When it comes to running, I seem to have very short mental and muscle memory.
I can at least remember that any hiatus from running generally results in complete muscle deterioration. (Generally, because being a bike commuter has changed my life in terms of how hard it is to run after time off.)
But what I can't seem to remember is that doing yoga after a run, especially long ones, actually reduces my fatigue and stiffness the next day.
I don't care whether it's placebo effect or scientific fact. I'll keep doing it.
The latest case study comes from Friday's amazing run. (It was in the 50s! And looked to stay that way for a while!)
I combined some Neal Smith Trail action with the Hy-Vee Half's loop around the state Capitol, which I remembered having a beastly hill, to hit 6.5 miles.
I felt pretty good — not like Mary Cain, but also not like The Blerch.
So that night, once I got home, I did Rebecca Pacheco's recovery yoga sequence and indulged in a lazy night in. I fully expected to walk a little funny the next day; that's just what happens after long runs.
BUT NOT THIS SATURDAY. My muscles functioned completely normally. Getting up out of my desk chair wasn't an ordeal, nor was riding my bike to and from work.
Maybe this time is the time the revelation will stick in my brain.
Showing posts with label Runner's World. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Runner's World. Show all posts
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Runner's World mobility test provides a small victory
I like to think of myself as being relatively fit, but when a Runner's World fitness test offers the opportunity to prove that perception, I often decline.
Part of the problem is that I like to read before bed, then sleep off any ambition the articles might've stirred up.
Most of the problem is that I don't want to find out everything that's wrong with my running form, my strength, my flexibility, etc.
The mobility test in May's issue looked so easy, though, and I was so awake when I read it that I decided to actually take it.
I figured I would fail all three. The backs of my legs, from waist to ankle, have always been tight. Evidently I can blame my bad feet for that, which is some comfort but no cure.
Part one tested my ankles' mobility. I failed. Sort of a surprise, because I never think of my ankles, but not shocking.
Part two tested my hips' mobility. Another failure, this one far more expected. Deep into half marathon training for the past couple years, I'll notice stiffness and soreness there.
Part three tested my knees' mobility. I PASSED.
Given the difficulty I had simply prepping for the test — you lie on your stomach and loop a string around your foot, which is more coordination than I evidently have — I was waiting for an epic fail.
Instead, I got a victory. A double victory, really, because if you fail this test, it means your quads are tight, and that's what limits the knees' mobility.
So my knees are fine, and my quads — which are the stiffest for the longest after a half marathon — are are as well.
This might be the only time in my life when I consider 33 percent a passing score ... but I'll take it!
Part of the problem is that I like to read before bed, then sleep off any ambition the articles might've stirred up.
Most of the problem is that I don't want to find out everything that's wrong with my running form, my strength, my flexibility, etc.
The mobility test in May's issue looked so easy, though, and I was so awake when I read it that I decided to actually take it.
I figured I would fail all three. The backs of my legs, from waist to ankle, have always been tight. Evidently I can blame my bad feet for that, which is some comfort but no cure.
Part one tested my ankles' mobility. I failed. Sort of a surprise, because I never think of my ankles, but not shocking.
Part two tested my hips' mobility. Another failure, this one far more expected. Deep into half marathon training for the past couple years, I'll notice stiffness and soreness there.
Part three tested my knees' mobility. I PASSED.
Given the difficulty I had simply prepping for the test — you lie on your stomach and loop a string around your foot, which is more coordination than I evidently have — I was waiting for an epic fail.
Instead, I got a victory. A double victory, really, because if you fail this test, it means your quads are tight, and that's what limits the knees' mobility.
So my knees are fine, and my quads — which are the stiffest for the longest after a half marathon — are are as well.
This might be the only time in my life when I consider 33 percent a passing score ... but I'll take it!
Monday, April 7, 2014
Upcoming race: Grand Blue Mile
Two-plus years ago, as I planned out my running year, I set my sights on something totally different: a mile-long race.
But the one I had in mind — the State Street Mile — is in Rockford, Ill., and within months of my announced intention to try it, I was out of Rockford and with other plans for my PTO that summer.
This year is the year, though. All the stars have aligned for me to try the Grand Blue Mile.
Instead of doing a half marathon that weekend, I'm doing one more than a month later, and the April 22 race day comes a few weeks after the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K. From speed training to speedier training — the transition seemed pretty natural.
Plus, because I already work downtown on Tuesdays, travel and parking will be a cinch. All I have to do is show up to work with a change of clothes.
Warming up could be a cinch, too: Just jog the approximately half-mile from work down to Western Gateway Park. Some casual Googling indicated to me that I'll need at least that much to prepare for such a short race.
I unfortunately didn't think far enough ahead to work more mile training into my 5K regimen, so I don't have much material for goals yet.
It is safe to say, however, that I registered for the competitive division — recommended for sub-8:00-milers — and not the recreational — all abilities, including walkers. I've done that in 5Ks, sometimes without even warming up, training or trying (boy, Sadye, you sure have long arms ... ).
And it's also safe to say that I'll get a PR ... because it only counts on race day, according to Runner's World's Ask Miles.
But the one I had in mind — the State Street Mile — is in Rockford, Ill., and within months of my announced intention to try it, I was out of Rockford and with other plans for my PTO that summer.
This year is the year, though. All the stars have aligned for me to try the Grand Blue Mile.
Instead of doing a half marathon that weekend, I'm doing one more than a month later, and the April 22 race day comes a few weeks after the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K. From speed training to speedier training — the transition seemed pretty natural.
Plus, because I already work downtown on Tuesdays, travel and parking will be a cinch. All I have to do is show up to work with a change of clothes.
Warming up could be a cinch, too: Just jog the approximately half-mile from work down to Western Gateway Park. Some casual Googling indicated to me that I'll need at least that much to prepare for such a short race.
I unfortunately didn't think far enough ahead to work more mile training into my 5K regimen, so I don't have much material for goals yet.
It is safe to say, however, that I registered for the competitive division — recommended for sub-8:00-milers — and not the recreational — all abilities, including walkers. I've done that in 5Ks, sometimes without even warming up, training or trying (boy, Sadye, you sure have long arms ... ).
And it's also safe to say that I'll get a PR ... because it only counts on race day, according to Runner's World's Ask Miles.
Monday, February 10, 2014
My first impressions of the stair workout
On Friday, I capped a three-mile run with 10 minutes of running up and down stairs.
While Runner's World advised doing it after a long run, to boost your ability to push through fatigue, I decided that near-zero temperatures and a beastly hill near the end were tiring enough.
Was I right? Sort of. I mean, it was definitely a workout and not a cakewalk.
Within just a few minutes, I had my worst case of cotton mouth in recent memory, and I kept checking the timer on my cellphone, thinking that surely more time had passed than it really had.
But you know what also didn't help was having wet shoes from running outside on a set of stairs that only had rubber grips on one of three flights. Or choosing stairs that had very frequent turns.
Or doing the workout while maintenance was vacuuming, and nearly getting your foot caught in the vacuum cleaner cord as you tried to sneak past the maintenance man.
Next time, I'll consider using the stairs in the garage, because while there's only one flight there compared with three, I'll probably interfere with people less, I'll have less rest in between climbs and I'll have better traction.
And fortunately — or unfortunately — I was able to do 10 minutes on my first try, so that means I have no excuses for doing less than 10 next time.
Seriously, I thought I would hit a dangerous level of exhaustion on the first try. After all, climbing three flights of stairs to work every day leaves me breathless at the top.
Yet there I was at the end of 10 minutes, slightly proud that I'd exceeded my own predictions, and yet slightly annoyed that this sets the bar higher for next time.
While Runner's World advised doing it after a long run, to boost your ability to push through fatigue, I decided that near-zero temperatures and a beastly hill near the end were tiring enough.
Was I right? Sort of. I mean, it was definitely a workout and not a cakewalk.
Within just a few minutes, I had my worst case of cotton mouth in recent memory, and I kept checking the timer on my cellphone, thinking that surely more time had passed than it really had.
But you know what also didn't help was having wet shoes from running outside on a set of stairs that only had rubber grips on one of three flights. Or choosing stairs that had very frequent turns.
Or doing the workout while maintenance was vacuuming, and nearly getting your foot caught in the vacuum cleaner cord as you tried to sneak past the maintenance man.
Next time, I'll consider using the stairs in the garage, because while there's only one flight there compared with three, I'll probably interfere with people less, I'll have less rest in between climbs and I'll have better traction.
And fortunately — or unfortunately — I was able to do 10 minutes on my first try, so that means I have no excuses for doing less than 10 next time.
Seriously, I thought I would hit a dangerous level of exhaustion on the first try. After all, climbing three flights of stairs to work every day leaves me breathless at the top.
Yet there I was at the end of 10 minutes, slightly proud that I'd exceeded my own predictions, and yet slightly annoyed that this sets the bar higher for next time.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Hibernation arrived at a good time
It's tough to maintain a running blog when one is not actually running, but rather than use this platform to yammer on about my personal life, I'm going to use my personal life as a backdrop to why now is a good time for me not to run:
* The historic cold blast arrived barely a week after the Holiday Running Streak ended. The six-day difference between the 2012 and 2013 streaks saved my buns ... or my whole body ... or my streak's existence ... or whatever it would've cost to hop along to a friend's gym on a guest pass ... or the people in the skywalk from seeing a weirdo run a mile through the skywalk.
* Post-holiday parties — friends who felt bad they didn't spend enough time at my place over New Year's made a return visit.
Because I made them wait an extra 30 minutes to see me to finish off the streak on New Year's Day, I luxuriated in NOT making them accommodate a hobby they respect my interest in but would really rather never participate in.
* Our household grew! A 9-year-old tabby named Ringo has moved in, and it's taking him a few days to adjust.
* I was mentally and physically tired of running, while my muscles had just about had it with my limited stretching/nonexistent foam rolling.
Though I have to be honest and point out two reasons hibernation came at a bad time:
* The latest issue of Runner's World arrived recently, so not only do I feel guilty about not running, but I also feel guilty that I haven't used my spare time to even read about running.
* The historic cold blast arrived barely a week after the Holiday Running Streak ended. The six-day difference between the 2012 and 2013 streaks saved my buns ... or my whole body ... or my streak's existence ... or whatever it would've cost to hop along to a friend's gym on a guest pass ... or the people in the skywalk from seeing a weirdo run a mile through the skywalk.
* Post-holiday parties — friends who felt bad they didn't spend enough time at my place over New Year's made a return visit.
Because I made them wait an extra 30 minutes to see me to finish off the streak on New Year's Day, I luxuriated in NOT making them accommodate a hobby they respect my interest in but would really rather never participate in.
* Our household grew! A 9-year-old tabby named Ringo has moved in, and it's taking him a few days to adjust.
 |
| An excuse to post cat pictures? Guilty as charged, and unashamed. |
Though I have to be honest and point out two reasons hibernation came at a bad time:
* The latest issue of Runner's World arrived recently, so not only do I feel guilty about not running, but I also feel guilty that I haven't used my spare time to even read about running.
* Holiday leftovers.
Monday, December 30, 2013
A look back at my year of running
Every time I do one of these, it makes me feel like I'm in middle school/high school again and am filling out those surveys you used to forward to all your friends.
But the slight discomfort with most early 2000s flashbacks is overpowered by the millennial love of sharing my special snowflake-ness with you all.
Also, it's nice when other bloggers help you write your own posts. So from Miss Zippy via Pavement Runner, here is my year of running.
Best race experience? Tough question, because I didn't do a single race by myself this year, I only truly bombed one, and I had three personal-record-setting races.
As far as the actual experiences go, though, I have to set the Woofin' It 5K and the Boone County History 5K Run/Walk apart.
Unlike with PR-setting races, or simply races that were freakin' hard, the challenges in these races were always inherently funny: Of course it's hard to run up a hill when an energetic large dog is pulling you (and you're not on roller skates)! Of course wearing an old towel that's masquerading as a toga will slow you down in the August heat and humidity!
I'm not knocking serious races or completely noncompetitive ones (like the Glow Run or Color Run), but both of these had the right combination of pushing myself and enjoying myself. Particularly because one came right after the Drake Relays disaster.
Plus, the causes were close to my heart: Furry Friends Refuge and our good buddy Pam's employer.
Best run? Either I'm getting old and forgetful, or I just run too much to keep many individual ones straight. So I'm going to pick the early spring run at Raccoon River Park with Regina, Emily and Zach, because of how it broke the seal on social running for me.
I rarely ran with others back in Rockton. In 1.5 years in Des Moines, I'm sure I've done as many group runs, if not more, than in the 3.5 years I ran in Illinois ... counting races.
I knew making plans to run with others would hold me more accountable, but I had no idea it would also prove to be a fun way to spend time with people.
Best new piece of gear? My Halo headband, which I bought for RAGBRAI and continued to use the rest of the year. It's officially my favorite sweatband.
Best piece of running advice you received? Definitely the rhythmic breathing method, which I read about in Runner's World this spring.
It's significantly reduced the aches and pains I would feel on one side of the body but not the other, and focusing on syncing my breath and feet helps pace me better. I don't even care if it turns out to be 100 percent placebo effect — the benefits for me are real.
Most inspirational runner? I should be able to list off Boston Marathon bombing survivors or any of the people who tend to be featured in a Runner's World article, but right now, the one that sticks in my brain the most is Katie of run this amazing day.
In her most recent Ironman attempt, another biker hit her, possibly breaking her arm, near the end of the bike portion of the race. And she still ran the marathon portion, passing people while she did it.
If I can continue to treat this like an essay test and not a fill-in-the-blank, though, I'd like to add that my friends who push their limits — either by starting to run, returning to running or taking the marathon plunge — inspire me as well. Thanks, guys!
If you could sum up your year in a couple of words, what would they be? Better than ever.
This was definitely a breakthrough year: I notched quite a few PRs; maybe more importantly, it seemed like most runs were generally good ones in terms of performance and how I felt; and I cultivated a group with whom I could run and do races.
When I realized that I'd been running for about five years this past fall, I half-believed it, but now, I fully believe it — because things are certainly clicking.
But the slight discomfort with most early 2000s flashbacks is overpowered by the millennial love of sharing my special snowflake-ness with you all.
Also, it's nice when other bloggers help you write your own posts. So from Miss Zippy via Pavement Runner, here is my year of running.
Best race experience? Tough question, because I didn't do a single race by myself this year, I only truly bombed one, and I had three personal-record-setting races.
As far as the actual experiences go, though, I have to set the Woofin' It 5K and the Boone County History 5K Run/Walk apart.
Unlike with PR-setting races, or simply races that were freakin' hard, the challenges in these races were always inherently funny: Of course it's hard to run up a hill when an energetic large dog is pulling you (and you're not on roller skates)! Of course wearing an old towel that's masquerading as a toga will slow you down in the August heat and humidity!
I'm not knocking serious races or completely noncompetitive ones (like the Glow Run or Color Run), but both of these had the right combination of pushing myself and enjoying myself. Particularly because one came right after the Drake Relays disaster.
Plus, the causes were close to my heart: Furry Friends Refuge and our good buddy Pam's employer.
Best run? Either I'm getting old and forgetful, or I just run too much to keep many individual ones straight. So I'm going to pick the early spring run at Raccoon River Park with Regina, Emily and Zach, because of how it broke the seal on social running for me.
I rarely ran with others back in Rockton. In 1.5 years in Des Moines, I'm sure I've done as many group runs, if not more, than in the 3.5 years I ran in Illinois ... counting races.
I knew making plans to run with others would hold me more accountable, but I had no idea it would also prove to be a fun way to spend time with people.
Best new piece of gear? My Halo headband, which I bought for RAGBRAI and continued to use the rest of the year. It's officially my favorite sweatband.
Best piece of running advice you received? Definitely the rhythmic breathing method, which I read about in Runner's World this spring.
It's significantly reduced the aches and pains I would feel on one side of the body but not the other, and focusing on syncing my breath and feet helps pace me better. I don't even care if it turns out to be 100 percent placebo effect — the benefits for me are real.
Most inspirational runner? I should be able to list off Boston Marathon bombing survivors or any of the people who tend to be featured in a Runner's World article, but right now, the one that sticks in my brain the most is Katie of run this amazing day.
In her most recent Ironman attempt, another biker hit her, possibly breaking her arm, near the end of the bike portion of the race. And she still ran the marathon portion, passing people while she did it.
If I can continue to treat this like an essay test and not a fill-in-the-blank, though, I'd like to add that my friends who push their limits — either by starting to run, returning to running or taking the marathon plunge — inspire me as well. Thanks, guys!
If you could sum up your year in a couple of words, what would they be? Better than ever.
This was definitely a breakthrough year: I notched quite a few PRs; maybe more importantly, it seemed like most runs were generally good ones in terms of performance and how I felt; and I cultivated a group with whom I could run and do races.
When I realized that I'd been running for about five years this past fall, I half-believed it, but now, I fully believe it — because things are certainly clicking.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Holiday Running Streak kickoff: First step is the hardest
There was no reason for my Holiday Running Streak not to start strong.
I had the day off work; my family had visited me the previous weekend to help with moving; and the potluck I was attending didn't start until 2 p.m.
So naturally, it was after 10 p.m. before I got around to running. Fellow streakers Joel and Cory had long ago logged their runs and made sure I knew it, so the pressure was on.
But run I did — a single mile, but that's all you have to do to make it count. Funny how much better I felt after that, physically and mentally.
Here's a rundown of my streak so far.
Thursday: 1 mile. Hills are not fun on bellies that, until you moved, were comfortably full of food and wine.
Hills are fun, however, for minds that remember how many desserts you ate (four small ones), approximately how much wine you drank (and still didn't catch a buzz, given the food baby you conceived) and how excited you were to finally explore your new neighborhood.
Friday: 3.75 miles. I tested out what I thought was the best route to pick up the Des Moines trail system. I glided through quiet, winding neighborhoods down to a gravel trail through Water Works Park, then huffed and puffed back up the downhills that were so relaxing earlier.
Des Moines continues to surprise me by how suddenly it turns rural. And how hilly it is.
Unrelated: This sign made me laugh.
Saturday: 3.25 miles. What those hills give, they also take. I'd noticed a steep uphill and sketched a path around it, reasoning that a hill at the end was good enough justification.
But because I barely know the roads around my new place, I ended up picking a roller-coaster ride. With the relatively mild weather and the novelty of unfamiliar roads, though, I didn't mind at all.
Sunday: 2.66 miles. Sunday was a classic example of why Runner's World organized this run streak. Regina and I delayed our run so that we could do this:
 |
| That is a beer-and-cookie flight: a breakfast stout with the brownie, a vanilla oatmeal stout with the vanilla chocolate chip cookie, a citrusy IPA with the lemon bar, and a chocolate porter with the chocolate chocolate chip cookie. |
I had no regrets (OK, I wish only one of us had gotten the brownie pairing so we could've split that), but I did need a few hours for the stomach to settle. And to be honest, during the run, I realized it wasn't at 100 percent.
However — I went, and given how lovely it was earlier in the day (yeah, when I was drinking beer and eating baked goods), I dared to bare the legs. Shorts in December!
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Resolutions for the rest of the year
The post-PR buzz has officially faded into a mild case of burnout.
It's nothing serious or new to runners — it's been an ambitious, busy year, and I've completed the last of my big events for the year. Now what?
Part of me wants to just spend the rest of the year on the couch, but the rest of me thinks that's a bad idea. So we're striking a compromise.
In three weeks, I've got the Living History Farms race, so aimless, mindless, directionless running won't fly. (I'll just end up running three miles a few times a week.) But because it's an adventure more than a race, I just need to make sure I still have functional muscles.
The compromise: run three times a week at minimum, without concern for time/speed, and add one or two days of cross-training. Also, I'm inspired enough by a recent post on Competitor.com about taking care of the little things to declare I'll foam roll more often.
After Living History, it's couch time until Thanksgiving, when the Runner's World Holiday Running Streak begins.
As amazing as hibernation sounds, I'm going to delay it until 2014 because I enjoyed the challenge last year. It gave me something different to focus on/strive for, and like it was designed to do, it kept me moving during prime eating season.
Tentative plans for the run streak are to have three one-mile days, and then to set an upper limit (I'm thinking four or five) for the other days.
And on Jan. 2, I will give up running for at least a week, if not two. Last year, that was easy because I caught a nasty sinus infection; this year, it might be easy because my lease runs out Dec. 31 and I intend to move and adopt a second cat.
But who knows. If we have a beautiful nonwinter like we did in 2011-12, laziness might turn out to be tough after all.
It's nothing serious or new to runners — it's been an ambitious, busy year, and I've completed the last of my big events for the year. Now what?
Part of me wants to just spend the rest of the year on the couch, but the rest of me thinks that's a bad idea. So we're striking a compromise.
In three weeks, I've got the Living History Farms race, so aimless, mindless, directionless running won't fly. (I'll just end up running three miles a few times a week.) But because it's an adventure more than a race, I just need to make sure I still have functional muscles.
The compromise: run three times a week at minimum, without concern for time/speed, and add one or two days of cross-training. Also, I'm inspired enough by a recent post on Competitor.com about taking care of the little things to declare I'll foam roll more often.
After Living History, it's couch time until Thanksgiving, when the Runner's World Holiday Running Streak begins.
As amazing as hibernation sounds, I'm going to delay it until 2014 because I enjoyed the challenge last year. It gave me something different to focus on/strive for, and like it was designed to do, it kept me moving during prime eating season.
Tentative plans for the run streak are to have three one-mile days, and then to set an upper limit (I'm thinking four or five) for the other days.
And on Jan. 2, I will give up running for at least a week, if not two. Last year, that was easy because I caught a nasty sinus infection; this year, it might be easy because my lease runs out Dec. 31 and I intend to move and adopt a second cat.
But who knows. If we have a beautiful nonwinter like we did in 2011-12, laziness might turn out to be tough after all.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Race-day goals for the Des Moines Half
The latest issue of Runner's World magazine includes an article on how to create a race-day plan ... which you're supposed to have created three weeks out.
Oops. Well, I can at least set up my race-day goals for the Des Moines Half.
Optimistic goal: Finish in 2:05 or below, meaning a 9:30-mile pace. During my nine-miler, I kept a 9:16 pace; during my 10-miler, I was at 9:29; and during my 11-miler, I did 9:18.
Given that the middle of those two runs was the hottest and hilliest, you might think I'm selling myself short in this goal. (Cory does; after my 11-miler, he told me I could maybe hit 2:00. That's a goal for later)
However, we all have to remember that I have a history of choking on race day — going out too fast and having a subsequent mental meltdown as the speedy miles wear me down physically.
While I realize that unlike during the Hy-Vee Half, the weather should be cool, and the route should be flat, that doesn't mean fierce prairie winds can't sink me.
But back to optimism: Nowadays, I'm doing a much better job of keeping a sustainable pace for the first few miles, then speeding up as my muscles warm up and the terrain flattens, and talking myself through the tougher final miles.
With that in mind, if I keep the first few miles around 9:30, I can give myself permission to let "comfortably fast" happen. That could be 8:45; that could be 9:00 — whatever. Just as long as I don't burn myself out so that the final miles creep up to 10:00.
Acceptable/realistic goal: Beat my previous PR of 2:08:32, meaning a 9:48 pace. If this doesn't happen, I'd be ... well ... as shocked and pissed as I was this spring (2:10:33). Again — flat and cool this time.
Worst-case-scenario goal: Keep it above 2:10, but more importantly, don't suffer too much.
Goal(s) not related to time: Improve the pacing over previous races — i.e., don't fly out of the starting gate, walk most of the last 5K, and/or crawl across the finish line.
Keep positive, or at least neutral. The self-talk has become more encouraging, so I hope to continue that, and I really hope there's no repeat of "where the f*** is the finish line?"
And lastly: Take advantage of the post-race massage booth.
Wish me luck!
Oops. Well, I can at least set up my race-day goals for the Des Moines Half.
Optimistic goal: Finish in 2:05 or below, meaning a 9:30-mile pace. During my nine-miler, I kept a 9:16 pace; during my 10-miler, I was at 9:29; and during my 11-miler, I did 9:18.
Given that the middle of those two runs was the hottest and hilliest, you might think I'm selling myself short in this goal. (Cory does; after my 11-miler, he told me I could maybe hit 2:00. That's a goal for later)
However, we all have to remember that I have a history of choking on race day — going out too fast and having a subsequent mental meltdown as the speedy miles wear me down physically.
While I realize that unlike during the Hy-Vee Half, the weather should be cool, and the route should be flat, that doesn't mean fierce prairie winds can't sink me.
But back to optimism: Nowadays, I'm doing a much better job of keeping a sustainable pace for the first few miles, then speeding up as my muscles warm up and the terrain flattens, and talking myself through the tougher final miles.
With that in mind, if I keep the first few miles around 9:30, I can give myself permission to let "comfortably fast" happen. That could be 8:45; that could be 9:00 — whatever. Just as long as I don't burn myself out so that the final miles creep up to 10:00.
Acceptable/realistic goal: Beat my previous PR of 2:08:32, meaning a 9:48 pace. If this doesn't happen, I'd be ... well ... as shocked and pissed as I was this spring (2:10:33). Again — flat and cool this time.
Worst-case-scenario goal: Keep it above 2:10, but more importantly, don't suffer too much.
Goal(s) not related to time: Improve the pacing over previous races — i.e., don't fly out of the starting gate, walk most of the last 5K, and/or crawl across the finish line.
Keep positive, or at least neutral. The self-talk has become more encouraging, so I hope to continue that, and I really hope there's no repeat of "where the f*** is the finish line?"
And lastly: Take advantage of the post-race massage booth.
Wish me luck!
Monday, September 23, 2013
Late to the story, but that's OK
Runner's World's latest issue included a brief on the Seattle runner who successfully who chased down a bike thief.
This happened in June — maybe I even saw/skipped a link to it back then — so the rest of the running world probably already read it.
I'd either been unaware or had forgotten it, so it was a delightful bit of new news to me.
The part that made me literally laugh out loud was the line about the thief asking the marathoner to back off. Really? You're stealing someone's bike, and you think asking the rightful owner to go away will work?
And geez, talk about tipping your hand that you couldn't outlast her ... that is, if she couldn't already tell by your labored breathing.
We can all find amusement in how this bad guy chose to pick on the wrong person and paid for it — but I think what also satisfies us runners is the change in tone of running-related crime stories.
Especially if you're a female runner, all you ever seem to see are lurid stories of assaults on "joggers." (See Mark Remy's blog for excellent facetious coverage of the jogger-versus-runner word choice.)
This time, we're not just passive victims. Thanks, Sarah Tatterson.
This happened in June — maybe I even saw/skipped a link to it back then — so the rest of the running world probably already read it.
I'd either been unaware or had forgotten it, so it was a delightful bit of new news to me.
The part that made me literally laugh out loud was the line about the thief asking the marathoner to back off. Really? You're stealing someone's bike, and you think asking the rightful owner to go away will work?
And geez, talk about tipping your hand that you couldn't outlast her ... that is, if she couldn't already tell by your labored breathing.
We can all find amusement in how this bad guy chose to pick on the wrong person and paid for it — but I think what also satisfies us runners is the change in tone of running-related crime stories.
Especially if you're a female runner, all you ever seem to see are lurid stories of assaults on "joggers." (See Mark Remy's blog for excellent facetious coverage of the jogger-versus-runner word choice.)
This time, we're not just passive victims. Thanks, Sarah Tatterson.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
You can't nail every decision
My dad gave me a good piece of advice a few years back that I remind myself of fairly frequently: You're not going to be able to make every decision perfectly.
Most recently, this applied to scheduling my long run. I was out on a five-miler last Friday, daydreaming about how pleasant the weather was, how good my legs were feeling and how much time I would have to do other things post-run, when I thought: "Maybe I should just repeat this route and knock out the 10-miler."
But then, of course, I came up with several reasons to just wait. Hours later, as I checked the weekend weather forecast, I saw snow and lower temperatures through Monday (the last day of my "weekend"), and kicked myself until Dad's saying grew louder than the "should" statements.
When Sunday afternoon — the first time I had available to do a long run — rolled around, I came up with more reasons to wait: The wind was biting, and the flurries made it hard to see; the ground might be messy; I was tired; I had errands to run; etc. After all, the weather widget predicted no snow Monday afternoon.
Cue the Monday midmorning weather check: Snow had fallen, temps remained low, winds were going to pick up in the afternoon. Crap.
I also knew, though that, the longer I waited, the less likely I was to accomplish the run. So I girded my loins and headed out.
It wasn't my best long run, but it was far from my worst. One thing I found myself not minding at all were the snowy rec paths — they were pretty and cushioned that way! — yet as I did errands in the afternoon, noting the dry sidewalks, I heard it again: "You went too early, Sadye. Should've waited until the afternoon."
This time, instead of Dad's voice, I heard the voice of Kristin Armstrong, Runner's World blogger (and, yes, ex-wife of Lance). Her most recent post addressed the courage to try:
I'd been doing that all weekend, and by running despite the conditions — and in fact surviving just fine — I'd put two powerful pieces of advice into action. I'm not a pro athlete in a temperate climate; timing a run "perfectly" isn't going to happen every single time, by any means.
And what do I gain by waiting for that ideal balance? I'm training for race day, not for perfect running day ... which the race day could very well not be. (See Rockford Half Marathon 2012 and its noon temperature of 80 degrees.)
By not waiting, I gained more confidence for the half marathon. I'd been averaging some good speed on long runs, but in good weather; in less-than-ideal weather this time, I averaged just a little faster than what I've done previously.
Additionally, the fatigue I felt was far more mental than physical. Something I'm doing is paying off!
Most recently, this applied to scheduling my long run. I was out on a five-miler last Friday, daydreaming about how pleasant the weather was, how good my legs were feeling and how much time I would have to do other things post-run, when I thought: "Maybe I should just repeat this route and knock out the 10-miler."
But then, of course, I came up with several reasons to just wait. Hours later, as I checked the weekend weather forecast, I saw snow and lower temperatures through Monday (the last day of my "weekend"), and kicked myself until Dad's saying grew louder than the "should" statements.
When Sunday afternoon — the first time I had available to do a long run — rolled around, I came up with more reasons to wait: The wind was biting, and the flurries made it hard to see; the ground might be messy; I was tired; I had errands to run; etc. After all, the weather widget predicted no snow Monday afternoon.
Cue the Monday midmorning weather check: Snow had fallen, temps remained low, winds were going to pick up in the afternoon. Crap.
I also knew, though that, the longer I waited, the less likely I was to accomplish the run. So I girded my loins and headed out.
It wasn't my best long run, but it was far from my worst. One thing I found myself not minding at all were the snowy rec paths — they were pretty and cushioned that way! — yet as I did errands in the afternoon, noting the dry sidewalks, I heard it again: "You went too early, Sadye. Should've waited until the afternoon."
This time, instead of Dad's voice, I heard the voice of Kristin Armstrong, Runner's World blogger (and, yes, ex-wife of Lance). Her most recent post addressed the courage to try:
"How often do we all do that? Think that we will try the thing when we are better prepared to try?"Isn’t that the point of 'try'?"
I'd been doing that all weekend, and by running despite the conditions — and in fact surviving just fine — I'd put two powerful pieces of advice into action. I'm not a pro athlete in a temperate climate; timing a run "perfectly" isn't going to happen every single time, by any means.
And what do I gain by waiting for that ideal balance? I'm training for race day, not for perfect running day ... which the race day could very well not be. (See Rockford Half Marathon 2012 and its noon temperature of 80 degrees.)
By not waiting, I gained more confidence for the half marathon. I'd been averaging some good speed on long runs, but in good weather; in less-than-ideal weather this time, I averaged just a little faster than what I've done previously.
Additionally, the fatigue I felt was far more mental than physical. Something I'm doing is paying off!
Monday, March 18, 2013
Three additions to my long run routine
I incorporated three suggestions from various sources into my long run effort last Friday: 9 miles in 1:25:37, for a 9:30 pace. What they were, and how they went:
1. A new breathing method. I'd just read an article about rhythmic breathing the day before in the latest issue of Runner's World. The idea is that if you alternate which foot you land on as you inhale, rather than having it be the same one, you'll split the total impact of landing rather than concentrating it all on one foot.
That means you have to inhale longer than you exhale, or as I internalized it, "in-two-three out-two, in-two-three out-two." Seemed complicated -- I wasn't the star student of my marching band -- and a little silly. Like when the yoga instructor would insist that you inhale during one half of the pose and exhale on the other half.
Yet just like yoga breathing, rhythmic breathing seemed to work. I don't know why I decided to try it, but for about 75 percent of the run, I made the effort, and for about 66 percent of the run, I was successful in doing it.
As the article author promised, it helped get me in my zone and, more importantly for me, it kept me from speeding up too much: Faster strides meant shorter inhalation and even shorter exhalation. And afterward, I noticed that my right bunion, which has been crabby, was much quieter than it had been.
Hmm ...
2. Energy gels. A friend/co-worker/half-Ironman was the latest to remind me that you can't just run a half marathon on water and expect to keep your energy up.
So I picked up a few energy gels at Scheels and tried out the Clif chocolate-flavored one around mile 5.5 ... after which I kept close to gas stations and fast-food restaurants, in case of emergency. (Fortunately, all I had was one isolated incident of acid reflux around the eight-mile mark.)
It's tough to truly compare my two most recent long runs -- one gel-free, one with gel -- because the terrain and weather always play heavily into how I feel. For instance, the miles leading up to the last one were much better on the eight-miler, thanks to some wind, hills and traffic stops on the nine-miler; the final mile of the niner was flat and therefore infinitely smoother than the eight-miler's last one.
But the gel didn't cause me to throw up (or do worse!), so I'll keep practicing with them. Gotta get better at tearing off the top and eating as I go.
3. Foam rollers. I passed a sales associate at Scheels carrying the roller I was about to buy, and her eyes lit up. "YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THAT!" she exclaimed. It was weird, yet encouraging.
And accurate. I can throw out the packaging, because there's no way I'm returning it. How can something that causes pain -- like, I literally groaned a few times while using it -- also cause me such joy? Why did I repeat the movements on my glutes and IT band despite the discomfort it inflicted on me during the first time?
Because, hours of sitting later, I was hardly stiff from running nine miles, and the spots that were sore had been neglected by the foam roller.
This isn't the first running trend I've been years behind on -- as you saw in the first two chunks -- but my God, it's the one I'm angriest about missing.
1. A new breathing method. I'd just read an article about rhythmic breathing the day before in the latest issue of Runner's World. The idea is that if you alternate which foot you land on as you inhale, rather than having it be the same one, you'll split the total impact of landing rather than concentrating it all on one foot.
That means you have to inhale longer than you exhale, or as I internalized it, "in-two-three out-two, in-two-three out-two." Seemed complicated -- I wasn't the star student of my marching band -- and a little silly. Like when the yoga instructor would insist that you inhale during one half of the pose and exhale on the other half.
Yet just like yoga breathing, rhythmic breathing seemed to work. I don't know why I decided to try it, but for about 75 percent of the run, I made the effort, and for about 66 percent of the run, I was successful in doing it.
As the article author promised, it helped get me in my zone and, more importantly for me, it kept me from speeding up too much: Faster strides meant shorter inhalation and even shorter exhalation. And afterward, I noticed that my right bunion, which has been crabby, was much quieter than it had been.
Hmm ...
2. Energy gels. A friend/co-worker/half-Ironman was the latest to remind me that you can't just run a half marathon on water and expect to keep your energy up.
So I picked up a few energy gels at Scheels and tried out the Clif chocolate-flavored one around mile 5.5 ... after which I kept close to gas stations and fast-food restaurants, in case of emergency. (Fortunately, all I had was one isolated incident of acid reflux around the eight-mile mark.)
It's tough to truly compare my two most recent long runs -- one gel-free, one with gel -- because the terrain and weather always play heavily into how I feel. For instance, the miles leading up to the last one were much better on the eight-miler, thanks to some wind, hills and traffic stops on the nine-miler; the final mile of the niner was flat and therefore infinitely smoother than the eight-miler's last one.
But the gel didn't cause me to throw up (or do worse!), so I'll keep practicing with them. Gotta get better at tearing off the top and eating as I go.
3. Foam rollers. I passed a sales associate at Scheels carrying the roller I was about to buy, and her eyes lit up. "YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THAT!" she exclaimed. It was weird, yet encouraging.
And accurate. I can throw out the packaging, because there's no way I'm returning it. How can something that causes pain -- like, I literally groaned a few times while using it -- also cause me such joy? Why did I repeat the movements on my glutes and IT band despite the discomfort it inflicted on me during the first time?
Because, hours of sitting later, I was hardly stiff from running nine miles, and the spots that were sore had been neglected by the foam roller.
This isn't the first running trend I've been years behind on -- as you saw in the first two chunks -- but my God, it's the one I'm angriest about missing.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Running goals for 2013, round one
For the first time that I can remember, I successfully kept a New Year's resolution for all of 2012: I embarked on, and nailed, the Great American Apparel Clothing Diet. (Clearly I am not among the original crowd, as you'll see if you click the link.)
There are several reasons, almost none of which pertain to running, that I believe were reasons for my victory. But there's one tweak I made to my personal clothing diet that I'm going to apply to this year's running goals.
When I set out not to buy new clothing — unless it replaced worn-out or ruined items — for a year, I realized that if I caved in, say, June, I would be tempted to see it as a failure ... even though that would've been five-plus months of not purchasing unnecessary clothing.
So I took it three months at a time instead. It gave me an extra thrill each time I surpassed a quarterly mark; it made the year seem less overwhelming; and it allowed me to adjust when needed. On my trip to London, for example, I decided that if I found something memorable, I would buy it, guilt-free. (I didn't encounter any clothes worth the awful exchange rate or the resolution-breaking, if you were curious.)
I've decided to take that same approach in setting my 2013 running goals, though because I signed up for a race in April, my year will be a hockey game and have three periods. In the first period, I want to:
Run a 2:05:00 half marathon. My PR is 2:08:32, which was a 9:48-mile average; a 2:05:00 would be 9:30 per mile, which I think I can do. The key will be, of course, not bolting out of the shoot, as I've done every single time, only to wilt later.
Runner's World suggests coming up with a set of goals for each event — one based on time, one based on feeling and one based on something else I can't remember and don't feel like researching, lest I make a long post longer. I will say, though, that a new PR, even if it's by seconds (OK, I want it to be more than seconds) will be an acceptable alternative.
Run a 26:00 5K. Betting folks out there should put money on the previous goal, not this one. Last summer's 26:22 might stand for a while, given how luxuriously flat the route was, but who knows? The Friendly Sons of St. Patrick might hold true to their name and find us a pancake-like route, and if March is normal this year, the weather will be more to my liking than that of the Remembrance Run.
I'll need to speed up from 8:29 miles to 8:22 to get there. Yikes. But then again, Miss 9:00-Miler never saw sub-8:30 coming.
Focus on pacing. Like clockwork, I'll mention my poor pacing skills and vow to improve them in blog posts. It hasn't happened yet — the improvement, that is — but for me to achieve either of this period's goals, it needs to start happening.
There are several reasons, almost none of which pertain to running, that I believe were reasons for my victory. But there's one tweak I made to my personal clothing diet that I'm going to apply to this year's running goals.
When I set out not to buy new clothing — unless it replaced worn-out or ruined items — for a year, I realized that if I caved in, say, June, I would be tempted to see it as a failure ... even though that would've been five-plus months of not purchasing unnecessary clothing.
So I took it three months at a time instead. It gave me an extra thrill each time I surpassed a quarterly mark; it made the year seem less overwhelming; and it allowed me to adjust when needed. On my trip to London, for example, I decided that if I found something memorable, I would buy it, guilt-free. (I didn't encounter any clothes worth the awful exchange rate or the resolution-breaking, if you were curious.)
I've decided to take that same approach in setting my 2013 running goals, though because I signed up for a race in April, my year will be a hockey game and have three periods. In the first period, I want to:
Run a 2:05:00 half marathon. My PR is 2:08:32, which was a 9:48-mile average; a 2:05:00 would be 9:30 per mile, which I think I can do. The key will be, of course, not bolting out of the shoot, as I've done every single time, only to wilt later.
Runner's World suggests coming up with a set of goals for each event — one based on time, one based on feeling and one based on something else I can't remember and don't feel like researching, lest I make a long post longer. I will say, though, that a new PR, even if it's by seconds (OK, I want it to be more than seconds) will be an acceptable alternative.
Run a 26:00 5K. Betting folks out there should put money on the previous goal, not this one. Last summer's 26:22 might stand for a while, given how luxuriously flat the route was, but who knows? The Friendly Sons of St. Patrick might hold true to their name and find us a pancake-like route, and if March is normal this year, the weather will be more to my liking than that of the Remembrance Run.
I'll need to speed up from 8:29 miles to 8:22 to get there. Yikes. But then again, Miss 9:00-Miler never saw sub-8:30 coming.
Focus on pacing. Like clockwork, I'll mention my poor pacing skills and vow to improve them in blog posts. It hasn't happened yet — the improvement, that is — but for me to achieve either of this period's goals, it needs to start happening.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
I have to cancel my grumpy post
Among the entries that were percolating in December but never came to fruition was one centered on the idea that I might be doing everything running-related wrong.
This was born of a New York Times Well blog post titled "For Athletes, Risks From Ibuprofen Use" and then nurtured by another post a week later titled "Why Afternoon May Be The Best Time To Exercise."
If you haven't guessed or don't follow, I do use ibuprofen, and I've significantly cut back on afternoon runs (in favor of morning or evening ones) since leaving my second-shift job.
So reading these posts while worn down from a year-plus of running without significant interruption caused some out-of-proportion irritation.
(Never mind that at the end of the afternoon running post, the experts concede they're not sure how the mouse research translates to human behavior, and that the most important thing is to exercise, period. And never mind that the ibuprofen article focused mainly on the gross risks of popping the pills right before working out, which I've never done.)
Obviously, I never got around to writing that post until now — when, refreshed by a week of just resting, I don't care. Absence is definitely making this heart, so eager to take a break, fonder of running.
And the payoff of this admiration from afar is that all the snazzy workout recommendations in the blogs I read and the latest Runner's World magazine, plus those two aforementioned lectures, are no longer fostering inferiority complexes, insecurities, defeatist attitudes or straight-up fear for my health.
Instead, it's psyching me up for 2013. (Goals to come later; I'm ambitious not only for this year but for the planning of this year.)
I knew that the rest I needed was both mental and physical, but I think now — with the clarity that extra sleep brings! — that I'd underestimated how much of it was mental.
This was born of a New York Times Well blog post titled "For Athletes, Risks From Ibuprofen Use" and then nurtured by another post a week later titled "Why Afternoon May Be The Best Time To Exercise."
If you haven't guessed or don't follow, I do use ibuprofen, and I've significantly cut back on afternoon runs (in favor of morning or evening ones) since leaving my second-shift job.
So reading these posts while worn down from a year-plus of running without significant interruption caused some out-of-proportion irritation.
(Never mind that at the end of the afternoon running post, the experts concede they're not sure how the mouse research translates to human behavior, and that the most important thing is to exercise, period. And never mind that the ibuprofen article focused mainly on the gross risks of popping the pills right before working out, which I've never done.)
Obviously, I never got around to writing that post until now — when, refreshed by a week of just resting, I don't care. Absence is definitely making this heart, so eager to take a break, fonder of running.
And the payoff of this admiration from afar is that all the snazzy workout recommendations in the blogs I read and the latest Runner's World magazine, plus those two aforementioned lectures, are no longer fostering inferiority complexes, insecurities, defeatist attitudes or straight-up fear for my health.
Instead, it's psyching me up for 2013. (Goals to come later; I'm ambitious not only for this year but for the planning of this year.)
I knew that the rest I needed was both mental and physical, but I think now — with the clarity that extra sleep brings! — that I'd underestimated how much of it was mental.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Time to air out the shoes and wash the tights
Runner's World tweeted a post from Pavement Runner that had a badge for all finishers of the holiday running streak ... and, if you couldn't figure it out from the image, I am among that proud group.
My final two runs were prime examples of why people find runners so annoying (or at least my theories for such irritation):
* On New Year's Eve, I left two houseguests from Iowa City behind for a two-miler; I'd intended to do simply one, but I was in the middle of a couple days' worth of overindulging and under-running. I'm sure that extra mile made a significant difference in the caloric input-output equation. (Yes, I'm being self-deprecating.)
* On New Year's Day, the head cold that had been creeping in earlier settled in firmly. And speaking of cold, the high was 18 degrees. But it was the last day of the streak, so all of this — plus some achy muscles unused to dancing in dress shoes or ice skating — had to be ignored for a few minutes.
All that aside, though, I'm quite pleased with how the streak went. For all my love of rest days, skipping those for 41 (!) days in a row turned out to be fairly easy. (It helps to have the option of a single, slow mile, and to have reasonable career demands and minimal personal ones.)
And of course, once any sort of streak builds up steam, sticking with it becomes so much of a point of pride that it almost sustains itself.
What I'm most pleased about, though, was how few times I had to be a jerk about the streak.
New Year's Eve was the only time I had to make out-of-town guests accommodate the challenge, and that was only because these folks had arrived the day before and were staying until earlier today; Dec. 20 was the only time I went out in borderline dangerous weather conditions; Dec. 15 was the only time I went out during questionable health; and only once or twice did I have to run late at night during the winter.
When I write them all out, it sounds like I was reckless or rude fairly frequently — but hey, it was over the course of 41 days. That's nearly six weeks.
It was a fun ride, one that I'd happily do again: As the streak's creator intended, it did keep me grounded during peak eating season, and hopefully it kept a few pounds from taking up permanent residence (it was not intended for weight loss, nor did it accomplish that).
But now it's time to kick back and relax for a few weeks. I'm slightly sad to see the streak close and the season take a hiatus, even though I need it; I hope this means that when hibernation is over, I won't struggle to start moving again.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Dangers of running in bad weather go beyond the actual conditions
If throwing up wasn't going to stop me from running and keeping my holiday streak alive, then the blizzard conditions that hit Des Moines on Dec. 19-20 weren't going to, either.
My backup plan, if I couldn't manage to run a mile around the apartment complex parking lot, was to run up and down the building's halls, just like the kids upstairs do on occasion. (Though thankfully not when I'm trying to sleep. No judgment here.)
Those two laps around the lot were neither fast nor pretty, but they did happen, and as I drove to work that afternoon I observed that I wasn't the only runner braving the conditions. To counter any middle fingers or angry honks these folks probably received, I waved vigorously at them and gave a thumbs-up — even though I'm sure they couldn't see.
That hunch became less of a suspicion and more of a conviction when I went on Facebook that night. One acquaintance had posted: "I appreciate a good workout/run as much as the next person, but to the 3 people I saw out for a run this morning — relax and take a day off!"; one of his friends had chimed in: "Seriously, if you really want to get an outdoor workout in today, make yourself useful and shovel someone out!"
And I began thinking again of the people I'd passed during my two parking lot laps: scraping off cars, blowing off sidewalks ... glaring at me? I hadn't sensed malevolence, but I sure hadn't wanted to call attention to myself, either.
It reminded me, on a much smaller scale, of Mark Remy's piece in Runner's World's post-NYC Marathon cancellation analysis. I haven't found it online, but the headline sums it up: "Are We Running in a Bubble?"
The point is that while generally people don't sit around and fume over marathoners' perceived smugness as a group, the resentment is there, simmering — then exploding in such a situation as allowing a race to go through a community demolished by a freak storm — while marathoners themselves receive constant affirmation in their "closed system."
Don't believe it? "Recipe for Resentment: Claims of Running Prowess," posted on The New York Times' Well blog, addresses that same disdain in regards to the (disputed) recent study that running too fast and too long is actually bad for your health.
I wasn't inspired to write this post in order to defend us poor, despised runners. Like Remy, like the other authors of the NYC Marathon piece, like the marathoners who'd registered for the race long before Superstorm Sandy was on the radar, I was just surprised — and yet unsurprised, as a former nonrunner — at the sneers.
Surprised, because I didn't blather on to anyone, in person or online, about how I needed to go running and how this blizzard was really cramping my style. Surprised, because plenty of other people surely did weather-inappropriate "frivolous" things (while not shoveling anyone else out). Surprised, because I waved at cars — and snowblower operators — to indicate that I was moving off to the side to accommodate them, rather than demand all the space for myself.
And a week later, as fresh snow fell lightly, surprised at the disdain because of the smiling, encouraging folks who were doing outdoor chores as I ran past, who waved and apologized for being in the sidewalk. After online hate, it was nice to see real-life nice.
My backup plan, if I couldn't manage to run a mile around the apartment complex parking lot, was to run up and down the building's halls, just like the kids upstairs do on occasion. (Though thankfully not when I'm trying to sleep. No judgment here.)
Those two laps around the lot were neither fast nor pretty, but they did happen, and as I drove to work that afternoon I observed that I wasn't the only runner braving the conditions. To counter any middle fingers or angry honks these folks probably received, I waved vigorously at them and gave a thumbs-up — even though I'm sure they couldn't see.
That hunch became less of a suspicion and more of a conviction when I went on Facebook that night. One acquaintance had posted: "I appreciate a good workout/run as much as the next person, but to the 3 people I saw out for a run this morning — relax and take a day off!"; one of his friends had chimed in: "Seriously, if you really want to get an outdoor workout in today, make yourself useful and shovel someone out!"
And I began thinking again of the people I'd passed during my two parking lot laps: scraping off cars, blowing off sidewalks ... glaring at me? I hadn't sensed malevolence, but I sure hadn't wanted to call attention to myself, either.
It reminded me, on a much smaller scale, of Mark Remy's piece in Runner's World's post-NYC Marathon cancellation analysis. I haven't found it online, but the headline sums it up: "Are We Running in a Bubble?"
The point is that while generally people don't sit around and fume over marathoners' perceived smugness as a group, the resentment is there, simmering — then exploding in such a situation as allowing a race to go through a community demolished by a freak storm — while marathoners themselves receive constant affirmation in their "closed system."
Don't believe it? "Recipe for Resentment: Claims of Running Prowess," posted on The New York Times' Well blog, addresses that same disdain in regards to the (disputed) recent study that running too fast and too long is actually bad for your health.
I wasn't inspired to write this post in order to defend us poor, despised runners. Like Remy, like the other authors of the NYC Marathon piece, like the marathoners who'd registered for the race long before Superstorm Sandy was on the radar, I was just surprised — and yet unsurprised, as a former nonrunner — at the sneers.
Surprised, because I didn't blather on to anyone, in person or online, about how I needed to go running and how this blizzard was really cramping my style. Surprised, because plenty of other people surely did weather-inappropriate "frivolous" things (while not shoveling anyone else out). Surprised, because I waved at cars — and snowblower operators — to indicate that I was moving off to the side to accommodate them, rather than demand all the space for myself.
And a week later, as fresh snow fell lightly, surprised at the disdain because of the smiling, encouraging folks who were doing outdoor chores as I ran past, who waved and apologized for being in the sidewalk. After online hate, it was nice to see real-life nice.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
The experience of running just a mile
When I first told my friend Marco that I was embarking on the Runner's World Holiday Run Streak and explained the rules, his reaction was: "Yeah, but if you're a runner, you won't be able to run just a mile."
Marco underestimates my ability to dawdle before work, apparently, but he was right — sort of — that running a single mile would feel weird.
First of all, as Doug pointed out, it seems like it takes you longer to change into running clothes and get out the door than it does to actually run that mile. And with the exception of my PR-setting mile, these ultra-short runs don't make me break a sweat ... more like a gentle glow.
Why does this surprise me? Well, it doesn't exactly shock me, but it does stand in stark contrast to my memories of the mile run in middle school — which was probably the last time before fall 2008 that I ran a full mile.
God, did the mile feel long then. I was completely unathletic and as self-conscious as all of us were during adolescence, so not only did I turn beet red and sweat up a storm, but I also nearly died of embarrassment from doing so.
You had to go around the playground four times. Four whole times. So not only was I miserable — breathless, crampy, hot, sweaty — but I was also bored out of my mind, and I didn't have the lung capacity to chat with anyone to break up the monotony, either.
Basically, it felt like some of the rougher stretches of the half marathons I've done, only with the perceived judgment/mockery of an entire school full of adolescents. (Give me the blistery, limpy, gut-achey miles I've trudged in my first and third half marathons any day over that.)
I compare this now with my out-and-back miles, during which the first half-mile is often over before I even notice. How dry everything but probably my pits and the roots of my hair are. How my breathing is normal by the time I walk from the stoplight where I always begin/end to my door.
How I can let my mind wander far, far away from the act of running, yet spend too little time to have a full range of daydreams (only one or two topics, far fewer than the dozens that float through my head on a longer run).
Running just a mile is weird. I don't feel any more deprived than I do any other time I'm out in beautiful weather or on fresh legs — I just don't feel like I've exerted much effort.
Marco underestimates my ability to dawdle before work, apparently, but he was right — sort of — that running a single mile would feel weird.
First of all, as Doug pointed out, it seems like it takes you longer to change into running clothes and get out the door than it does to actually run that mile. And with the exception of my PR-setting mile, these ultra-short runs don't make me break a sweat ... more like a gentle glow.
Why does this surprise me? Well, it doesn't exactly shock me, but it does stand in stark contrast to my memories of the mile run in middle school — which was probably the last time before fall 2008 that I ran a full mile.
God, did the mile feel long then. I was completely unathletic and as self-conscious as all of us were during adolescence, so not only did I turn beet red and sweat up a storm, but I also nearly died of embarrassment from doing so.
You had to go around the playground four times. Four whole times. So not only was I miserable — breathless, crampy, hot, sweaty — but I was also bored out of my mind, and I didn't have the lung capacity to chat with anyone to break up the monotony, either.
Basically, it felt like some of the rougher stretches of the half marathons I've done, only with the perceived judgment/mockery of an entire school full of adolescents. (Give me the blistery, limpy, gut-achey miles I've trudged in my first and third half marathons any day over that.)
I compare this now with my out-and-back miles, during which the first half-mile is often over before I even notice. How dry everything but probably my pits and the roots of my hair are. How my breathing is normal by the time I walk from the stoplight where I always begin/end to my door.
How I can let my mind wander far, far away from the act of running, yet spend too little time to have a full range of daydreams (only one or two topics, far fewer than the dozens that float through my head on a longer run).
Running just a mile is weird. I don't feel any more deprived than I do any other time I'm out in beautiful weather or on fresh legs — I just don't feel like I've exerted much effort.
Monday, December 3, 2012
My 11th check-in on the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge
The last month of the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge should be the easiest, thanks to the Runner's World Holiday Run Streak — I'll have double the guilt trip to put the running shoes on and get going.
Where I stood as the calendar page flipped: about 855 miles. I'd hoped to finish November at a point where a single mile per day would get me to 900; instead, it'll take 1.5 miles a day to get there.
I'm not worried, though. I'll still break 900. And the challenge's full name on Daily Mile starts with "everyone wins." So being a member of the generation that proudly displays its participation awards, I'm perfectly happy with just having joined a challenge.
On a less sarcastic note, my old running buddy and supporter Doug finished November by truly winning the 1000 Mile Challenge: 1,002 miles achieved on Friday. There were injuries and training readjustments along the way, if I recall correctly, which makes it even more awesome. Way to go, Doug!
Where I stood as the calendar page flipped: about 855 miles. I'd hoped to finish November at a point where a single mile per day would get me to 900; instead, it'll take 1.5 miles a day to get there.
I'm not worried, though. I'll still break 900. And the challenge's full name on Daily Mile starts with "everyone wins." So being a member of the generation that proudly displays its participation awards, I'm perfectly happy with just having joined a challenge.
On a less sarcastic note, my old running buddy and supporter Doug finished November by truly winning the 1000 Mile Challenge: 1,002 miles achieved on Friday. There were injuries and training readjustments along the way, if I recall correctly, which makes it even more awesome. Way to go, Doug!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Attempting a 2012 goal for the first time since February
Throughout the Holiday Run Streak – now at 11, assuming (safely) that I run today — I've thought to myself: "At least one of the single-mile runs I do should be fast." While I have no qualms about using one slow mile as a stand-in for a rest day, I don't want to baby myself, either.
Yesterday was my first such attempt. Having been out late the night before, my hopes were not high. I knew that, with moderate effort, I could most likely finish in less than nine minutes, though.
Off I went. The first quarter-mile, I succeeded in keeping the pace I do on my faster intervals. The wind and the yogurt I'd eaten pre-run were mostly vague irritants more than hindrances.
As I've mentioned before, in my four years of running, I still haven't nailed "don't go out too fast and totally wipe yourself out." During the second quarter-mile, I felt cautiously optimistic that this was a good pacing day; I wasn't going to sustain this pace for 5K, but it was comfortably hard rather than excruciating.
I turned around at the half-mile mark. No surprise, then, that my legs felt the heaviest during the third quarter-mile. My lungs weren't exactly happy with me, either. However, my ego was doing just fine, having seen that I'd done a little over a half-mile in 4:10. The very likely positive split wouldn't keep me from finishing under 9:00.
The desire to get this over with powered me through the final quarter-mile. I've found "you can do anything for two minutes" to be a pretty powerful positive self-talk, so I went to that well almost nonstop during the final 0.25. I was sucking air fairly hard, but even worse was how the morning's yogurt and the previous night's alcohol were sloshing around in my stomach.
Finally I hit 1.00. My time? 7:57.
Let me repeat: 7:57.
Back in February, I'd set three running goals for myself: finish the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge, run a mile in 8:00 and average a 9:00 pace for a 5K (which I'd forgotten about, until re-reading my blog post).
At the time, I'm sure I expected to succeed in the first and fail at the second two. But as it stands right now, I've missed the first and nailed the second two. (Remember the Remembrance Run 5K?)
Plus, I've done more than survive the two speed challenges. I've finished maybe not with a smile, but with a great rush of endorphins and that ridiculous feeling that I can do anything once I get into some dry clothes and chug a big glass of water.
I'm still pinching myself: 7:57. I hope my gym teachers are reading this.
Yesterday was my first such attempt. Having been out late the night before, my hopes were not high. I knew that, with moderate effort, I could most likely finish in less than nine minutes, though.
Off I went. The first quarter-mile, I succeeded in keeping the pace I do on my faster intervals. The wind and the yogurt I'd eaten pre-run were mostly vague irritants more than hindrances.
As I've mentioned before, in my four years of running, I still haven't nailed "don't go out too fast and totally wipe yourself out." During the second quarter-mile, I felt cautiously optimistic that this was a good pacing day; I wasn't going to sustain this pace for 5K, but it was comfortably hard rather than excruciating.
I turned around at the half-mile mark. No surprise, then, that my legs felt the heaviest during the third quarter-mile. My lungs weren't exactly happy with me, either. However, my ego was doing just fine, having seen that I'd done a little over a half-mile in 4:10. The very likely positive split wouldn't keep me from finishing under 9:00.
The desire to get this over with powered me through the final quarter-mile. I've found "you can do anything for two minutes" to be a pretty powerful positive self-talk, so I went to that well almost nonstop during the final 0.25. I was sucking air fairly hard, but even worse was how the morning's yogurt and the previous night's alcohol were sloshing around in my stomach.
Finally I hit 1.00. My time? 7:57.
Let me repeat: 7:57.
Back in February, I'd set three running goals for myself: finish the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge, run a mile in 8:00 and average a 9:00 pace for a 5K (which I'd forgotten about, until re-reading my blog post).
At the time, I'm sure I expected to succeed in the first and fail at the second two. But as it stands right now, I've missed the first and nailed the second two. (Remember the Remembrance Run 5K?)
Plus, I've done more than survive the two speed challenges. I've finished maybe not with a smile, but with a great rush of endorphins and that ridiculous feeling that I can do anything once I get into some dry clothes and chug a big glass of water.
I'm still pinching myself: 7:57. I hope my gym teachers are reading this.
Monday, November 26, 2012
I believe in bribes
I like to bribe myself, especially when it comes to running. (I've been doing this since before reading Gretchen Rubin's advice to treat yourself like a cranky toddler, but now I feel vindicated.)
And I hit the treat jar jackpot last week when I took my friend Ashlee's recommendation to check out the Aveda Institute in West Des Moines.
It started when, a few weeks ago, I discovered that the unsightliness of my feet was growing too powerful for home exfoliation tools. In exchange for splurging on a professional pedicure, I told myself that I had to at least attempt the Holiday Run Streak.
The experience was well worth it — multiple soakings, two rounds of exfoliation, lotion and a seaweed/hot towel wrap, in addition to the uber-precise nail polish application — and became even more so when the student mentioned the massage room. Massage room?
At home, I spent a little more time on the services page of Aveda's website and discovered all the extra pampering available to me at incredibly reasonable prices: massages, yes, and also something called the Caribbean therapy foot reflexology.
This creaky, worn-down runner participating in one challenge and preparing to embark on another nearly salivated. I wanted it all, right then and there.
But how much more rewarding — and long-lasting — would it be if I just waited another month-plus? If I delayed it until I'd surpassed 900 miles for the year and until I'd done a mile a day from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day, wouldn't it be a bonus for my recovery efforts?
So I just have to be a diligent little runner for another six weeks. And then it's spa time.
And I hit the treat jar jackpot last week when I took my friend Ashlee's recommendation to check out the Aveda Institute in West Des Moines.
It started when, a few weeks ago, I discovered that the unsightliness of my feet was growing too powerful for home exfoliation tools. In exchange for splurging on a professional pedicure, I told myself that I had to at least attempt the Holiday Run Streak.
The experience was well worth it — multiple soakings, two rounds of exfoliation, lotion and a seaweed/hot towel wrap, in addition to the uber-precise nail polish application — and became even more so when the student mentioned the massage room. Massage room?
At home, I spent a little more time on the services page of Aveda's website and discovered all the extra pampering available to me at incredibly reasonable prices: massages, yes, and also something called the Caribbean therapy foot reflexology.
This creaky, worn-down runner participating in one challenge and preparing to embark on another nearly salivated. I wanted it all, right then and there.
But how much more rewarding — and long-lasting — would it be if I just waited another month-plus? If I delayed it until I'd surpassed 900 miles for the year and until I'd done a mile a day from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day, wouldn't it be a bonus for my recovery efforts?
So I just have to be a diligent little runner for another six weeks. And then it's spa time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)