Running and Marathon Training on the Cape
The family and I are leaving for Houston this morning for 5 days with my family.
I made sure to pack my running clothes and shoes first. I’ve already been on MapMyRun searching out some decent routes near my parents house.
The thing I’m looking most forward to (next to seeing my parents, brother and sister-in-law) is running outside in shorts again. It’s 18F degrees in Cotuit this morning (-3 w/ the windchill)
Monday, February 5
It started innocently enough … my running partners were all hurt. I told Colleen (Kevin’s wife) that I should roll myself in bubble wrap, sit in a quiet corner and avoid unnecessary contact with the outside world.
Of course, I couldn’t let the comments end there. I may have also mentioned they were all injured because:
Obviously, the running gods were going to make me pay for tempting fate.
Tuesday, February 6 6:00am:
This was supposed to be a morning run with Kevin, but since he was nursing bruised ribs following a tennis accident (who plays tennis outside in Massachusetts in February?) I hit the road alone for an easy 6 miles.
Three miles out, right before the turn for home I misjudge the height of a curb, catch my toe and end up sprawled on a patch of very cold, very hard dirt.
WOW – that could have been bad. Three weeks ago it was Keith sprawled on the side of Old Stage Rd in Centerville gripping his ankle. At least he had the excuse of a car bearing down on us, forcing us closer to the side of the road that caused him to lose his balance. I’m just a klutz.
I spend the rest of the run on the center line of Putnam St (one of the busier roads in Cotuit) – only moving close to the curb if a car is visible.
Tuesday, February 6 9:30pm:
Our 3 year old, Colin, wakes up, cries, calls out for Mom and proceeds to throw up all over his bed and floor. Michelle and I take turns sitting with him throughout the night. From 2-5:30am, I sleep on the floor outside the bathroom. Colin sleeps on the floor next to the toilet.
Wednesday, February 7, 5:30am:
Colin’s still sleeping on the floor next to me. I put him in bed and hobble downstairs to make coffee.
My back hurts. My side hurts. I check on Colin one more time. He’s OK – still sleeping – so I decide to do some stretching and weight lifting. There won’t be any running today. My body aches too much.
Wednesday, February 7, 9pm:
Colin is recovered. He’s sleeping comfortably in his own bed. Whatever he had lasted until about lunchtime and then he was back to his crazy, 3-year-old self.
Michelle and I are both exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before. At 8pm we race to see who can be in bed first (I won).
The phone rings at 8:55pm. My brain doesn’t register the fact that the far-away noise is a phone until the 3rd ring. We don’t have a working phone line in our bedroom, and since I know there’s no hope that I’m going to reach the phone in time, I lie there staring @ the ceiling deciding if I should get up and check caller id.
There are 3 groups of people who might be calling:
Since there’s a 66% chance this is an emergency, I decide it’s worth it to climb out of my comfortable, warm bed and check the phone.
Based on her lack of movement and fake snoring, I can tell Michelle has no intentions of going to see who called.
I climb out of bed, rub the sleep from my eyes, walk down the hallway and FALL DOWN THE STAIRS.
No, this wasn’t a simple missed step, or a little slip.
I lost my balance on the top stair, hit my back and head and watched the ceiling zoom by as I fell the entire length of the stairs
I sat there – amazed. I had never fallen down the stairs before. How the hell did that just happen? What’s the matter with me?
I shook off the cobwebs, let Michelle know that I was all right (she had actually come running when she heard the giant THUD on the stairs) and checked caller id.
Frickin telemarketers!!!!
Thursday, February 8, 4:00am:
Another crappy night’s sleep – this time due to my headache and rug burns from the stair incident. I get up to do some work and decide to give the treadmill a try.
My lower back spasms with each step, but I make it through 3.5 slow miles. I’m beginning to think the bubble wrap idea wasn’t a bad one.
I tell myself that tomorrow will be a better day. Yes, tomorrow I’ll run 7 miles.
Friday (aka tomorrow), February 9, 3:45am
I wake up to a rumbling in my stomach. Damn … I had too much pizza last night. When did I get the stomach of an 85-year-old man? A little extra grease and I have indigestion and heartburn??
There’s no sense in staying in bed feeling this way. I decide to get up and find the Maalox.
Mmmmmm .. cherry maalox.
After guzzling the Maalox straight from the bottle, I pore myself a cup of coffee, sit down in my office, log into the VPN @ the office and … throw up a little in my mouth. Oh god … that’s
about the worst taste ever. Sweet jesus, where’s the garbage can.
I spit the nastiness from the back of my throat and realize that’s just the start. That familiar feeling is building in my mouth – excess saliva mixed with butterflies in the stomach.
uh-oh.
I dash to the bathroom and it’s as if I’m back in college. Pizza, french fries, bites of chicken fingers, all mixed in w/ cherry maalox paint the inside of the toilet. I’m seeing stars, my eyes
are watering, my back is still tight from the fall on Wednesday night and my nose is starting to bleed … good god, I’m a mess.
I spend the rest of the day shivering, sweating and wearing a path in the hallway to the bathroom.
Saturday, February 10, 6:00am
I slept in.
Seriously, why risk getting out of bed?
Since Monday afternoon, I’ve:
Saturday is my day of atonement. I pissed off the running gods, and they have made their presence felt.
I lie in my bed thinking of ways to repair the damage I’ve done. My offering to the running gods needs to be heartfelt, meaningful, involve some work on my part and running-related.
Confession? No, I haven’t been to mass in years, and I don’t think the church has a recommended penance for what I’ve done.
12-step program? I considered individual phone calls to Keith, Rick and Kevin with apologies, but since its only 6am and I really want to atone sooner rather than later, I keep thinking.
Renew my Runner’s World subscription? Not enough atonement.
Long post on the blog? Doubt it will be meaningful. I’m still woozy from Friday’s vomiting.
Clean the treadmill? Hmmm .. that might work.
Is it heartfelt? Well, I love my treadmill. So I suppose this qualifies as heartfelt.
Meaningful? Sure, why not.
Involve some work on my part? Definitely, it’s covered in little drops of sweat that never come clean.
Running-related? Um, yeah.
So Saturday morning, following a very slow 4-mile job on the treadmill I did the best I could, lovingly cleaning the display, side rails, running boards and cover of my treadmill.
It’s still a nasty mess, and I’d be embarassed if any of my friends used it, but I feel like I made the proper offering to the running gods.
Sunday, February 11, 5:00am
After my Saturday treadmill-cleaning offering, the rest of the day went by without incident.
I didn’t fall. No strange illnesses beset our family. I was able to navigate every stairway cleanly.
I was back in the good graces of the running gods, but just in case I ran along the center line during my 12-mile run …. no reason to get too close to those scary curbs.
While browsing through the race photos on Jim Rhoades website, I came across this shot of Rick and me. I think it was taken within the first couple of miles. I definitely remember looking at the camera.
I sent the link to the picture over to my Dad (one of my running inspirations). I was expecting to hear words of encouragement and/or sympathy:
No, instead I get a smart-ass remark –> “Wow – looks like you’re a good four feet ahead of that lady in pink.”
Technically, it was five feet, but I think she may have beaten me at the end of the race.
photo courtesy of Jim Rhoades
My post Monday night only told part of the story.
I said that I was looking forward to the 10-mile run, but I didn’t explain why.
Like most runners, I’m motivated by different things on different days.
Some days, it’s the planned route that motivates me to run.
Other days, it’s the people with whom I’m running that motivate me, or the excitement of closing in on a goal weight.
My best days are motivated by the weather outside – those early Spring or late Fall mornings where it’s too perfect to stay inside.
On Sunday, I wasn’t motivated to run for any of those reasons.
I was motivated because I smelled … I smelled real bad. I made the mistake (the tasty mistake) of having french onion soup for dinner on Saturday, and by Sunday morning there was a cloud of stink hovering around me.
This wasn’t the same type of stink that was coming from RegiVizz’s port-a-potty. It wasn’t a “someone open a window and light a match” stink. This was a literal cloud. It moved
with me. I could see it as I pored my morning coffee. I could feel it seeping from my eye sockets.
I’ve been here before. Garlic does the same thing to me. Italian restaurants scare the crap out of me. No matter what I order I know I’ll ooze stench for at least 24 hours.
The only cure I’ve found is sweat. I’ve ruined shirts and stunk up gym cardio rooms sweating out the thick, oily, funky residue of a good meal.
I’m currently banned from using my parents’ treadmill when I visit. They had to leave the window open in their home gym for days after my 60-minute treadmill run (stink courtesy of Vinny Testa’s linguini w/ clam sauce).
So this was my motivation when I took off in the snow and freezing rain at 5:30am …. just get rid of the stink.
I know, it’s not the best motivation. This story won’t inspire a non-runner to get out there and run 5 miles. Chances are good it wouldn’t make a good Disney plot. It probably wouldn’t even make a decent after school special, but it was my motivation Sunday morning and it pushed me along through 10 tough miles.
It was 5:15am.
The ground was covered with an inch of sloppy slush.
I was sharing emails with Rick, listening to the rhythmic tap of freezing rain against the skylight above my office door.
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Me: Do you and Keith have a snow & freezing rain rule? no shame in not running this morning …. : ) if you get this note before 5:35am, LMK if you still plan to meet me @ S&S this morning
Rick: just looked outside, I think we should pass
Me: OK – how is your week looking? want to get together Wednesday AM for that 6-mile loop that we did last time?
**********************************************
I have to admit, I wasn’t sharing emails with Rick because I was worried about his safety on the drive over here.
I wasn’t concerned about running in the snow. Traction on the slippery ground wouldn’t be an issue – I already had on my trail shoes.
If I’m being honest, I was just plain lazy.
Not about the actual running – I was looking forward to the 10-mile run through Cotuit.
No, the real reason I was checking in with Rick –> I didn’t feel like brushing off my snow-covered car. If Rick was having second thoughts about running, I’d rather know before I went outside to start up my car, scrape off the windshield and drive 5 miles to drop off water.
I have no qualms about running 10 miles, but the thought of scraping off my windshield and spending 10 minutes in the car was exhausting.
What does that say about me?
The idea has been in the back of my head for about 6 weeks – get past Derry and decide if I was ready for a Spring marathon.
As the weeks passed and my runs became longer and more focused, I started to develop a sense of entitlement – not only was I going to run a Spring marathon, but it would be easier and better than my last (only) one.
Then I went to Derry, and I was humbled.
The confidence that I was feeling after a 17-mile Christmas Eve run evaporated.
The sense of entitlement in a Spring marathon – born from that confidence – seemed completely misplaced.
How could I ever imagine that I was ready for the challenge of another marathon?
I’ve spent the past week struggling with that question.
I know that running is @ least 50% mental. I see it every Wednesday and Sunday with Rick.
Wednesday mornings I push myself around the track as fast as I can while Rick slowly jogs in the outside lane. I push myself because I know that I can. It just feels right. I know that the workout is short and the pain will subside.
Meanwhile, on Sunday morning Rick’s a blur a half-mile ahead of me. I know that I’m going to struggle – those damn Service Rd hills will be my undoing again.
It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I fall for it every time.
Next Steps
I’ve got my running shorts on. It’s 5 degrees (F) outside and I’m grateful for the treadmill in the basement. If all goes well, I’ll get in 5 miles this morning.
Tomorrow, I’m meeting Rick for a 10-miler around Cotuit – no Service Rd hills this week.
Sunday afternoon, I’ll take another look at the marathon schedule and see what I think.
My plan was to sit down and give a detailed race report.
I love replaying a race (good or bad) with an eye towards what I liked and what I didn’t; what I did well, and where I can improve for the next race.
But here it is, 30 hours after I crossed the finish line, and I’ve discovered that I’m missing huge chunks of my memory from yesterday.
I can’t remember specific details about the race. I can remember passing by mile markers yesterday and making mental notes to put this or that on the blog when I get home, but now that I’m here in front of my computer, I’ve become painfully aware that I left a huge number of brain cells on the hills of Derry. NH.
Yesterday’s race has become a mental kaleidoscope of hills, ice, sweat and pain.
Some things that I do remember:
I remember being cold.
I remember the volunteer’s warning at mile 5 to save something for the hill at mile 12.
I remember being scared because the hill at mile 5 made my quads twitch and my butt pucker.
I remember wishing I was Keith, bum ankle & all, handing out water @ mile 6.
I remember thinking I was going blind – wondering why everything was blurry, and then realizing it was because of the ice crystals on my eye lashes.
I remember walking up a hill around mile 10.5.
I remember still walking up the same hill around mile 12.
I remember wishing for a third pair of gloves around mile 14.
I remember wanting to punch the person who’s sarcastic sense of humor advertised this race as “moderately challenging.”
I remember dreaming up excuses why I wouldn’t be able to run Stu’s 30K in March (pregnant, hemorrhoids, spastic colon … anything would be better than facing another potentially frigid race).
I remember the finish line and the impossibly long line for food afterwards.
I remember eating Pizza Hut two pieces at at time back at our friends house in Goffstown and thinking that I had died and gone to pizza heaven. The chefs @ the Hut had created the perfect pie ever sold in the Granite State, and they saved it especially for me.
Everything else from yesterday –> specifics from the race, a post-race shower, the 140-mile drive back to the Cape … it’s somewhere in the cobwebs of my memories. I have no doubt it will come rushing back if I ever consider putting my body through that torture again.
For now, I have a feeling that I’m better off remembering what I can and filtering out the rest.
I’m back.
In order to clear up any potential misconceptions:
So, where the hell have I been?
I’ve started about 10 different posts in the past month. All of them with the same general theme: “Real busy, running’s been good .. more later.” I just couldn’t bring myself to hit the publish button on any of them.
Seriously, who the hell cares how busy I am? We’re all busy. No one cares why I’m busy.
So I promised myself that I wouldn’t write anything until I had something interesting to say.
Sadly – I’ve discovered that I have nothing interesting to say. So if you’ve read this far thinking (hoping) this would get better, I’m sorry. This is as good as it gets. If you’d like to continue, I can provide a quick recap of what’s been occupying my time since mid-December.
Here’s what I’ve been doing:
OK, so why the lack of posts
While I was training for the marathon, I put consulting on hold. Once November hit, I took a look @ the bank account and the credit card bills and thought, “Shit – I need to start consulting again.” So, since early November I’ve been working about 20-30 hours/week above and beyond my normal 9-5 job. Throw in 5-7 hours of exercise a week, and quality time with the family I’ve been left with about 10 minutes to spend thinking about writing.
And I have to admit, after spending close to 80 hours in front of a computer screen (I’m a web developer), the last thing that I want to do is sit in front of that same computer screen and be witty.
So, what comes next
I plan to post as often as I can – @ least 2-3 times/week. There’s a few things I plan to write about:
Finally, I’m hoping to run a spring marathon. A lot of those hopes will hinge on how I feel after Sunday’s race.
More to come …
Physically, I’m in pain. I forgot my Body Glide and paid the price – my left leg was an angry shade of red last night.
Mentally …
I was in a foul mood yesterday and it was all my fault. I was disappointed with myself – disappointed that I didn’t have a good run, and disappointed @ my perception that it was a bad run.
I’ve never felt that way after a run. Sure, there have been times during a run where I’d wonder what the hell I was doing out there. There have been plenty of days that I’d prefer to step off the course and walk the rest of the way. But after a run … that’s when I’m feeling my best.
Yesterday was different. My frustration(? anger? feelings of inadequacy?) started 60 minutes into the run, lasted the final 25 minutes and then for hours afterward. I couldn’t concentrate on any of the other things that I wanted to do yesterday. I kept coming back to the run and why I felt the way I did.
Even now, nearly 24 hours later, I still can’t figure out what was wrong with me yesterday.
I’ll deal with it and move on.
Just run
I don’t want to be the Sunday morning head case.
I can just picture our next long run. Each mile, someone will be responsible for asking, “Dave, are you OK? Should we slow down, buddy? How are your legs? Do you want to stop and rest? Would you like me to carry you for the next mile so you can relax?”
Crap, I really, really don’t want to be the Sunday Morning Head Case.
Here is my hope – Sunday morning, someone/anyone/everyone needs to look at me before our run and say “Are you going to be an f*in baby today, or are you going to run? Stop thinking, and just run.”
I miss my long slow runs.
I miss having nice conversations with friends. It’s tough to talk when you’re wheezing.
I tend to joke about it, but the fact is, I don’t like going fast on Sunday. I don’t want it to be a race.
By the end of this morning’s run (10 miles in 1:23), I was pissed that I couldn’t keep up. Even worse – I was pissed that I was pissed. There is absolutely no reason to feel inadequate running 8:00 pace when I would much rather be at 9:00 pace.
I spent 40 minutes alone. When running with 4 other people, there’s no reason to be alone. Granted, I took a 30-second break to duck behind a tree, but even when I caught back up, I couldn’t maintain the pace. I watched as 4 other runners, in groups of 2 and 2 moved further ahead.
There’s no reason to think this will change. We say the same thing before every Sunday run, “We’re going slow today,” but eventually, the pace picks up, the conversations shorten and I’m counting steps, trying to get to my happy place.
I suppose I have a choice to make ….
