Here's a link:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?fr_id=35316&pg=personal&px=22260434
This is my personal page for team DetermiNation. I joined DetermiNation to raise money for the American Cancer Society by completing a half Ironman in the Poconos in October. The personal page has my other blog. That's right, I now have two blogs. The demand was just too great for only one, as you can see by the multitudes of followers and comments to my posts. So I am now a media empire, as I always should have been.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Fears
Under five weeks to go until Poconos 70.3, and I’m scared. Of everything.
I’m afraid of fish. Much as I’ve started to appreciate the open-water swims I’ve been doing, I don’t like sharing lakes and rivers with other creatures. I’d say they probably feel the same way about me, but it’s more likely they see me as comic relief. To the lakes’ natural inhabitants, I am “Jersey Shore.” I was in Lake Nockamixon a few weeks ago, and I heard a buzzing when I passed a buoy. I punched it into high gear and swam as fast as I’ve ever swum in my life until the buzzing subsided. I almost swam as fast as other people, that’s how freaked I was.
I’m afraid of swimming against the current when I’m already tired. I’m afraid of being dead last in the swim. I’m afraid of using so much energy on the swim that I don’t have much left to start the bike.
On the bike, I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid of road rash. I’m afraid of broken collarbones. I’m afraid of damaging my new bike. I’m so afraid of my aero bars that I had them removed for the season. I’ll try again next year. I’m afraid of clipping out of the pedals, because I never feel stable and I have tipped over. I’m afraid of grabbing my water bottle. I’m absolutely terrified of the concept of a bottle exchange. I’m afraid of climbing large hills. I’m also afraid of descending them. I’m afraid of debris on the road. I’m afraid of other riders, and also cars and pedestrians. I’m afraid of getting a flat that will take me so long to repair that I won’t finish the event before the time cutoff.
I’m afraid I’ll screw up the transition areas so that when I finish the bike and get to T2, my running shoes aren’t there. I’m afraid that all of the joints that have given me problems, particularly ankles, knees and hips will act up at once, or that one will be so severe I won’t be able to continue. I’m afraid of chafing. I’m afraid that I’ll be so tired that I’ll have to walk the entire half marathon at too slow a pace to make the time cutoff. I’m afraid of the hill at mile 8. I’m afraid my nutrition plan isn’t good enough, leading to an unrecoverable bonk.
I’m afraid of bears. I hadn’t even considered this until my training camp, when someone told me he saw one.
I’m afraid I’m undertrained. I’m afraid I’ll look fat in my tri suit.
I’m afraid of the weather. There’s the Big Obvious Problem, though thunderstorms hopefully are not as likely on October 2. But I’m afraid of rain on the bike, and I’m really afraid of wind. I’m afraid it will be too hot. I’m afraid it will be too cold.
By confronting all of these fears and doing the race anyway, you might think I’m brave. And maybe I am, but that’s only because I have an inspiration. My sister has to get in the car every week to have poisons pumped into her veins, knowing full well they will leave her feeling horribly nauseated and fatigued. She’s had to deal with surgeries and nasty needles and rooms full of students examining her body. Over and over and over again, she has to sit in rooms to wait to hear test results that determine how hard her road is going forward. Through it all, she is a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and teacher, and an amazing one. Each day she looks into the eyes of the people who love her and are terrified for her, and she is brave for them. From the time I was born, she’s been my hero. I always knew she had it in her to be the woman she is today.
So I’ll manage all of the fears above, because, really, they’re little (except, maybe, if I actually encounter a bear). But if you want to throw a “good luck” my way, I’ll take it.
I’m afraid of fish. Much as I’ve started to appreciate the open-water swims I’ve been doing, I don’t like sharing lakes and rivers with other creatures. I’d say they probably feel the same way about me, but it’s more likely they see me as comic relief. To the lakes’ natural inhabitants, I am “Jersey Shore.” I was in Lake Nockamixon a few weeks ago, and I heard a buzzing when I passed a buoy. I punched it into high gear and swam as fast as I’ve ever swum in my life until the buzzing subsided. I almost swam as fast as other people, that’s how freaked I was.
I’m afraid of swimming against the current when I’m already tired. I’m afraid of being dead last in the swim. I’m afraid of using so much energy on the swim that I don’t have much left to start the bike.
On the bike, I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid of road rash. I’m afraid of broken collarbones. I’m afraid of damaging my new bike. I’m so afraid of my aero bars that I had them removed for the season. I’ll try again next year. I’m afraid of clipping out of the pedals, because I never feel stable and I have tipped over. I’m afraid of grabbing my water bottle. I’m absolutely terrified of the concept of a bottle exchange. I’m afraid of climbing large hills. I’m also afraid of descending them. I’m afraid of debris on the road. I’m afraid of other riders, and also cars and pedestrians. I’m afraid of getting a flat that will take me so long to repair that I won’t finish the event before the time cutoff.
I’m afraid I’ll screw up the transition areas so that when I finish the bike and get to T2, my running shoes aren’t there. I’m afraid that all of the joints that have given me problems, particularly ankles, knees and hips will act up at once, or that one will be so severe I won’t be able to continue. I’m afraid of chafing. I’m afraid that I’ll be so tired that I’ll have to walk the entire half marathon at too slow a pace to make the time cutoff. I’m afraid of the hill at mile 8. I’m afraid my nutrition plan isn’t good enough, leading to an unrecoverable bonk.
I’m afraid of bears. I hadn’t even considered this until my training camp, when someone told me he saw one.
I’m afraid I’m undertrained. I’m afraid I’ll look fat in my tri suit.
I’m afraid of the weather. There’s the Big Obvious Problem, though thunderstorms hopefully are not as likely on October 2. But I’m afraid of rain on the bike, and I’m really afraid of wind. I’m afraid it will be too hot. I’m afraid it will be too cold.
By confronting all of these fears and doing the race anyway, you might think I’m brave. And maybe I am, but that’s only because I have an inspiration. My sister has to get in the car every week to have poisons pumped into her veins, knowing full well they will leave her feeling horribly nauseated and fatigued. She’s had to deal with surgeries and nasty needles and rooms full of students examining her body. Over and over and over again, she has to sit in rooms to wait to hear test results that determine how hard her road is going forward. Through it all, she is a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and teacher, and an amazing one. Each day she looks into the eyes of the people who love her and are terrified for her, and she is brave for them. From the time I was born, she’s been my hero. I always knew she had it in her to be the woman she is today.
So I’ll manage all of the fears above, because, really, they’re little (except, maybe, if I actually encounter a bear). But if you want to throw a “good luck” my way, I’ll take it.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Is It Selfish To Raise Money For Charity?
Hi. My name is Jill, and I am a compulsive race enterer. I sign up for everything, 5ks, 10ks, half-marathons, 10-milers, marathons, bike rides, triathlons. I won’t let myself do the math, but if there was a pie chart of my expenses, the race fees section would look just like Pac Man. My moment of clarity on this came last month, when I was at the expo for the Philly Tri talking with people from the DetermiNation team for the American Cancer Society. DetermiNation, like other charity teams, trains you and pays your race fees in exchange for you raising a certain amount of money for the underlying charity. At the expo, they handed me their list of upcoming events, and I realized that I had already registered for every one of them.
While almost every event I do either fully supports a charity or has some charitable component, I’ll be honest. I’m signing up mostly because I want to do the event itself. That my race fee is going to a worthy cause is an excellent bonus, but is usually just that, a bonus. I have certainly participated in events primarily to raise money for the underlying charity, e.g., Race for the Cure, the ACS Making Strides for Breast Cancer walk, 5ks for Haiti, for family members of fallen police officer and firefighters, etc. Other times, my motives were split right down the middle, such as my first marathon in Alaska, in which I raised $4,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society via Team in Training, or the MS150 City to Shore Bike ride that I do every year, an event that raises millions of dollars annually toward MS research.
I often feel some guilt about fundraising for these events. While I know the money contributed is tremendously helpful to exceedingly worthy causes, there is still that part of me that feels like I’m asking you to pay for me to do yet another race. That is why for most events I do I just cover the amount myself and don’t solicit additional donations. Even when I do solicit donations for an event, I try to cover the minimum fundraising level myself, so that I feel I am actually asking for donations, and not a race entry fee. Depending on the year and event, however, this is not always possible. Still, there I am again every year, virtual tin cup in hand (thank you, Facebook!), requesting you support my walk/run/ride. I have to remind myself it IS a good thing to raise funds for charity, even if I get something personal out of doing it.
This year is different. I am currently paid and registered for the biggest event I had ever planned on doing, the Half Ironman triathlon in the Poconos in October. I am also registered for the Rock ‘n Roll Philly half marathon in September and the full Philly Marathon in November. I was deeply excited when I signed up for these. Now, I’m ambivalent at best. My change of heart occurred when we learned that my sister, Michelle, who so bravely fought her breast cancer a few years ago, would have to do it all over again, but this time against a metastatic recurrence. Suddenly wasting every spare minute of my time for a 70.3 sticker to put on my car seems stupid and empty. A Half Ironman no longer feels consequential to me, not in the way that spending time with my family does. The fees for the races and supplemental stuff such as hotel rooms and gear are already paid and non-refundable, so I’ve toyed with the idea of doing the events without really training intensely for them.
There is a way to make the races meaningful, however, and it goes back to DetermiNation. I can decide to train for these races in a way that doesn’t interrupt my time with my family, but it means I won’t perform anywhere near my personal best. And I can sign up with team DetermiNation, thereby bringing good money to the American Cancer Society, an organization I admire deeply. So wait to hear from me, because very soon I likely will don my electronic sandwich board and grab my e-mail bell to get you to donate to the ACS. And this time, it really will be for the ACS.
While almost every event I do either fully supports a charity or has some charitable component, I’ll be honest. I’m signing up mostly because I want to do the event itself. That my race fee is going to a worthy cause is an excellent bonus, but is usually just that, a bonus. I have certainly participated in events primarily to raise money for the underlying charity, e.g., Race for the Cure, the ACS Making Strides for Breast Cancer walk, 5ks for Haiti, for family members of fallen police officer and firefighters, etc. Other times, my motives were split right down the middle, such as my first marathon in Alaska, in which I raised $4,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society via Team in Training, or the MS150 City to Shore Bike ride that I do every year, an event that raises millions of dollars annually toward MS research.
I often feel some guilt about fundraising for these events. While I know the money contributed is tremendously helpful to exceedingly worthy causes, there is still that part of me that feels like I’m asking you to pay for me to do yet another race. That is why for most events I do I just cover the amount myself and don’t solicit additional donations. Even when I do solicit donations for an event, I try to cover the minimum fundraising level myself, so that I feel I am actually asking for donations, and not a race entry fee. Depending on the year and event, however, this is not always possible. Still, there I am again every year, virtual tin cup in hand (thank you, Facebook!), requesting you support my walk/run/ride. I have to remind myself it IS a good thing to raise funds for charity, even if I get something personal out of doing it.
This year is different. I am currently paid and registered for the biggest event I had ever planned on doing, the Half Ironman triathlon in the Poconos in October. I am also registered for the Rock ‘n Roll Philly half marathon in September and the full Philly Marathon in November. I was deeply excited when I signed up for these. Now, I’m ambivalent at best. My change of heart occurred when we learned that my sister, Michelle, who so bravely fought her breast cancer a few years ago, would have to do it all over again, but this time against a metastatic recurrence. Suddenly wasting every spare minute of my time for a 70.3 sticker to put on my car seems stupid and empty. A Half Ironman no longer feels consequential to me, not in the way that spending time with my family does. The fees for the races and supplemental stuff such as hotel rooms and gear are already paid and non-refundable, so I’ve toyed with the idea of doing the events without really training intensely for them.
There is a way to make the races meaningful, however, and it goes back to DetermiNation. I can decide to train for these races in a way that doesn’t interrupt my time with my family, but it means I won’t perform anywhere near my personal best. And I can sign up with team DetermiNation, thereby bringing good money to the American Cancer Society, an organization I admire deeply. So wait to hear from me, because very soon I likely will don my electronic sandwich board and grab my e-mail bell to get you to donate to the ACS. And this time, it really will be for the ACS.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Stupidest Idea in the History of Time
I’ve done some idiotic athletic things over the years. I’ve ignored virtually every injury I’ve had, unless they’ve completely immobilized me. I ran at least 300 miles in training for the Steamtown Marathon with a tear in my Achilles tendon, and then the race itself. I don’t stretch enough. I don’t pay enough attention to core strength. I have not been on a consistent weight training program in years. I’m even lax about icing down the problem areas. My training diet has improved, but I still think of a complex carb as a regular white-flour carb embellished with cheese.
None of this comes even close to comparing to the crime against common sense I’m about to commit. Four marathons and eight half marathons in, and I’ve finally achieved average status in these events. It’s time for me to suck at something new.
Several years ago, while rehabbing a high ankle sprain I was only allowed to swim for exercise. A few weeks into the PT, I was then put on the exercise bike. Finally, I was permitted to run. Swim/bike/run. So, of course, at the first opportunity, I signed up for a sprint triathlon. The race included a .25 mile swim, a 16 mile ride and a 3.1 mile run in Middletown, Delaware. The swim was in a nice, warm and calm pond. To prepare, I had only been swimming in my gym’s pool. When I hit the open water in the tri, I panicked. I couldn’t put my face down, and every time I was tagged by another competitor, I shrieked. My stroke turned into a hybrid freestyle-doggie paddle. All of this caught the attention of one of the rescue personnel, who rowed his boat up to me and offered to pluck me from the water. I refused, protesting that I actually trained for this thing. He hovered nearby, likely assuming I would either change my mind or drown, until I finished. I was the second to the last person out of the water. The last swimmer hit the shore and promptly puked on it.
I haven’t done another tri since then. The idea flashed through my mind now and again, but I brushed it off by signing up for a new marathon.
This year, I rejoined my old gym, the one with the pool. I’ve been swimming once a week. I had forgotten how much I enjoy it, even though I’m ridiculously slow. Simultaneously, two of my running friends signed up for a triathlon in October, and they have been talking about their spring and summer training plan.
I started thinking about that October triathlon. I began believing I could do it, and that it could even be good for me because it would compel me to cross train. Like most triathlons, there’s a lake swim, then a bike ride with some hills, followed by a run.
Now for the stupid: it’s not a sprint tri. It’s also not an Olympic distance tri. I am currently poised to sign up for a half-Ironman in the Poconos. Yes, folks, this is a 1.2-mile swim, followed by a 56-mile ride, followed by a 13.1-mile run, 70.3 miles that all must be accomplished in under eight hours.
I’m not afraid of the ride or the run, though I do know that doing these things in combination makes them exponentially more difficult than mastering each on its own. If I survive the swim, I’m sure I’ll get through those legs of the event. The challenge here is getting through a 1.2-mile swim when my only open-water experience of 1/5 of this length nearly resulted in an emergency rescue. I think it’s because of the swimming disaster that I’m compelled to go for this. It is unfinished business, and I need an event of this magnitude to force me into preparing properly. If I do this, I’ll finally have conquered it. And I’ll get a 70.3 sticker for my car.
None of this comes even close to comparing to the crime against common sense I’m about to commit. Four marathons and eight half marathons in, and I’ve finally achieved average status in these events. It’s time for me to suck at something new.
Several years ago, while rehabbing a high ankle sprain I was only allowed to swim for exercise. A few weeks into the PT, I was then put on the exercise bike. Finally, I was permitted to run. Swim/bike/run. So, of course, at the first opportunity, I signed up for a sprint triathlon. The race included a .25 mile swim, a 16 mile ride and a 3.1 mile run in Middletown, Delaware. The swim was in a nice, warm and calm pond. To prepare, I had only been swimming in my gym’s pool. When I hit the open water in the tri, I panicked. I couldn’t put my face down, and every time I was tagged by another competitor, I shrieked. My stroke turned into a hybrid freestyle-doggie paddle. All of this caught the attention of one of the rescue personnel, who rowed his boat up to me and offered to pluck me from the water. I refused, protesting that I actually trained for this thing. He hovered nearby, likely assuming I would either change my mind or drown, until I finished. I was the second to the last person out of the water. The last swimmer hit the shore and promptly puked on it.
I haven’t done another tri since then. The idea flashed through my mind now and again, but I brushed it off by signing up for a new marathon.
This year, I rejoined my old gym, the one with the pool. I’ve been swimming once a week. I had forgotten how much I enjoy it, even though I’m ridiculously slow. Simultaneously, two of my running friends signed up for a triathlon in October, and they have been talking about their spring and summer training plan.
I started thinking about that October triathlon. I began believing I could do it, and that it could even be good for me because it would compel me to cross train. Like most triathlons, there’s a lake swim, then a bike ride with some hills, followed by a run.
Now for the stupid: it’s not a sprint tri. It’s also not an Olympic distance tri. I am currently poised to sign up for a half-Ironman in the Poconos. Yes, folks, this is a 1.2-mile swim, followed by a 56-mile ride, followed by a 13.1-mile run, 70.3 miles that all must be accomplished in under eight hours.
I’m not afraid of the ride or the run, though I do know that doing these things in combination makes them exponentially more difficult than mastering each on its own. If I survive the swim, I’m sure I’ll get through those legs of the event. The challenge here is getting through a 1.2-mile swim when my only open-water experience of 1/5 of this length nearly resulted in an emergency rescue. I think it’s because of the swimming disaster that I’m compelled to go for this. It is unfinished business, and I need an event of this magnitude to force me into preparing properly. If I do this, I’ll finally have conquered it. And I’ll get a 70.3 sticker for my car.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
On a Tendon and a Prayer
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
