Now that I’m so close to the marathon, I’ve been reflecting on why I wanted to do this and what I get out of it. Particularly for this marathon, because I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard toward any single goal in my life as I have for this one. Even when I studied for the Bar Exam, I know there was a small bit of slack in there, an occasional study day blown off, an evening staring at the TV rather than subject outlines.
Not this time. Since I began training in February, I skipped exactly two training runs. Both of those runs were in the same week, a work week that was the most intensely busy and stressful of my professional career. It was also a week that had been planned as a recovery week, and in which my ankle was giving me particular grief.
Each time I had a scheduled run, I ran it, every single mile planned. If I was tired, I ran anyway. If my head hurt or I otherwise didn’t feel well, I ran. If it was 103 degrees outside, I ran. If I had to do every long Saturday run in intense heat, I did it. If that heat meant that, even though I was deep into sleep deficit, I had to get up at 4:30 am every Saturday morning so I would be finished running before the day got even hotter, I did that too. I trudged up and down the extremely steep Lemon Hill 10 times each every Thursday, even if the temperature was in the high 90s and humid. I skipped happy hours and good television and curling up with a book, just so I could find the time to run. I even dieted during all of this, giving me ten fewer pounds to drag over the 26.2-mile course.
The true tests really came as the long training runs started. The first 12 miler was set for the hottest day of the summer. Maybe you remember: 100 degrees with high humidity, so a heat index of 110. I was overly tired and already dehydrated from the week, so I was concerned about, well, dying. I didn’t cancel; I ran it on the treadmill instead, just like a caged rat. Twelve miles on the treadmill sucks, but I got my distance in.
Two weeks later was my 14-mile long run. That day, it cooled off to 96 humid degrees. Eleven and a half miles in, it seems as if I’m going to make it. And then, hot and tired, I tripped on uneven pavement. From this I enjoyed five large raspberries on my knees and shoulder, heavy bruising on my cheek (the face cheek, not the other one) and a deep cut in my ear. A very nice woman came over to assist me as I was lying on the ground and uttering some very unladylike exclamations. She noted that I landed on my head, and I should let her give me a ride home. The smart thing to do would be to accept, but then how would I get my miles in? So I declined, squirted water from the bottle in my pack over my wounds, and walked the remaining three miles home.
I was thrilled the morning of my 16-mile run that the temperature wasn’t supposed to exceed 90 degrees. A good day to tackle the Valley Forge Park loop! The path in Valley Forge Park is completely exposed to the sun and entirely uphill, which should be impossible as it is a 5.4 mile loop. The hills are long and steep. I figured I would do one loop, and then head to the Schuylkill River trail, which is flat, for the remaining miles. After one loop, I felt good, so I ran a second loop. I still felt ok when I finished that, so I started a third. Halfway through the third, I believe I was audibly sobbing. I didn’t stop running though (I did slow down).
The 18-mile and 20-mile training runs went as well as runs that long can be. I lucked into a great training partner, who has made being out there that long tolerable.
As of now, I’ve had eight weeks in which I’ve run in excess of 40 miles. I’m also currently training on my bicycle for the MS150 City to Shore ride in two weeks. My 41-year-old body is pissed off and hates my brain. My muscles have more knots in them than a sisal rug, and I think there is even lactic acid build up in my hair. My ankles are so shot that I’ll be lucky to ever walk on them again.
The payoff is that I am now something I never was when I was younger and always aspired to be: disciplined. I decided to do something, and I did all of the work necessary to do it, no matter how hard, painful, annoying or inconvenient. This running discipline has carried over to other parts of my life. My house is clean, my mail is organized, I follow through on the things that require it.
My twin goals for the marathon remain the same: 1) run it close to or under four hours; 2) don’t die. And while a 3:59:59 marathon would be amazing, I feel that whether or not I actually achieve it is beside the point. By getting myself to a place in which it could be possible, I’m already victorious.
Now that I’m so close to the marathon, I’ve been reflecting on why I wanted to do this and what I get out of it. Particularly for this marathon, because I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard toward any single goal in my life as I have for this one. Even when I studied for the Bar Exam, I know there was a small bit of slack in there, an occasional study day blown off, an evening staring at the TV rather than subject outlines.
Not this time. Since I began training in February, I skipped exactly two training runs. Both of those runs were in the same week, a work week that was the most intensely busy and stressful of my professional career. It was also a week that had been planned as a recovery week, and in which my ankle was giving me particular grief.
Each time I had a scheduled run, I ran it, every single mile planned. If I was tired, I ran anyway. If my head hurt or I otherwise didn’t feel well, I ran. If it was 103 degrees outside, I ran. If I had to do every long Saturday run in intense heat, I did it. If that heat meant that, even though I was deep into sleep deficit, I had to get up at 4:30 am every Saturday morning so I would be finished running before the day got even hotter, I did that too. I trudged up and down the extremely steep Lemon Hill 10 times each every Thursday, even if the temperature was in the high 90s and humid. I skipped happy hours and good television and curling up with a book, just so I could find the time to run. I even dieted during all of this, giving me ten fewer pounds to drag over the 26.2-mile course.
The true tests really came as the long training runs started. The first 12 miler was set for the hottest day of the summer. Maybe you remember: 100 degrees with high humidity, so a heat index of 110. I was overly tired and already dehydrated from the week, so I was concerned about, well, dying. I didn’t cancel; I ran it on the treadmill instead, just like a caged rat. Twelve miles on the treadmill sucks, but I got my distance in.
Two weeks later was my 14-mile long run. That day, it cooled off to 96 humid degrees. Eleven and a half miles in, it seems as if I’m going to make it. And then, hot and tired, I tripped on uneven pavement. From this I enjoyed five large raspberries on my knees and shoulder, heavy bruising on my cheek (the face cheek, not the other one) and a deep cut in my ear. A very nice woman came over to assist me as I was lying on the ground and uttering some very unladylike exclamations. She noted that I landed on my head, and I should let her give me a ride home. The smart thing to do would be to accept, but then how would I get my miles in? So I declined, squirted water from the bottle in my pack over my wounds, and walked the remaining three miles home.
I was thrilled the morning of my 16-mile run that the temperature wasn’t supposed to exceed 90 degrees. A good day to tackle the Valley Forge Park loop! The path in Valley Forge Park is completely exposed to the sun and entirely uphill, which should be impossible as it is a 5.4 mile loop. The hills are long and steep. I figured I would do one loop, and then head to the Schuylkill River trail, which is flat, for the remaining miles. After one loop, I felt good, so I ran a second loop. I still felt ok when I finished that, so I started a third. Halfway through the third, I believe I was audibly sobbing. I didn’t stop running though (I did slow down).
The 18-mile and 20-mile training runs went as well as runs that long can be. I lucked into a great training partner, who has made being out there that long tolerable.
As of now, I’ve had eight weeks in which I’ve run in excess of 40 miles. I’m also currently training on my bicycle for the MS150 City to Shore ride in two weeks. My 41-year-old body is pissed off and hates my brain. My muscles have more knots in them than a sisal rug, and I think there is even lactic acid build up in my hair. My ankles are so shot that I’ll be lucky to ever walk on them again.
The payoff is that I am now something I never was when I was younger and always aspired to be: disciplined. I decided to do something, and I did all of the work necessary to do it, no matter how hard, painful, annoying or inconvenient. This running discipline has carried over to other parts of my life. My house is clean, my mail is organized, I follow through on the things that require it.
My twin goals for the marathon remain the same: 1) run it close to or under four hours; 2) don’t die. And while a 3:59:59 marathon would be amazing, I feel that whether or not I actually achieve it is beside the point. By getting myself to a place in which it could be possible, I’m already victorious.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Weather or Not
Several months ago, while enveloped in 12 layers of clothing and barricaded in my house behind a mountain of snow, I decided that I would run the Steamtown Marathon. Steamtown, as a net downhill and very well organized marathon, is a seemingly good choice for my goal of trying to break four hours. That Steamtown, on October 10, is one of the earlier fall marathons did not faze me at a time when I was preoccupied trying to figure out who might have remaining supplies of ice melt. When crafting my training schedule, it did not occur to me to be concerned that my long training runs of 16-20 miles and greatest escalation of weekly running miles would occur in July and August instead September and October. Why? Because it’s easy to be in denial about the difficulty of training in the heat when you have to remove a pair of mittens to type your training plan.
Let me be plain. I despise running in the heat. I hate the heat with, well, a white hot intensity. It’s not just running. I’ve never liked hot weather at all. I consider Miami, for example, a fun place to visit in February, but it just sounds like pure misery from April through October.
As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, my body type could not be more different from that of a good distance runner. The best marathoners are tiny little wispy people who do not consider pizza fries to be a good carb-loading option. Just last week there was an article in the New York Times about a male 10-k runner who, at 6’1” and 165 pounds, is considered freakishly huge in his circuit. Bigger runners have a tougher time with distance anyway, and studies consistently show that larger runners suffer exponentially more in hotter weather.
Anyone reading this from this region of the country can see where I’m going. Training for a marathon in this particular summer simply sucks. We’ve had such a prolonged period of intense heat that the TV weather guys are talking about a “cool down” to 97 degrees on Thursday without any irony. Last Tuesday night, the cumulative effect of all the heat and the lack of sleep due to it caught up with me, and I had my worst training run of the year. I was miserable, thirsty and cramping from too much water at the same time. I couldn’t breathe, and I had to walk to finish. This was completely and utterly discouraging for a relatively short run. Happily, I got a reprieve. This crash was followed by two days of perfect summer weather, high of only 80 degrees with low humidity, which restored my spirits.
I don’t know if I can count on such a break to come again. It certainly doesn’t look like I’ll get one this week. I have to find my inner optimist, the one who will remind me that if I can force myself to train (carefully!) in these conditions, I’ll be stronger for it, and better prepared in October. Maybe this is just what I need for my sub-four, which reinforces that this was an insane idea from the beginning.
Let me be plain. I despise running in the heat. I hate the heat with, well, a white hot intensity. It’s not just running. I’ve never liked hot weather at all. I consider Miami, for example, a fun place to visit in February, but it just sounds like pure misery from April through October.
As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, my body type could not be more different from that of a good distance runner. The best marathoners are tiny little wispy people who do not consider pizza fries to be a good carb-loading option. Just last week there was an article in the New York Times about a male 10-k runner who, at 6’1” and 165 pounds, is considered freakishly huge in his circuit. Bigger runners have a tougher time with distance anyway, and studies consistently show that larger runners suffer exponentially more in hotter weather.
Anyone reading this from this region of the country can see where I’m going. Training for a marathon in this particular summer simply sucks. We’ve had such a prolonged period of intense heat that the TV weather guys are talking about a “cool down” to 97 degrees on Thursday without any irony. Last Tuesday night, the cumulative effect of all the heat and the lack of sleep due to it caught up with me, and I had my worst training run of the year. I was miserable, thirsty and cramping from too much water at the same time. I couldn’t breathe, and I had to walk to finish. This was completely and utterly discouraging for a relatively short run. Happily, I got a reprieve. This crash was followed by two days of perfect summer weather, high of only 80 degrees with low humidity, which restored my spirits.
I don’t know if I can count on such a break to come again. It certainly doesn’t look like I’ll get one this week. I have to find my inner optimist, the one who will remind me that if I can force myself to train (carefully!) in these conditions, I’ll be stronger for it, and better prepared in October. Maybe this is just what I need for my sub-four, which reinforces that this was an insane idea from the beginning.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Toys for Trots
I’m a shopper. I can’t be sure if it’s because of nature or nurture, but I love to buy shiny new things. I’m the type of person who gets just as excited about the gift shop at any destination as the destination itself. Every time I get into a new hobby, I’m equally enthralled by its merchandise.
Running, an activity done by barefoot tribesmen on dirt roads, provides an excellent opportunity to indulge in retail therapy. There are stores dedicated solely to running -- a beautiful thing. Just purchasing shoes means you have a myriad of choices, and you can change your mind every two months when your old pair wears out. Then there are the clothes, with all the new advancements in climate control, the cool gym bags with all the clever compartments, the watches that offer all sorts of other timing options besides telling time, hydration products, books and magazines, recovery and therapy products. The list goes on and on. If you’d like proof of this, go try to buy a simple running hat. The range of choices is dizzying.
While I scoff at the people who run out to get iPad and the newest Wii games, as a runner I am both an early adopter and a toy-hound. I’ll try virtually any new product that claims it will make my running life easier/faster/more comfortable/less injurious/cute. I have superlight sunglasses, orthotic insoles for my shoes, a Spibelt to carry stuff, a Road ID tag on my shoe and a mix of every kind of technical clothing imaginable. With all the different brands I resemble a NASCAR vehicle when I run, only not quite as sleek.
So when the hardcover book about running (Born to Run, Christopher McDougall) I was reading claimed that injuries are caused by running shoes, and a barefoot-style shoe call Vibram FiveFingers could help, I immediately bought those too. The theory on barefooting is that running shoes actually cause injuries by providing so much support and control that your natural form suffers. Vibrams contour to your foot and around your toes, giving you the form of barefoot movement with a soul for protection from the ground. Mine are pink, and, as my new brother-in-law helpfully pointed out, they look like they should be part of a Barney costume. They take getting used to, but the change in form they trigger is immediate and dramatic. I am so optimistic that these will become my primary running shoe that I have already picked out a second pair for rotation.
A few weeks ago I was on my Saturday morning group run, running with Seth, who I suspect slowed down to hang with me out of pity. Every mile a beeping sound would emanate from Seth’s wrist. He would then announce the precise pace in which we had completed that particular mile. He could do this because he was wearing a Garmin Forerunner 305 watch, which tracks your runs with satellites. I have wanted one of these since I heard of the concept, but for years the reception in cities was simply not that good. But now they’ve improved, and they work where I need them to work. By the second beep, I knew the 305 would be on my wrist within weeks.
It arrived at my office this past week, just a few hours before my Tuesday night group run. I drove everyone at work crazy beeping away while I was trying to set the thing up. I didn’t have time to properly ingest the instructions before I went for the group run. Luckily for me, another runner in my pace group, Tracy, was wearing one. This was most unfortunate for her, because of the barrage of questions she had to deal with from me. “How do I get it to beep each mile?” “How can I see the pace?” “How fast did we just go?” “What time is it?” And on and on. “Is our pace going up a lot?” Yes, it was, because poor Tracy was frantically trying to shake me loose. I annoyed the stuffing out of her, but I think she got an eight-minute mile out of it. If I ever figure out the Forerunner, I know I will love it. It has the coolest features I’ve ever seen. I can make it beep at me if I’m going too slowly. It can help me find my way home if I make a wrong turn. It can even create a little image of a virtual opponent, who can either beat me or not depending on what the Garmin people decide.
I don’t know what running gadget I’ll have to have next week. I do know it is a very good thing that qualifying for the Boston Marathon is virtually impossible for me. I would definitely be one of those people decked out head to toe in Boston Athletic Association gear, which is the running equivalent of shoes on the beach.
Running, an activity done by barefoot tribesmen on dirt roads, provides an excellent opportunity to indulge in retail therapy. There are stores dedicated solely to running -- a beautiful thing. Just purchasing shoes means you have a myriad of choices, and you can change your mind every two months when your old pair wears out. Then there are the clothes, with all the new advancements in climate control, the cool gym bags with all the clever compartments, the watches that offer all sorts of other timing options besides telling time, hydration products, books and magazines, recovery and therapy products. The list goes on and on. If you’d like proof of this, go try to buy a simple running hat. The range of choices is dizzying.
While I scoff at the people who run out to get iPad and the newest Wii games, as a runner I am both an early adopter and a toy-hound. I’ll try virtually any new product that claims it will make my running life easier/faster/more comfortable/less injurious/cute. I have superlight sunglasses, orthotic insoles for my shoes, a Spibelt to carry stuff, a Road ID tag on my shoe and a mix of every kind of technical clothing imaginable. With all the different brands I resemble a NASCAR vehicle when I run, only not quite as sleek.
So when the hardcover book about running (Born to Run, Christopher McDougall) I was reading claimed that injuries are caused by running shoes, and a barefoot-style shoe call Vibram FiveFingers could help, I immediately bought those too. The theory on barefooting is that running shoes actually cause injuries by providing so much support and control that your natural form suffers. Vibrams contour to your foot and around your toes, giving you the form of barefoot movement with a soul for protection from the ground. Mine are pink, and, as my new brother-in-law helpfully pointed out, they look like they should be part of a Barney costume. They take getting used to, but the change in form they trigger is immediate and dramatic. I am so optimistic that these will become my primary running shoe that I have already picked out a second pair for rotation.
A few weeks ago I was on my Saturday morning group run, running with Seth, who I suspect slowed down to hang with me out of pity. Every mile a beeping sound would emanate from Seth’s wrist. He would then announce the precise pace in which we had completed that particular mile. He could do this because he was wearing a Garmin Forerunner 305 watch, which tracks your runs with satellites. I have wanted one of these since I heard of the concept, but for years the reception in cities was simply not that good. But now they’ve improved, and they work where I need them to work. By the second beep, I knew the 305 would be on my wrist within weeks.
It arrived at my office this past week, just a few hours before my Tuesday night group run. I drove everyone at work crazy beeping away while I was trying to set the thing up. I didn’t have time to properly ingest the instructions before I went for the group run. Luckily for me, another runner in my pace group, Tracy, was wearing one. This was most unfortunate for her, because of the barrage of questions she had to deal with from me. “How do I get it to beep each mile?” “How can I see the pace?” “How fast did we just go?” “What time is it?” And on and on. “Is our pace going up a lot?” Yes, it was, because poor Tracy was frantically trying to shake me loose. I annoyed the stuffing out of her, but I think she got an eight-minute mile out of it. If I ever figure out the Forerunner, I know I will love it. It has the coolest features I’ve ever seen. I can make it beep at me if I’m going too slowly. It can help me find my way home if I make a wrong turn. It can even create a little image of a virtual opponent, who can either beat me or not depending on what the Garmin people decide.
I don’t know what running gadget I’ll have to have next week. I do know it is a very good thing that qualifying for the Boston Marathon is virtually impossible for me. I would definitely be one of those people decked out head to toe in Boston Athletic Association gear, which is the running equivalent of shoes on the beach.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
