I could probably sleep for days. I probably should.
I'm really tired. My legs are really fatigued. And I'm REALLY ready for this week to be over...and it's only Monday.
I'm at the point in training, during a cycle that is testing my physical endurance and my sanity, where I just can't get enough to eat, I can't get enough sleep, and my legs just want to rest.
Miraculously, I'm still hitting my pace targets. I'm battling through the fatigue and still executing.
But oh my gosh, it's not very easy.
As I was running my last long run "workout" (a long run with a marathon pace portion incorporated into it) yesterday, as I was struggling during that first marathon mile to hit my target, I kept reminding myself that this accumulated fatigue will make me stronger for race day, that after my taper, my legs will be fresh and totally willing to run my goal pace. But right then? They were telling me to shut the hell up and go back to bed.
My workout was 16 miles total, with a 4 mile warm up, 8 miles straight of marathon pace, and a 4 mile cooldown. This was at the conclusion of a 59 mile week, with my three previous days totaling 31.8 miles.
TIRED.
But I knew that despite my body's protest, that I could nail the workout and that the more marathon pace miles I strung together, the better I would start feeling. I would get into a zone and before I knew it, I'd be ready for my four cooldown miles.
And that's what happened! Overall, it was a great workout. My four warm up miles averaged 10:25, so they were nice and easy in the cold weather. My eight mile workout averaged 8:35 on the dot (goal pace!!), and my cooldown miles, while feeling very sluggish and slow, actually averaged a decent 10:02. My heartrate data was good, I didn't overdo it, and I'd call the workout a success.
I think the best part was that all the dumb aches and pains that have cropped up here and there over the weeks, were nowhere in sight during the run. Fatigue and muscle soreness, yes. But my IT band behaved, my hamstring didn't feel tight, and the strange ache in my left (left? It's never on my left!) achilles wasn't there. Even after my run, my only problem was being tired, but not particularly sore.
Regardless, I did NOT want to wake up this morning and get out for a recovery run. I actually knocked a mile off what I was supposed to run. I'll still hit a 62 mile week for my peak week, so I don't think that pesky mile really matters in the long run. We gotta do what we gotta do. Considering I wanted to throw in the towel yesterday when my first race pace mile came in at 8:52, I'd say knocking a mile off a recovery run today wasn't too big of a deal.
These next 27 days I am going to do my best to take care of my body. I've removed some distractions from my life temporarily (social media and rum and coke), I'm going to do my best to get some more sleep, I'm eating more, I'm stretching and foam rolling and icing everyday, I'm snuggling with puppies, and I'm reading some awesome books. My travel plans are set, I'm already checking out the weather patterns (so lame), and I'm making sure I have everything I need.
Peak week looks like this:
Monday: 5 recovery miles
Tuesday: 7 mile tempo run
Wednesday: 10 easy miles
Thursday: 10 mile interval run (I'm debating on if it'll be 10x800m or 6x1 mile)
Friday: REST HALLELUJAH
Saturday: 10 easy miles
Sunday: 20 mile long run
After that, it's taper time, with a reduction in volume, then a reduction in intensity, and all the nerves that are expected as you approach race day.
So somebody tell my kids to be nice to me, ok?
Monday, November 11, 2019
Wednesday, November 6, 2019
Never underestimate 26.2 miles
I love following elite athletes on social media. They fascinate me. I am in awe of their natural talent and work ethic and simply blown away by their speed. They inspire me.
One of these athletes, Peter Bromka, recently wrote a piece titled "The marathon doesn't owe you anything." I encourage you to check it out here. Peter is quite simply, a phenomenal writer.
Ain't that the truth. The marathon doesn't owe you anything.
He completely hit the nail on the head in every aspect in describing the beast that is the marathon and why it's SO DAMN DIFFICULT to master, and even when you do think you've mastered it, it'll knock you down again JUST LIKE THAT, why the journey is just so much more than what we can describe adequately with words. At least, that's what I got out of this fantastic piece.
His words inspired me to further dissect some of the points he made. I'm now 31 days out from my 16th marathon, and honestly, despite my experience, it's sort of freaking me out.
When I read this paragraph, my first thought was "You can't just dial in a marathon and execute it well just because it's what you want right now. The marathon doesn't work like that. It requires so much more of you, for weeks on end, than you even thought you could give.
I did myself a huge disservice for years by simply showing up for a marathon and running it. I didn't put serious effort into racing until two years ago. I don't know what I was so afraid of. By testing myself to my limits, I finally found out what I can really do. I can handle a whole lot of pain for 3 hours, 49 minutes, and 53 seconds. There is quite simply, at least to me, no comparison between running and racing. I WANT TO RACE.
There are things in my life that have stripped me down to my bones, that have laid bare all of my weaknesses and insecurities, and have sent me to the abyss. I have HURT multiple times in my life, but I've survived each and every time. Committing myself to showing up at the start line of a marathon totally prepared to race has given me strength beyond what I thought possible, and it has given me control when all other things are out of control. The race is merely the culmination of months of a transformation journey.
This journey will never be smooth. There are always bumps and setbacks. Some are bigger than others, but no training cycle is perfect.
My finish time in Boston sucked. It really did, when you compare it to my qualifier. Just because I earned a spot there doesn't mean that I was going to magically produce an epic performance, even after a really great training cycle. I don't like humidity+sun+heat and after a really cold winter, that's what Boston gave me. I could've pushed through and suffered and hated life and myself and knocked 15 minutes off my time, sure, but I chose not to. I chose to extend my experience, to feel better, to have a slow middle with a strong finish, and smile a whole lot instead. Boston didn't owe me SHIT. And it exposed all my weaknesses for everyone to see. And I'm totally fine with that, because race day isn't always magical.
We all have different reasons for wanting to run a marathon. Chances are there's something in your life that is sub-par, and you're looking for an outlet, or maybe you want better health, and this forces you to take care of yourself (at least, if you want to have a good race day, it does), or maybe you want to prove something to people around you who don't think you're capable. I suppose my desire stems from a multitude of reasons.
I was never athletic. I was never really fit. I was almost kind of invisible, and I've always hated those feelings. I have issues with depression and anxiety and desire an endorphin rush, without having to go to therapy (although I should). I need to remove myself from the constant uncertainty of parenthood and the unique challenges of my own parenting situation, and replace it with something about which I am certain. I am an introvert and can be painfully isolated, and this forces me to participate in something with a community, to be a part of something huge and exhilarating with thousands of other people (funny enough, I'm running the second largest marathon in the United States next year).
Thank you, Mr. Bromka, for writing such a thought-provoking, and accurate, piece on all the intricacies of the marathon, and all of the things we think we know, but we really don't, and exposing all the raw emotions that this distance can invoke.
One of these athletes, Peter Bromka, recently wrote a piece titled "The marathon doesn't owe you anything." I encourage you to check it out here. Peter is quite simply, a phenomenal writer.
Ain't that the truth. The marathon doesn't owe you anything.
He completely hit the nail on the head in every aspect in describing the beast that is the marathon and why it's SO DAMN DIFFICULT to master, and even when you do think you've mastered it, it'll knock you down again JUST LIKE THAT, why the journey is just so much more than what we can describe adequately with words. At least, that's what I got out of this fantastic piece.
His words inspired me to further dissect some of the points he made. I'm now 31 days out from my 16th marathon, and honestly, despite my experience, it's sort of freaking me out.
Our age of convenience: On Demand everything, an app for it all. More, more at every touch and scroll. Marathoning is notable for its capacity to strip away this surplus, reveal our ability to prepare and celebrate our capacity to execute.
When I read this paragraph, my first thought was "You can't just dial in a marathon and execute it well just because it's what you want right now. The marathon doesn't work like that. It requires so much more of you, for weeks on end, than you even thought you could give.
26.2 - far enough to test, short enough to tempt. But simply running is not racing. Racing is testing - it's submitting yourself to a task, unsure of the outcome, for the thrill of discovering the answer to the question, 'Can I handle this much for that long?'
I did myself a huge disservice for years by simply showing up for a marathon and running it. I didn't put serious effort into racing until two years ago. I don't know what I was so afraid of. By testing myself to my limits, I finally found out what I can really do. I can handle a whole lot of pain for 3 hours, 49 minutes, and 53 seconds. There is quite simply, at least to me, no comparison between running and racing. I WANT TO RACE.
The point is the work, the commitment to transform.
There are things in my life that have stripped me down to my bones, that have laid bare all of my weaknesses and insecurities, and have sent me to the abyss. I have HURT multiple times in my life, but I've survived each and every time. Committing myself to showing up at the start line of a marathon totally prepared to race has given me strength beyond what I thought possible, and it has given me control when all other things are out of control. The race is merely the culmination of months of a transformation journey.
This journey will never be smooth. There are always bumps and setbacks. Some are bigger than others, but no training cycle is perfect.
Embrace this descent into dizziness. Gain comfort in the uneasy territory beyond your control. These are the moments you'll need for later, when you try to race beyond what seems possible.During the last few miles of the Louisiana Marathon, when I as running at the brink of securing my Boston Qualifying time with an extra 5 minutes, I had to continually remind myself to trust my training, to remember that I can do hard things, to lose myself in every footfall until I could make that final turn and head to the finish. Without the really REALLY hard workouts and long runs, I never would have gained the strength I needed to push through the wall that was getting dangerously close to me. With this current training cycle, some runs have just been AWFUL, and some runs have been pure magic, but I honestly never know what I'm going to get, but I show up day in and day out regardless, knowing that every single mile goes into the bank and further prepares me to push away all my limitations.
Race day doesn't owe you anything.
My finish time in Boston sucked. It really did, when you compare it to my qualifier. Just because I earned a spot there doesn't mean that I was going to magically produce an epic performance, even after a really great training cycle. I don't like humidity+sun+heat and after a really cold winter, that's what Boston gave me. I could've pushed through and suffered and hated life and myself and knocked 15 minutes off my time, sure, but I chose not to. I chose to extend my experience, to feel better, to have a slow middle with a strong finish, and smile a whole lot instead. Boston didn't owe me SHIT. And it exposed all my weaknesses for everyone to see. And I'm totally fine with that, because race day isn't always magical.
Turns out it wasn't the distance, or the time. The two were simply tools you used to find something in yourself.
We all have different reasons for wanting to run a marathon. Chances are there's something in your life that is sub-par, and you're looking for an outlet, or maybe you want better health, and this forces you to take care of yourself (at least, if you want to have a good race day, it does), or maybe you want to prove something to people around you who don't think you're capable. I suppose my desire stems from a multitude of reasons.
I was never athletic. I was never really fit. I was almost kind of invisible, and I've always hated those feelings. I have issues with depression and anxiety and desire an endorphin rush, without having to go to therapy (although I should). I need to remove myself from the constant uncertainty of parenthood and the unique challenges of my own parenting situation, and replace it with something about which I am certain. I am an introvert and can be painfully isolated, and this forces me to participate in something with a community, to be a part of something huge and exhilarating with thousands of other people (funny enough, I'm running the second largest marathon in the United States next year).
Thank you, Mr. Bromka, for writing such a thought-provoking, and accurate, piece on all the intricacies of the marathon, and all of the things we think we know, but we really don't, and exposing all the raw emotions that this distance can invoke.