A week ago right NOW (6:21 a.m.), I was waiting in line at the porta-potties, getting ready for my second marathon, which ended disastrously.
So it was with trepidation that I went back to running on Thursday. I mean, I was going strong up until the day of the marathon and then I flopped. Maybe my medial running ligament (or worse than that, my give-a-damn) or some such had just given up the ghost.
Nope.
I have actually had my best running times in a long time over the past three days. I ran four miles on Thursday and Friday, and then six on Saturday. I resume with my regular schedule starting today, although for this week, I'm going to mix it up some -- run eight some mornings, just six the others, and hit 12 miles on Saturday.
So, relief.
My recovery from this marathon was much easier than from my first one. Not sure why, don't really care!
---
I subscribe to two running magazines on my Kindle Fire -- Runner's World and Running Times. Whenever they show up, I usually dive right into RW, and read RT whenever I get a chance. RT seems to be focused more toward serious runners, and while the articles are good and informative, they don't always seem to apply to me.
I didn't get around to reading this past month's issue until Tuesday over my lunch break.
OMG.
There, right there, was an article on keys to success in a marathon.
I had read a million articles like this both before I decided to start running marathons and since. But none covered everything in such awesome detail as this one.
And there, in black and white, was exactly why I failed:
1. I didn't carb-load enough. Runners who rest during the week before the marathon and carb-load actually gain weight. The taper is so difficult for me already that the prospect of gaining weight just freaks me out. So I tiptoe around it. I do a little more carbs than usual, but not the extent that I need to support my body during 26.2 miles.
2. I started out way too fast. Slow and steady would have been more productive than the spurts of speed combined with the OMGslow I was doing.
3. I usually giggle at the runners who have hydration belts. I just think it looks goofy, and I'm not sure that I could run with that distraction. But this article made a fairly good argument for them -- you don't get bottled up at water stations, you aren't tempted to slow down at water stations... Food for thought, I guess.
Anyway, those things coupled with the heat were a recipe for disaster. I should be happy that I finished as quickly as I did with those issues against me.
I feel better about my performance; at least I know what I can do differently next time.
---
In the day or so after the marathon, I seriously thought about "giving up" on them. I had to ask myself if it was worth it -- the mood swings during the taper (and they were particularly bad this time), the nervousness leading up to the race, the stress and strain running it put on my body, and then the aftermath (OMG, the aftermath -- soreness, intestinal issues, chafing even though I did use BodyGlide...)
I thought about it a lot.
And my answer is, yes. It is completely and totally worth it. I'd run San Antonio again, even if it meant the same time.
I still don't see how I can fit a marathon in next year (and still run Houston in January 2014), but that doesn't mean I'm done with them.
Not at all.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
New beginnings
I have this silly thing that I did after the White Rock Marathon, and I did it yesterday after the Rock N Roll Marathon.
First, I retire my shoes. Those turquoise Nike Run Frees had 568.2 miles on them, and that's not counting the days when I wore them to work, on errands, etc.
Second, I take a red Sharpie and write the date, event and my time on them.
I line them up in the back of my closet.
Third, I buy a new pair...
(Left to right: New shoes, Rock N Roll Marathon shoes, Dallas White Rock shoes.)
With a clean slate...
Back to it tomorrow morning!
First, I retire my shoes. Those turquoise Nike Run Frees had 568.2 miles on them, and that's not counting the days when I wore them to work, on errands, etc.
Second, I take a red Sharpie and write the date, event and my time on them.
Third, I buy a new pair...
With a clean slate...
Monday, November 12, 2012
San Antonio RNR Marathon 1, Beth 0
When you realize somewhere in the 16th mile of a marathon that you aren't going to do better than your last marathon time, the good thing is that you have lots of time to think.
You think that you aren't good enough.
You think that you just wasted your time and money.
You think that maybe the heat has gotten to you, and these thoughts are the beginning of the delirium that sometimes accompanies heatstroke.
You think that you didn't train hard enough or you didn't want it badly enough or that you at 40 years of age have exactly zero business running a marathon.
And then somewhere in that wasteland where nothing makes sense anymore except running, running, running, and all you can hear is your pulse and the danged annoying sound your feet make hitting the ground, and want to quit, you see a sign that some random person made and hung on a fence. It reads:
"When you think you want to quit, think about why you started."
I started running because I wanted to lose weight. Because I wasn't happy being overweight, and I knew that cutting back on the type and amounts of food I was eating wasn't a realistic way to go about losing the weight.
I kept on running because it changed my body, my moods, my attitude. Because it showed my kids that being active can and should be a lifelong thing.
I started running because I love my running shoes more than any pair of heels I have in my closet. I kept on running because there's no feeling like the endorphins that shoot into your body after a long run.
So I didn't quit on Sunday; I kept on running.
In a way, it felt like freedom. I was no longer a slave to my watch, to my pace. I could just run.
I crossed the finish line at the Alamodome in 5 hours, 28 minutes and 41 seconds, exactly. I could tell you about how I waited in line to use the bathroom twice and that wait time was probably about 8-10 minutes total, but that really doesn't make me feel better. It makes me feel like I'm giving excuses.
I could tell you about the heat. We know that I don't run well in heat. Again, excuses.
I could tell you about the hills. I had read that the course wasn't that hilly, and really, it wasn't. But there were a few gargantuan ones -- the final one leading up to the finish line was like a big "up yours" to the runners. But again, that sounds like an excuse to me.
I'm not quite sure what happened. I don't know why I fell apart. I was about on my usual pace of 6 mph until I hit 13 miles and then I slowed down. WAY DOWN. I knew I was slowing down and felt like I couldn't do anything about it.
My brain, my heart was saying -- yelling -- "Why are you slowing down? What are you doing? Go faster!"
My feet wouldn't listen.
I think it was because I was running scared. I had heard about the man who died within minutes of crossing the finish line last year, due to the heat. His family had a booth at the expo, so it was fresh on my mind. The day before the race, the directors sent out an e-mail warning about the heat. I had seen ambulances attend to several people on the course while I was running. And I panicked, slowed down, took lots of water breaks -- two things I do not do when I'm running at home, even on my 15- and 20-milers.
I kept thinking about my kids and what might happen if I pushed myself. So I didn't.
I did finish, though. Giving up was not going to happen. I ran up that hill to the Alamodome and I proudly claimed this:
I'm not going to lie. I'm disappointed in my time, in myself. There were 25,000 runners total, and only 3,000 of us completed the marathon (the others ran the half), so the fact that I completed it says something.
Just not what I wanted it to say.
So there it is, the second marathon in the books. I'm trying to figure out a running calendar for next year. I may do some half-marathons and smaller races in 2013, and run Houston in 2014.
The important thing is that I am still going to run. Every day that I put on those running shoes and get out there is a victory. Time doesn't matter. Pace doesn't matter.
What does matter is that I'm going to get out there.
You think that you aren't good enough.
You think that you just wasted your time and money.
You think that maybe the heat has gotten to you, and these thoughts are the beginning of the delirium that sometimes accompanies heatstroke.
You think that you didn't train hard enough or you didn't want it badly enough or that you at 40 years of age have exactly zero business running a marathon.
And then somewhere in that wasteland where nothing makes sense anymore except running, running, running, and all you can hear is your pulse and the danged annoying sound your feet make hitting the ground, and want to quit, you see a sign that some random person made and hung on a fence. It reads:
"When you think you want to quit, think about why you started."
I started running because I wanted to lose weight. Because I wasn't happy being overweight, and I knew that cutting back on the type and amounts of food I was eating wasn't a realistic way to go about losing the weight.
I kept on running because it changed my body, my moods, my attitude. Because it showed my kids that being active can and should be a lifelong thing.
I started running because I love my running shoes more than any pair of heels I have in my closet. I kept on running because there's no feeling like the endorphins that shoot into your body after a long run.
So I didn't quit on Sunday; I kept on running.
In a way, it felt like freedom. I was no longer a slave to my watch, to my pace. I could just run.
I crossed the finish line at the Alamodome in 5 hours, 28 minutes and 41 seconds, exactly. I could tell you about how I waited in line to use the bathroom twice and that wait time was probably about 8-10 minutes total, but that really doesn't make me feel better. It makes me feel like I'm giving excuses.
I could tell you about the heat. We know that I don't run well in heat. Again, excuses.
I could tell you about the hills. I had read that the course wasn't that hilly, and really, it wasn't. But there were a few gargantuan ones -- the final one leading up to the finish line was like a big "up yours" to the runners. But again, that sounds like an excuse to me.
I'm not quite sure what happened. I don't know why I fell apart. I was about on my usual pace of 6 mph until I hit 13 miles and then I slowed down. WAY DOWN. I knew I was slowing down and felt like I couldn't do anything about it.
My brain, my heart was saying -- yelling -- "Why are you slowing down? What are you doing? Go faster!"
My feet wouldn't listen.
I think it was because I was running scared. I had heard about the man who died within minutes of crossing the finish line last year, due to the heat. His family had a booth at the expo, so it was fresh on my mind. The day before the race, the directors sent out an e-mail warning about the heat. I had seen ambulances attend to several people on the course while I was running. And I panicked, slowed down, took lots of water breaks -- two things I do not do when I'm running at home, even on my 15- and 20-milers.
I kept thinking about my kids and what might happen if I pushed myself. So I didn't.
I did finish, though. Giving up was not going to happen. I ran up that hill to the Alamodome and I proudly claimed this:
I'm not going to lie. I'm disappointed in my time, in myself. There were 25,000 runners total, and only 3,000 of us completed the marathon (the others ran the half), so the fact that I completed it says something.
Just not what I wanted it to say.
So there it is, the second marathon in the books. I'm trying to figure out a running calendar for next year. I may do some half-marathons and smaller races in 2013, and run Houston in 2014.
The important thing is that I am still going to run. Every day that I put on those running shoes and get out there is a victory. Time doesn't matter. Pace doesn't matter.
What does matter is that I'm going to get out there.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Next up...panic.
So, I made it through last night without arguing with my family or crying over sillness.
But this morning, around 2, panic set in:
1. Can I do this? I mean, I've done it before, in weather much worse than what I should face in San Antonio. I've read over my running logs from last year before the marathon, and honestly, my runs are very similar. My times are generally better this time around, even. So why the doubt?
2. Am I gaining weight from not running? I know, I know. Crazy talk. I've made a concentrated effort to eat reasonably this week. I'm still drinking a lot of water. But the fear is still there.
3. How will I eat over the next two days? The stuff I've read recently seems to advocate carb-loading only the day before the race. But I also need to lay off any high-fiber foods starting...well, today. But I'm a vegetarian! Everything I eat is high fiber! I'm cutting myself off the high fiber after lunch today. I guess I'll live off eggs and cheese tonight and tomorrow. And then, Saturday...carb city.
4. I just read on the marathon page that there's a Veterans' Day parade and a college football game in downtown on Saturday. So now I'm freaking out about dealing with traffic.
5. My kids. I've leaving them with their father for two days (I'll be back on Monday in time to pick them up from school, take Kate to dance and go to the grocery store). It's not like I'm leaving them to roam wild, scavenging for food out of Dumpsters, right? The worse that may happen is fast food on Saturday and Sunday. Considering that generally I make sure they eat well-balanced meals, I should be able to calm down. But y'all, in my running-deprived state, the fact that my children may eat Sonic for supper on Saturday and Taco Bell for supper on Sunday makes me want to cry*. I don't even want to talk about what my daughter may wear to school on Monday...
(*And in all honesty, this may not happen. Russ can cook, and may whip up something wonderful for them on Sunday night...)
---
Things I am not worried about?
1. What I'm going to wear. The low on Sunday is 60, with the high being 83. Ten percent chance of rain. So I've got this! I'm going to wear my black Brooks running skirt and a turquoise shirt. Thorlo socks, per usual, and my latest pair of Nike Run Frees (to be replaced when I return from SA).
2. The actual drive to San Antonio. I have the radio, Sirius Radio, and my iPod to keep me company, all in the comfort of my brand-new car.
3. The afterward part. Last year, after I finished, I had to turn around and drive straight home. I did it and everything was fine, but still... This year, I'll have time to soak in the tub. Eat something really disgusting and bad for me. Take a nap. Watch the NFL. Maybe even write a blog post.
4. My run on Thursday. :-)
But this morning, around 2, panic set in:
1. Can I do this? I mean, I've done it before, in weather much worse than what I should face in San Antonio. I've read over my running logs from last year before the marathon, and honestly, my runs are very similar. My times are generally better this time around, even. So why the doubt?
2. Am I gaining weight from not running? I know, I know. Crazy talk. I've made a concentrated effort to eat reasonably this week. I'm still drinking a lot of water. But the fear is still there.
3. How will I eat over the next two days? The stuff I've read recently seems to advocate carb-loading only the day before the race. But I also need to lay off any high-fiber foods starting...well, today. But I'm a vegetarian! Everything I eat is high fiber! I'm cutting myself off the high fiber after lunch today. I guess I'll live off eggs and cheese tonight and tomorrow. And then, Saturday...carb city.
4. I just read on the marathon page that there's a Veterans' Day parade and a college football game in downtown on Saturday. So now I'm freaking out about dealing with traffic.
5. My kids. I've leaving them with their father for two days (I'll be back on Monday in time to pick them up from school, take Kate to dance and go to the grocery store). It's not like I'm leaving them to roam wild, scavenging for food out of Dumpsters, right? The worse that may happen is fast food on Saturday and Sunday. Considering that generally I make sure they eat well-balanced meals, I should be able to calm down. But y'all, in my running-deprived state, the fact that my children may eat Sonic for supper on Saturday and Taco Bell for supper on Sunday makes me want to cry*. I don't even want to talk about what my daughter may wear to school on Monday...
(*And in all honesty, this may not happen. Russ can cook, and may whip up something wonderful for them on Sunday night...)
---
Things I am not worried about?
1. What I'm going to wear. The low on Sunday is 60, with the high being 83. Ten percent chance of rain. So I've got this! I'm going to wear my black Brooks running skirt and a turquoise shirt. Thorlo socks, per usual, and my latest pair of Nike Run Frees (to be replaced when I return from SA).
2. The actual drive to San Antonio. I have the radio, Sirius Radio, and my iPod to keep me company, all in the comfort of my brand-new car.
3. The afterward part. Last year, after I finished, I had to turn around and drive straight home. I did it and everything was fine, but still... This year, I'll have time to soak in the tub. Eat something really disgusting and bad for me. Take a nap. Watch the NFL. Maybe even write a blog post.
4. My run on Thursday. :-)
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Onslaught
On a normal Saturday through Tuesday, I run at the very least 25 miles. It may be more, depending on my Saturday mileage.
This Saturday through Tuesday, I've run 13 miles.
And the mood swings have started. I've cried twice this morning, and I really can't tell you why exactly. I was snippy with my family last night, for no apparent reason.
Those endorphins are some powerful stuff.
This morning was my official last morning run. The next time I run, it will be at the Rock N Roll Marathon on Sunday.
I wish I could fully explain how I feel. It's very similar to the PMDD I used to feel before I started running. I'm scattered and anxious. I have all these scenarios in my head of the way things are going to go, but I don't bother to tell anyone. So when things don't go the way I have already decided they will go...I lose it.
Last night, I had planned to come home after Katie's dance class, feed her supper, eat something myself, change into my PJs and zone out to "The Voice" which I had scheduled the DVR to record at 7 p.m.
Sounds easy, right?
Except when I got home, my husband was watching TV. So I got mad and grumpy and argumentative.
Over a scenario I had created in my head three hours before that he didn't know about.
And when he asked me what was wrong, instead of saying, "I really wanted to watch 'The Voice,'" I said, "Nothing. I'm fine," in a way that he knew I really wasn't fine. But since he had no clue what my problem was, he went back to watching his TV show.
And I stewed.
Let it be known that if I had been reasonable about the TV show, Russ would have totally turned the remote over to me. He watches the show from time to time with me, and the show he was watching wasn't one of his "can't-miss" shows.
The last time I did this, the moodiness didn't start until the night after I missed my first run. Last night's incident took me by surprise because I wasn't expecting it this early.
I'm not going to let this get the best of me, though. I already have a plan for tonight: A glass of wine, watching the election returns (my favorite night of work at The Enterprise was Election Night), and cleaning.
This Saturday through Tuesday, I've run 13 miles.
And the mood swings have started. I've cried twice this morning, and I really can't tell you why exactly. I was snippy with my family last night, for no apparent reason.
Those endorphins are some powerful stuff.
This morning was my official last morning run. The next time I run, it will be at the Rock N Roll Marathon on Sunday.
I wish I could fully explain how I feel. It's very similar to the PMDD I used to feel before I started running. I'm scattered and anxious. I have all these scenarios in my head of the way things are going to go, but I don't bother to tell anyone. So when things don't go the way I have already decided they will go...I lose it.
Last night, I had planned to come home after Katie's dance class, feed her supper, eat something myself, change into my PJs and zone out to "The Voice" which I had scheduled the DVR to record at 7 p.m.
Sounds easy, right?
Except when I got home, my husband was watching TV. So I got mad and grumpy and argumentative.
Over a scenario I had created in my head three hours before that he didn't know about.
And when he asked me what was wrong, instead of saying, "I really wanted to watch 'The Voice,'" I said, "Nothing. I'm fine," in a way that he knew I really wasn't fine. But since he had no clue what my problem was, he went back to watching his TV show.
And I stewed.
Let it be known that if I had been reasonable about the TV show, Russ would have totally turned the remote over to me. He watches the show from time to time with me, and the show he was watching wasn't one of his "can't-miss" shows.
The last time I did this, the moodiness didn't start until the night after I missed my first run. Last night's incident took me by surprise because I wasn't expecting it this early.
I'm not going to let this get the best of me, though. I already have a plan for tonight: A glass of wine, watching the election returns (my favorite night of work at The Enterprise was Election Night), and cleaning.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Taper, AKA Hell on Earth
The marathon is next Sunday, y'all. Next Sunday.
I'm feeling good. I'm ready. The weather is supposed to be amazing.
There's only one thing standing in my way: The Taper.
Ugh. I hate it so much.
If I've said it once, I've said it a million times before: I run not only for the health/weight aspects. Running releases endorphins which help regulate my moods, calms my anxieties, mellows me totally out. And if I don't have that endorphin rush...then it gets ugly.
I remember during the taper before last year's marathon, I was sitting in the recliner one evening. The house was clean. The Christmas tree was up and beautiful. We had all just eaten a good meal. There was no current kid drama going on. Work was good, home was good, life was good.
I was about two seconds from bursting into tears. FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER.
Sigh.
I am hoping to mitigate this year's taper by not exactly doing it the "right" way. I took an extra day off last week. I ran just eight miles this morning. I'm going to run six tomorrow and six on Monday. Then I'm basically done. Technically, you're supposed to go down x% of your weekly mileage two weeks before, then you're basically done a week before the marathon.
No way I could have done that. I would lose my mind.
---
I have so many thoughts about the cancelation of the NYC Marathon. So many thoughts.
I'm going to be honest: If I were planning to run the race, I'd be seriously upset that it was canceled. I'd be pissed that it was canceled so close to the date of the event.
I understand that there are people in dire straits up there. I'm a veteran of Hurricane Rita, Hurricane Humberto, and Hurricane Ike. Been there, done that more times than I care to.
But running, to me, has always been a healing process.
Sad? RUN.
Bad day at work? RUN.
Bad day with kids, husband? RUN.
Upset at friend? RUN.
Completely depressed and overwhelmed over everything? RUN.
Running is what I do when I can't do anything else.
I'm feeling good. I'm ready. The weather is supposed to be amazing.
There's only one thing standing in my way: The Taper.
Ugh. I hate it so much.
If I've said it once, I've said it a million times before: I run not only for the health/weight aspects. Running releases endorphins which help regulate my moods, calms my anxieties, mellows me totally out. And if I don't have that endorphin rush...then it gets ugly.
I remember during the taper before last year's marathon, I was sitting in the recliner one evening. The house was clean. The Christmas tree was up and beautiful. We had all just eaten a good meal. There was no current kid drama going on. Work was good, home was good, life was good.
I was about two seconds from bursting into tears. FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER.
Sigh.
I am hoping to mitigate this year's taper by not exactly doing it the "right" way. I took an extra day off last week. I ran just eight miles this morning. I'm going to run six tomorrow and six on Monday. Then I'm basically done. Technically, you're supposed to go down x% of your weekly mileage two weeks before, then you're basically done a week before the marathon.
No way I could have done that. I would lose my mind.
---
I have so many thoughts about the cancelation of the NYC Marathon. So many thoughts.
I'm going to be honest: If I were planning to run the race, I'd be seriously upset that it was canceled. I'd be pissed that it was canceled so close to the date of the event.
I understand that there are people in dire straits up there. I'm a veteran of Hurricane Rita, Hurricane Humberto, and Hurricane Ike. Been there, done that more times than I care to.
But running, to me, has always been a healing process.
Sad? RUN.
Bad day at work? RUN.
Bad day with kids, husband? RUN.
Upset at friend? RUN.
Completely depressed and overwhelmed over everything? RUN.
Running is what I do when I can't do anything else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)