Anyone who reads Runnersworld.com probably saw this headline today, but I'm passing it on. In a time where we are spending upwards of a $100 for entry fees, a $5 half or full marathon is a total steal. The full marathon is December 11th and the half is December 18th. The course is rolling, with some loops needed to get to 26.2 miles. It's in Roxbury, CT, about an hour from Hartford and they are offering a deal on a local hotel to boot. The hotel and race combined is still less than an entry to a Rock and Roll Race or Boston.
http://roxburyraces.net/half-marathon/
Despite the urge to run a full, I'm going to resist and hold myself to the half on the 18th. It gives me a chance to see where my legs are at before the snow flies and get a good starting measure as I ramp up for Boston. I'll delve into goals as we get closer. Right now, all I would like is a solid effort with minimal pain, maybe somewhere around 1:35.
Anyone else in for the Roxbury Full or Half?
Monday, November 29, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Juiceheads Beware
In my former life, I was a gym rat. I lifted five days a week, consumed a huge quantity of protein and espoused about muscle groups with my fellow rats. Despite my best efforts, however, I never found myself particularly muscle bound. Depressed with my permanent status as an ectomorph, I gave up on lifting and focused again on running.
Winter in Vermont is brutal. It is particularly brutal for runners. We face ice, sleet and snow. Sidewalks don't get plowed for weeks after a blizzard and if we don't run at noon, we are doomed to be creatures of the dark at either end of the day. Last winter, I ran outside almost every day as a matter of pride. I have screws in my "ice" shoes, an indeterminate quantity of winter running layers and a healthy dose of Yankee stubborn in my blood. This year, however, I broke down and joined a gym. I still plan to run outside when the footing is good, but on days when it's slippery, you'll find me slogging away the miles on a treadmill.
Yesterday, I talked about how inclement weather is a good training tool for Boston. Today, I'm telling you I joined a gym to avoid it. So what gives? Inclement weather is one thing. Getting hit by a snow plow or breaking my leg is another. Beyond bodily harm, a 6 mile run slogging through a foot of snow is not necessarily the quality I need to be putting in on the road to Boston.
What gym did I join? None other than the juicehead haven of Planet Fitness. With unbeatable low rates, few people doing cardio and 24 hour availability, it was the best choice for me. It looks like I'll start to get my money's worth immediately, with freezing rain on Friday morning in the forecast.
Happy Running all. Think of me fondly, running along side this guy:
Winter in Vermont is brutal. It is particularly brutal for runners. We face ice, sleet and snow. Sidewalks don't get plowed for weeks after a blizzard and if we don't run at noon, we are doomed to be creatures of the dark at either end of the day. Last winter, I ran outside almost every day as a matter of pride. I have screws in my "ice" shoes, an indeterminate quantity of winter running layers and a healthy dose of Yankee stubborn in my blood. This year, however, I broke down and joined a gym. I still plan to run outside when the footing is good, but on days when it's slippery, you'll find me slogging away the miles on a treadmill.
Yesterday, I talked about how inclement weather is a good training tool for Boston. Today, I'm telling you I joined a gym to avoid it. So what gives? Inclement weather is one thing. Getting hit by a snow plow or breaking my leg is another. Beyond bodily harm, a 6 mile run slogging through a foot of snow is not necessarily the quality I need to be putting in on the road to Boston.
What gym did I join? None other than the juicehead haven of Planet Fitness. With unbeatable low rates, few people doing cardio and 24 hour availability, it was the best choice for me. It looks like I'll start to get my money's worth immediately, with freezing rain on Friday morning in the forecast.
Happy Running all. Think of me fondly, running along side this guy:
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A Fellow Tarheel joins the CS Game
(Two posts in a day? I know.)
Hakeem Nicks, a fellow Tarheel, is out of the game for "3 weeks" due to compartment syndrome. Press Release. The onset of his CS is different, sounding more like acute CS than chronic. Still, he'll have to recover from the same surgery. 3 weeks sounds laughable to me, but I also don't take huge hits professionally. I hope they give him the time to recover adequately. He's too good of an athlete to rush back for the sake of the playoffs.
(Photo via http://giantsoutsider.wordpress.com/2009/08/14/amazing-hakeem-nicks-catch-unc/)
Hakeem Nicks, a fellow Tarheel, is out of the game for "3 weeks" due to compartment syndrome. Press Release. The onset of his CS is different, sounding more like acute CS than chronic. Still, he'll have to recover from the same surgery. 3 weeks sounds laughable to me, but I also don't take huge hits professionally. I hope they give him the time to recover adequately. He's too good of an athlete to rush back for the sake of the playoffs.
Gearing Up
It's been a bizarre weather week. Unseasonable temperatures and serious winds have made for interesting training scenarios. Every time we face inclement weather and I yearn to stay in bed or run indoors, I remind myself that anything could happen weather-wise (or otherwise) in Boston, and I'd better be ready. Yesterday, I fought wind on a basic six miler. Today, I had track work in some serious humidity. I was overdressed heading out the door and was a sweaty mess by the time I reached the track.
Thankfully, the workout looming ahead distracted me from the hair plastered to my face. I haven't officially done speed since February and to describe myself as anxious would be a gross understatement. I dutifully did my warm-up, followed by some stride drills, then set into an "easy" workout of 400s. In February, Lee and I did 20 400s on the indoor track. I wouldn't say the workout was easy, but we survived and felt pretty tough. Today, I was aiming for 4 at a 1:40 pace, about the equivalent of my half marathon pace pre-surgery (PS). After this workout, I refuse to believe that I ever maintained that pace for 13 miles.
Being honest, the workout went fine. I huffed and puffed and survived. My legs felt fine, I didn't have a lot of stabbing pain around the incision and I went on to do a few more laps of less structured speed play. As much of a doubting Thomas as I can be, there was a teeny tiny part of myself that thought I might have an effortless workout and be able to say, "Aha, I really didn't lose that much conditioning!" But I did. So now starts the hard work of rebuilding.
Thankfully, the workout looming ahead distracted me from the hair plastered to my face. I haven't officially done speed since February and to describe myself as anxious would be a gross understatement. I dutifully did my warm-up, followed by some stride drills, then set into an "easy" workout of 400s. In February, Lee and I did 20 400s on the indoor track. I wouldn't say the workout was easy, but we survived and felt pretty tough. Today, I was aiming for 4 at a 1:40 pace, about the equivalent of my half marathon pace pre-surgery (PS). After this workout, I refuse to believe that I ever maintained that pace for 13 miles.
Being honest, the workout went fine. I huffed and puffed and survived. My legs felt fine, I didn't have a lot of stabbing pain around the incision and I went on to do a few more laps of less structured speed play. As much of a doubting Thomas as I can be, there was a teeny tiny part of myself that thought I might have an effortless workout and be able to say, "Aha, I really didn't lose that much conditioning!" But I did. So now starts the hard work of rebuilding.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Persistence
"Nothing in the world can take the place of Persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'Press On' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race." (C.Coolidge)
This quote hangs in my parent's house. In my lifetime, I've read it hundreds of times and trust me when I say that it has been woven into my moral fabric. I won't get into to the other ways in which this quote has altered the course of my life and why I think Coolidge was partially wrong (meritocracy is a myth, in short), but persistence frames my life as a runner.
As demonstrated last weekend, I do not want for persistence and determination; I slogged through 30 miles on a 1.25 mile loop course and wasn't bored to tears or resignation. Sometimes, however, I wonder if I lack the talent to reach the next level with running. Perhaps a remnant of a high school career wrought with confidence issues, I consistently battle myself over whether or not this is worth it if I never run a 2:40 marathon. The kind part of my brain, the part that praised me for my tenacity and strength during last Saturday's run, tells me that I don't have a lot of racing experience and that in time, this will all click together. The nasty, cruel part of my mind, however, tells me that it is because I don't work hard enough, because I don't want it enough and because I lack the talent for it. (Apparently I am not alone in this) And herein lies the problem.
I've enjoyed exceptional success in other parts of my life as a result of persistence. I graduated summa cum laude and was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. I've received awards and fellowships for my scholastic endeavors. I continue to have many opportunities to be a co-author in prominent print, despite my youth and lack of a PhD. So what is holding me back from similar success in running?
Last winter, I popped out of bed every morning before 5 a.m. to hammer out a hard workout before work. It should be noted that my job at the time was the job from hell and required me to drink copious glasses of wine post-work to manage, thus negating the option of running after work. Sure, I occasionally missed a workout, but in reviewing my running log from those months, I was a pretty consistent machine. Now, I can barely summon myself out of bed in the morning to get to work on time (new job, no wine needed), let alone do a 12 mile run beforehand. I have always taken my persistence for granted, so to suddenly have that hallmark of my personality wane perturbs me as much as questions about my talent.
Since surgery, I regretfully admit a sense of hopelessness. Despite making huge strides since April and especially this fall, I still wonder if I will ever bounce back. I have one or two good runs a week now, but spend the remaining four feeling sluggish and out of shape. This beats the crap out of my motivation and I suspect keeps me anchored to my bed in the morning. I make up most of my runs in the evening after work, but out of a sense of duty, not inspiration. I long for a day when the alarm rings and I don't snooze it for an hour and a half.
I've enjoyed exceptional success in other parts of my life as a result of persistence. I graduated summa cum laude and was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. I've received awards and fellowships for my scholastic endeavors. I continue to have many opportunities to be a co-author in prominent print, despite my youth and lack of a PhD. So what is holding me back from similar success in running?
Last winter, I popped out of bed every morning before 5 a.m. to hammer out a hard workout before work. It should be noted that my job at the time was the job from hell and required me to drink copious glasses of wine post-work to manage, thus negating the option of running after work. Sure, I occasionally missed a workout, but in reviewing my running log from those months, I was a pretty consistent machine. Now, I can barely summon myself out of bed in the morning to get to work on time (new job, no wine needed), let alone do a 12 mile run beforehand. I have always taken my persistence for granted, so to suddenly have that hallmark of my personality wane perturbs me as much as questions about my talent.
Since surgery, I regretfully admit a sense of hopelessness. Despite making huge strides since April and especially this fall, I still wonder if I will ever bounce back. I have one or two good runs a week now, but spend the remaining four feeling sluggish and out of shape. This beats the crap out of my motivation and I suspect keeps me anchored to my bed in the morning. I make up most of my runs in the evening after work, but out of a sense of duty, not inspiration. I long for a day when the alarm rings and I don't snooze it for an hour and a half.
Thus, Coolidge's quote haunts me. What if I am a runner who works her butt off, without realizing that talent is the limiting factor in her success? What if my marathon PR never goes below 2:40 or 3 hours? As I'm out on the roads this weekend and as I ramp up for Boston, Silent Cal's words will echo through my head, but only time will tell if talent plus persistence will come to fruition for me.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Race Report: Run Your Can Off
Saturday morning was literally the perfect day to be a runner. Although it was 30 degrees at the start, it quickly warmed up to the mid 40s with sun and clear skies. About 50 of us showed up, filled a truck with donated food and prepared to run anywhere from 1.25 to 35 miles.
From the time I woke up on Saturday, I was aware of how different the morning of an ultramarathon felt compared to a regular marathon. I didn't have to worry about halting drinking so that I could use the porto-potty at the perfect time before the start; there was a porto-potty every 1.25 miles. I didn't have to eat a huge bowl of oatmeal to carbo-load; I had fuel every 1.25 miles. I didn't have to pick the perfect layers; as some of the other runners can attest, I lost a layer of clothing every lap for the first few miles, leading me to ask if this was Run Your Clothes Off. Even the atmosphere was different. Instead of thousands of anxious runners shoving each other in a corral, checking pace bands and planning strategy, we stood around drinking coffee and introducing ourselves. As Queen of race nerves, this was a welcome change.
The race went off around 9:15 and I started slowly as planned. Really slowly. I'm not kidding when I say that some of the kids who were running with us beat me through the first lap. The first few laps were painless as my fingers and toes warmed up. By about 5 miles in, I had stripped off my tights and was comfortably in shorts and a tee shirt. For the first couple of hours, I ran in 4 lap (5 mile) chunks, stopping after every 4 to fuel, stretch and do a systems check. Per usual for me, I didn't feel warmed up until about 8 miles in and cruised through mile 15. After the 12th lap, I started doing 3 lap chunks and definitely started to feel the distance. After my 17th lap, I announced that I was only had 24 laps (30 miles) in me for the day. From that point on, I did two laps at a time and just tried to keep one foot in front of the other.
Miles 22 to 26 were tough. I was tired, sore and disoriented from running a loop trail covered in leaves. By the time I reached 26, however, I was elated. Every step was one longer than I'd ever run before and I was excited to see how far I could go. I was also thrilled to note that although I was tired, my form wasn't falling apart. I was moving slowly, but not compensating, so I plugged on. On my 24th lap, Greg, the race organizer, kindly joined me to celebrate. It was a good thing, as I was tired enough that bidding adieu to every tree, stump, log and squirrel seemed normal. I finished, with minimal fanfare, but have never been more proud of myself. The race medal, a crushed can, may become my favorite bling from any race.
After the race, I begrudgingly got myself into an ice bath, foam rolled and refueled. My friends can attest that I even wore small heels on Saturday night (although they will also share that I was moving so slowly, it could barely be considered forward progress). I am sore today, but much less so than I anticipated. Stairs are not my friend and although I feel like a rockstar, I look like a pirate.
So what did this race mean to me? First, it was part of my continued effort to be a more patient racer. I knew that if I wanted to survive, I needed to go out and stay slow. In past races (please see Vegas 2009), going out too fast crushed my opportunity for a good race. Second, I verified that endurance remains a strong point for me. When I am exhausted at mile 20 of Boston, I can think back to Saturday, and be grateful for only 6 miles left and confident that I have it in me. Finally, I had fun. Running has always been my release valve, but my competitive drive sometimes overrides that and sucks the joy right out of it. During this recovery, I've done some fun events that I hope recalibrate me.
From the time I woke up on Saturday, I was aware of how different the morning of an ultramarathon felt compared to a regular marathon. I didn't have to worry about halting drinking so that I could use the porto-potty at the perfect time before the start; there was a porto-potty every 1.25 miles. I didn't have to eat a huge bowl of oatmeal to carbo-load; I had fuel every 1.25 miles. I didn't have to pick the perfect layers; as some of the other runners can attest, I lost a layer of clothing every lap for the first few miles, leading me to ask if this was Run Your Clothes Off. Even the atmosphere was different. Instead of thousands of anxious runners shoving each other in a corral, checking pace bands and planning strategy, we stood around drinking coffee and introducing ourselves. As Queen of race nerves, this was a welcome change.
The race went off around 9:15 and I started slowly as planned. Really slowly. I'm not kidding when I say that some of the kids who were running with us beat me through the first lap. The first few laps were painless as my fingers and toes warmed up. By about 5 miles in, I had stripped off my tights and was comfortably in shorts and a tee shirt. For the first couple of hours, I ran in 4 lap (5 mile) chunks, stopping after every 4 to fuel, stretch and do a systems check. Per usual for me, I didn't feel warmed up until about 8 miles in and cruised through mile 15. After the 12th lap, I started doing 3 lap chunks and definitely started to feel the distance. After my 17th lap, I announced that I was only had 24 laps (30 miles) in me for the day. From that point on, I did two laps at a time and just tried to keep one foot in front of the other.
Miles 22 to 26 were tough. I was tired, sore and disoriented from running a loop trail covered in leaves. By the time I reached 26, however, I was elated. Every step was one longer than I'd ever run before and I was excited to see how far I could go. I was also thrilled to note that although I was tired, my form wasn't falling apart. I was moving slowly, but not compensating, so I plugged on. On my 24th lap, Greg, the race organizer, kindly joined me to celebrate. It was a good thing, as I was tired enough that bidding adieu to every tree, stump, log and squirrel seemed normal. I finished, with minimal fanfare, but have never been more proud of myself. The race medal, a crushed can, may become my favorite bling from any race.
After the race, I begrudgingly got myself into an ice bath, foam rolled and refueled. My friends can attest that I even wore small heels on Saturday night (although they will also share that I was moving so slowly, it could barely be considered forward progress). I am sore today, but much less so than I anticipated. Stairs are not my friend and although I feel like a rockstar, I look like a pirate.
So what did this race mean to me? First, it was part of my continued effort to be a more patient racer. I knew that if I wanted to survive, I needed to go out and stay slow. In past races (please see Vegas 2009), going out too fast crushed my opportunity for a good race. Second, I verified that endurance remains a strong point for me. When I am exhausted at mile 20 of Boston, I can think back to Saturday, and be grateful for only 6 miles left and confident that I have it in me. Finally, I had fun. Running has always been my release valve, but my competitive drive sometimes overrides that and sucks the joy right out of it. During this recovery, I've done some fun events that I hope recalibrate me.
Friday, November 12, 2010
I said I'd never...
run an ultramarathon. But here we are and I'm signed up to run a lot of miles tomorrow, under the auspices of charity. Run Your Can Off (http://runyourcanoff.blogspot.com/) is tomorrow morning, and I have up to 6 hours to fill with running. I pledged to run a lap (1.25 miles) for every can/good donated. I like doing good things almost as much as I like running, so I have a lot to donate and therefore a lot of laps to run. As with all long runs, I'm approaching this one in a relaxed manner. I'm not ready to race or even push it, so tomorrow is an another exercise in patience. I'm going to take it one lap at a time, stretch when I need to and call it if things start to feel bad. After all, the finish line is at most a mile away.
I'd like to do at least 15 laps, but my real goal is somewhere between 25 and 30 slow laps. The mental exercise of pressing on and managing boredom will help me late in the marathon, when I often find myself alone and battling my inner "stop" demons. Running 30 miles will also be my last very long run for a while; on Monday, I start my gear up for Boston, the first 6 weeks of which are focused on speed and strength. Endurance is not a limiting factor for me, but speed certainly is. My best 5k time, for example, is only about 30 seconds faster per mile than my marathon pace. Focusing on speed necessitates that I drop my volume and over the next few weeks (detailed training plan to be revealed soon...), my runs will be short and intense.
I'm excited to get out there tomorrow for a good cause, meet up with some local runners and run trails for the better part of the day. Being honest, I'm also excited to eat poptarts, which are my guilty pleasure long run food. I'm also excited to take some pictures and add to my collection of running pictures in which I don't look terrible! I'll post one or two here.
Have a great weekend of running all. This is the perfect time of year to be a runner!
I'd like to do at least 15 laps, but my real goal is somewhere between 25 and 30 slow laps. The mental exercise of pressing on and managing boredom will help me late in the marathon, when I often find myself alone and battling my inner "stop" demons. Running 30 miles will also be my last very long run for a while; on Monday, I start my gear up for Boston, the first 6 weeks of which are focused on speed and strength. Endurance is not a limiting factor for me, but speed certainly is. My best 5k time, for example, is only about 30 seconds faster per mile than my marathon pace. Focusing on speed necessitates that I drop my volume and over the next few weeks (detailed training plan to be revealed soon...), my runs will be short and intense.
I'm excited to get out there tomorrow for a good cause, meet up with some local runners and run trails for the better part of the day. Being honest, I'm also excited to eat poptarts, which are my guilty pleasure long run food. I'm also excited to take some pictures and add to my collection of running pictures in which I don't look terrible! I'll post one or two here.
Have a great weekend of running all. This is the perfect time of year to be a runner!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Patience, Grasshopper
It has been a really great couple weeks of running. My miles are building, my leg has behaved and I can picture myself toeing the line at Boston for more than just a qualifying 3:40. Tomorrow, I will do my first speed workout post-surgery, with 4 miles at a 7:30 pace. It's funny to think that my pace will be slower than the pace at which I ran my last marathon. My test will not be whether I can run that fast, but whether I can be patient enough to let a 7:30 be enough.
Patience has never been a virtue. My mom recently retold the story of me going to sleep away camp a full year before I was technically eligible. Somehow, I convinced the camp to let me attend, despite being 7 when I needed to be 8. In fact, I came into the world impatiently, arriving a full two months before I was due. That's why it is a bit of a surprise to me (and to my loved ones, I'm sure), that I've been patient with my recovery. When I went into surgery, I expected to be running in 6 weeks, training hard by the end of the summer. Instead, it's November. As I start to feel strong, I find myself pushing too hard in workouts and tacking on extra miles. My brain knows that this is the easiest way to end up on the injured reserve, but my competitive side wants to make up for all the lost time.
Patience in the context of a marathon is an interesting thing. Those who are successful in the marathon must have at least some level of it, as the distance punishes the hare and rewards the tortoise. Perhaps the strongest warning we offer to novice marathoners is that "there are no shortcuts." Why, then, is it so hard to remember this for myself? When I run with friends or give advice to new runners, I always caution against too much too soon, about taking easy runs easy. It seems that with most advice, it's easy to dole it out, but not as easy to observe.
As I wind on down the road this weekend, I'll be working on waking up my fast twitch muscles again, but also on practicing patience. It's a long road to Boston.
Patience has never been a virtue. My mom recently retold the story of me going to sleep away camp a full year before I was technically eligible. Somehow, I convinced the camp to let me attend, despite being 7 when I needed to be 8. In fact, I came into the world impatiently, arriving a full two months before I was due. That's why it is a bit of a surprise to me (and to my loved ones, I'm sure), that I've been patient with my recovery. When I went into surgery, I expected to be running in 6 weeks, training hard by the end of the summer. Instead, it's November. As I start to feel strong, I find myself pushing too hard in workouts and tacking on extra miles. My brain knows that this is the easiest way to end up on the injured reserve, but my competitive side wants to make up for all the lost time.
Patience in the context of a marathon is an interesting thing. Those who are successful in the marathon must have at least some level of it, as the distance punishes the hare and rewards the tortoise. Perhaps the strongest warning we offer to novice marathoners is that "there are no shortcuts." Why, then, is it so hard to remember this for myself? When I run with friends or give advice to new runners, I always caution against too much too soon, about taking easy runs easy. It seems that with most advice, it's easy to dole it out, but not as easy to observe.
As I wind on down the road this weekend, I'll be working on waking up my fast twitch muscles again, but also on practicing patience. It's a long road to Boston.
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