The Bix — and my performance at it — far exceeded my low expectations, I am very happy to report.
Here's how I did with each goal.
* Focus on the experience. My friend Emily's advice, on the eve of the race, was to have fun with it, and that turned out to be a cinch.
I will say that pre-race logistics were a little annoying; parking far away and biking to the closed-off area worked out perfectly, but once I got to the staging area, it seemed like I turned into a pinball, bouncing from volunteer to volunteer who gave sometimes conflicting directions on where I should be and how to get there.
From the minute I got to where I needed to be up until the post-race party, though, I was fully able to soak in the sights and sounds.
The music along the route was as good as advertised (special shout-out to the brass band playing "Barbara Ann" along Brady Street, and the bongo drummers around the turnaround point who invited runners to take a swipe at their instruments as they passed).
The spectators were genuinely enthusiastic about watching, and there was indeed a slip-n-slide that people actually used. I would've felt slightly cheated had I not spotted that ... even though I had no intention of hopping on it myself.
My favorite sign, though, wasn't on a spectator; it was on a participant. The back of one youngster's shirt asked: "Can you run faster than a fifth-grader?" I wish I knew — I spotted him when the race was still fairly crowded, so I don't know whether he shot ahead of me or fell way behind.
* Don't walk. Done!
I started out speedier than I anticipated and thought I felt myself slowing down later in the race, but at most I slowed to an easy jog during the water stops.
Speaking of walking, let me rant one more time about people who line up closer to the front than the back and then proceed to walk right away ... in a race of literally THOUSANDS of people.
Seriously, folks. You spent at least 15 minutes waiting for the race to start and stared at the opening hill the entire time. If you didn't think you could run it, you should've moved farther back before the gun even went off.
* Finish under 1:10:00. SMASHED. Pie in the sky? More like a piece of cake, evidently.
My chip time was 1:03:27 (9:04 pace) — meaning I notched a negative split, because my first-half chip pace was 9:15.
That was a shock to me. I thought I'd gone out too hard given the heat and humidity (not to mention the infamous hills).
So that leads me to my most boastful observation of all: The hills weren't that bad, and/or I trained really freakin' smart.
Yes, I could tell I was putting in an effort, but it felt no different than tackling any of the hills I hate around Des Moines ... you know, the same ones I made sure to run twice a week for the past month or so.
The tl;dr version of this post is: I'd do it again and encourage others to join me. And I'll actually be wearing the T-shirt, because despite it being a unisex small, it fits me decently.
Showing posts with label hill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hill. Show all posts
Monday, July 27, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Race report: Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon
This won't come as a surprise to anyone who follows me on Instagram, but this year's Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon was the polar opposite of my 2013 experience.
The short version: Race-day weather was perfect, I didn't stop to walk once, and I finished with a milestone personal record that far exceeded my goals.
The numbers: 1:58:59 (9:05 pace) overall; 56:32 (9:08 pace) at 10K; 1:02:27 (9:03 pace) for the final 6.9 miles.
I did Bulldog Hill in 4:19:54, which because I never bothered to time myself during training doesn't mean a whole lot. My preliminary results sheet says that was good for 17th in my division (in comparison, my 10K rank was 38 and my total race rank was 25).
So, to back up, for anyone who cares. Cory and I both decided to keep the 2:00:00 pacers within our sights for as long as it felt OK. That turned out to be the entire race, though how close they were did vary. (We figured out eventually that they went out a bit fast to bank time on the hills.)
I didn't feel fantastic starting out, but by mile 2 it became apparent to me that it was simply a matter of warming up. Everything felt springy and good until close to mile 7.
At that point, we'd changed directions, and we both actually started to get a little too hot. I even had a moment of light-headedness, so I made sure to get some water at the next aid station. That, plus a light breeze and more shade along the route, seemed to do the trick.
Somewhere after mile 8, Cory and I made a friend whose name we forgot to ask and for whom we later wished we'd waited at the finish line. We chatted with Mr. Quad Cities for nearly three miles about beer, pets and careers (as well as running) — a really nice way for us to keep our minds off the hills ahead.
Speaking of hills, the worst one for me was actually up Fleur Drive back to downtown. Not only was it the only one I hadn't practiced, but also it was very exposed to the strongest winds we'd felt yet that day.
After that, Cory and I were feeling much more confident: We'd entered our home turf. Up Grand we went, trying to encourage all the walkers (in an honest, voice-of-experience way), and turned onto 28th ... at which point I got butterflies.
We were so close at that point. I knew I had locked down all my safe goals, but only Cory had a sense for just how well we were doing. But so close didn't mean so easy.
Just as we got to the intersection of 28th and Ingersoll, I glanced at the spectators and saw co-worker Chris, there to cheer on his girlfriend with their beautiful dog. He recognized me too and yelled some encouragement, and I shouted back that I'd practiced on Bulldog Hill, I had it in the bag.
And maybe that was the pep talk I needed — not from him, but from myself — so up I went, passing quite a few walkers on the way. (What a jerk, right?)
Not long after we crested the hill, Cory turned to me and said he was gonna step it up. This came right as I felt the worst, far enough from the hill where we'd both caught our breath, but close enough where the fatigue had suddenly all settled into my left quad.
"Go ahead," I said. "I don't have anything extra." He tried to be encouraging, but I let a little whine creep into my voice as I insisted I really didn't.
I'm sure I slowed up some, yet I never lost sight of Cory. And once I was within sight of University Avenue and had about a mile left, my legs found a second wind.
I have never, ever, felt so strong during mile 12 of a race. Not even during the 2013 Des Moines Half Marathon, when I PR'ed by eight minutes. I did pass a few people and gained some ground on Cory, and my revival was rewarded when I entered the stadium ...
... this year, you barely had to run around the track. Instead of a quarter-mile left, I had not even a quarter of the track!
My spirits went from great to over the moon. I think I yelled "f--- yeah two hours!" as I sprinted that final leg, arms in the air, tossing that monkey off my back with conviction.
Once more: 1:58:59. I cleared 2:00:00 with a whole minute to spare. There is literally nothing I can think of, from my taper week through mile 13.09, that I wish I'd done differently or better.
Time to kick back for a week and bask in my glory before deciding what's next.
The short version: Race-day weather was perfect, I didn't stop to walk once, and I finished with a milestone personal record that far exceeded my goals.
The numbers: 1:58:59 (9:05 pace) overall; 56:32 (9:08 pace) at 10K; 1:02:27 (9:03 pace) for the final 6.9 miles.
I did Bulldog Hill in 4:19:54, which because I never bothered to time myself during training doesn't mean a whole lot. My preliminary results sheet says that was good for 17th in my division (in comparison, my 10K rank was 38 and my total race rank was 25).
So, to back up, for anyone who cares. Cory and I both decided to keep the 2:00:00 pacers within our sights for as long as it felt OK. That turned out to be the entire race, though how close they were did vary. (We figured out eventually that they went out a bit fast to bank time on the hills.)
I didn't feel fantastic starting out, but by mile 2 it became apparent to me that it was simply a matter of warming up. Everything felt springy and good until close to mile 7.
At that point, we'd changed directions, and we both actually started to get a little too hot. I even had a moment of light-headedness, so I made sure to get some water at the next aid station. That, plus a light breeze and more shade along the route, seemed to do the trick.
Somewhere after mile 8, Cory and I made a friend whose name we forgot to ask and for whom we later wished we'd waited at the finish line. We chatted with Mr. Quad Cities for nearly three miles about beer, pets and careers (as well as running) — a really nice way for us to keep our minds off the hills ahead.
Speaking of hills, the worst one for me was actually up Fleur Drive back to downtown. Not only was it the only one I hadn't practiced, but also it was very exposed to the strongest winds we'd felt yet that day.
After that, Cory and I were feeling much more confident: We'd entered our home turf. Up Grand we went, trying to encourage all the walkers (in an honest, voice-of-experience way), and turned onto 28th ... at which point I got butterflies.
We were so close at that point. I knew I had locked down all my safe goals, but only Cory had a sense for just how well we were doing. But so close didn't mean so easy.
Just as we got to the intersection of 28th and Ingersoll, I glanced at the spectators and saw co-worker Chris, there to cheer on his girlfriend with their beautiful dog. He recognized me too and yelled some encouragement, and I shouted back that I'd practiced on Bulldog Hill, I had it in the bag.
And maybe that was the pep talk I needed — not from him, but from myself — so up I went, passing quite a few walkers on the way. (What a jerk, right?)
Not long after we crested the hill, Cory turned to me and said he was gonna step it up. This came right as I felt the worst, far enough from the hill where we'd both caught our breath, but close enough where the fatigue had suddenly all settled into my left quad.
"Go ahead," I said. "I don't have anything extra." He tried to be encouraging, but I let a little whine creep into my voice as I insisted I really didn't.
I'm sure I slowed up some, yet I never lost sight of Cory. And once I was within sight of University Avenue and had about a mile left, my legs found a second wind.
I have never, ever, felt so strong during mile 12 of a race. Not even during the 2013 Des Moines Half Marathon, when I PR'ed by eight minutes. I did pass a few people and gained some ground on Cory, and my revival was rewarded when I entered the stadium ...
... this year, you barely had to run around the track. Instead of a quarter-mile left, I had not even a quarter of the track!
My spirits went from great to over the moon. I think I yelled "f--- yeah two hours!" as I sprinted that final leg, arms in the air, tossing that monkey off my back with conviction.
Once more: 1:58:59. I cleared 2:00:00 with a whole minute to spare. There is literally nothing I can think of, from my taper week through mile 13.09, that I wish I'd done differently or better.
Time to kick back for a week and bask in my glory before deciding what's next.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Entering the taper
Sunday's 10-miler was the last significant run before the April 26 half marathon. Woo-hoo!
This route was even more race-day-specific than its predecessors; it included a loop around the Capitol as well as the hills up from Gray's Lake, from downtown to the base of Bulldog Hill and of course Bulldog Hill itself.
It was another solid, strong effort. We had some obstacles in a strong southerly wind and an early side stitch for me, but we stuck it out.
Oddly enough, I kept a better pace and attitude going up Bulldog Hill than I did at the end of my nine-miler — I don't get it, but I'll take it.
So what now?
I'd already started to scale back workouts that weren't the long run, just to save my feet a little bit, but I'll continue that.
I'll still have a longer run this coming Sunday (thinking about five miles), and I'll continue with the speedwork (just at a shorter distance).
Originally I'd thought of incorporating more yoga to keep active, but if the weather continues to grow nicer, bike rides might be more tempting.
And I'll just enjoy the dramatic spike in free time. People always talk about the taper crazies, and maybe my own memory is fading and I've ranted about them in the past, but right now I'm just glad to scale back a bit.
I am profoundly grateful for having found the right post-long-run routine to prevent stiffness ... but it definitely takes up time beyond what the run already sucked up.
Throw in eating and a shower (and, OK, the procrastination before the run!), and it often feels like the day is totally gone.
But not this Sunday!
This route was even more race-day-specific than its predecessors; it included a loop around the Capitol as well as the hills up from Gray's Lake, from downtown to the base of Bulldog Hill and of course Bulldog Hill itself.
It was another solid, strong effort. We had some obstacles in a strong southerly wind and an early side stitch for me, but we stuck it out.
Oddly enough, I kept a better pace and attitude going up Bulldog Hill than I did at the end of my nine-miler — I don't get it, but I'll take it.
So what now?
I'd already started to scale back workouts that weren't the long run, just to save my feet a little bit, but I'll continue that.
I'll still have a longer run this coming Sunday (thinking about five miles), and I'll continue with the speedwork (just at a shorter distance).
Originally I'd thought of incorporating more yoga to keep active, but if the weather continues to grow nicer, bike rides might be more tempting.
And I'll just enjoy the dramatic spike in free time. People always talk about the taper crazies, and maybe my own memory is fading and I've ranted about them in the past, but right now I'm just glad to scale back a bit.
I am profoundly grateful for having found the right post-long-run routine to prevent stiffness ... but it definitely takes up time beyond what the run already sucked up.
Throw in eating and a shower (and, OK, the procrastination before the run!), and it often feels like the day is totally gone.
But not this Sunday!
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Progress report on Hy-Vee Half Marathon training
I have been a very diligent little runner this spring, and it seems to be paying off.
Of course this year, I haven't had to contend with the polar vortex, so skipping workouts has been harder to justify.
Nor have I brought my phone on most of my long runs — I get tired of holding it and of obsessing over the statistics. Also, Cory has joined me on most of them, so I feel less likely to encounter trouble with no way of calling for help.
So that means I'm judging progress on feel alone, which is OK. I signed up for this half marathon to keep myself accountable in general and to get in tip-top shape for a spring 5K. (Mission accomplished.)
Here are my takeaways from the long runs so far, though.
Seven-miler: My parents had visited us this weekend, and while we hadn't indulged ourselves on a Roman emperor's level, we certainly hadn't skimped on the calories or hydrated optimally.
We also didn't head out until midafternoon on the first truly nice weekend Des Moines had seen all year, so temperatures were a little higher than what we were used to.
Nevertheless, I felt amazing through the first four or five miles. I did lose a little bit of giddy-up once we hit Bulldog Hill, which only surprised me because of how good I felt leading up to it, and how easy the hill had felt in earlier shorter and colder long runs.
Eight-miler: We left much earlier this time. It took me longer to find my groove during this run, but I did find it.
Our route also hit three hills that we'll encounter in the race: up from Gray's Lake, west on Grand Avenue from downtown, and up Bulldog Hill. Yep, definitely getting harder ... but not impossible.
Nine-miler: I noticed my enthusiasm shrivel once I put running clothes on, a sure signal that training is peaking and that race day had better be soon OR ELSE. (This is the second-to-last long run of the plan, so race day is close.)
If you were in Des Moines on Easter Sunday, you can easily imagine how this run took some effort. If you weren't — it was warm and windy. Not constantly windy, or constantly in-your-face windy, but definitely drying.
I felt slow and sluggish at first, probably because of both the weather and a lingering cold, and when we stopped for water around mile 5, I developed a side stitch. Good timing, as we had our three hills still ahead of us.
Either my random prodding of muscles worked, or my body handled the stitch on its own, because by the time we got up Grand to take on Bulldog Hill, I don't remember it being there anymore. In a way, I was glad for the wind, heat and cramps — any or all of these could happen on race day, so might as well be prepared.
Cory peeled off at 28th, so I had to do Bulldog Hill alone. Even without peer pressure, I did NOT cave and walk. But man, is that hill growing tougher as the runs get longer ...
Of course this year, I haven't had to contend with the polar vortex, so skipping workouts has been harder to justify.
Nor have I brought my phone on most of my long runs — I get tired of holding it and of obsessing over the statistics. Also, Cory has joined me on most of them, so I feel less likely to encounter trouble with no way of calling for help.
So that means I'm judging progress on feel alone, which is OK. I signed up for this half marathon to keep myself accountable in general and to get in tip-top shape for a spring 5K. (Mission accomplished.)
Here are my takeaways from the long runs so far, though.
Seven-miler: My parents had visited us this weekend, and while we hadn't indulged ourselves on a Roman emperor's level, we certainly hadn't skimped on the calories or hydrated optimally.
We also didn't head out until midafternoon on the first truly nice weekend Des Moines had seen all year, so temperatures were a little higher than what we were used to.
Nevertheless, I felt amazing through the first four or five miles. I did lose a little bit of giddy-up once we hit Bulldog Hill, which only surprised me because of how good I felt leading up to it, and how easy the hill had felt in earlier shorter and colder long runs.
Eight-miler: We left much earlier this time. It took me longer to find my groove during this run, but I did find it.
Our route also hit three hills that we'll encounter in the race: up from Gray's Lake, west on Grand Avenue from downtown, and up Bulldog Hill. Yep, definitely getting harder ... but not impossible.
Nine-miler: I noticed my enthusiasm shrivel once I put running clothes on, a sure signal that training is peaking and that race day had better be soon OR ELSE. (This is the second-to-last long run of the plan, so race day is close.)
If you were in Des Moines on Easter Sunday, you can easily imagine how this run took some effort. If you weren't — it was warm and windy. Not constantly windy, or constantly in-your-face windy, but definitely drying.
I felt slow and sluggish at first, probably because of both the weather and a lingering cold, and when we stopped for water around mile 5, I developed a side stitch. Good timing, as we had our three hills still ahead of us.
Either my random prodding of muscles worked, or my body handled the stitch on its own, because by the time we got up Grand to take on Bulldog Hill, I don't remember it being there anymore. In a way, I was glad for the wind, heat and cramps — any or all of these could happen on race day, so might as well be prepared.
Cory peeled off at 28th, so I had to do Bulldog Hill alone. Even without peer pressure, I did NOT cave and walk. But man, is that hill growing tougher as the runs get longer ...
Friday, March 20, 2015
Bulldog Hill
Recently I happened to notice on the Hy-Vee half website that there's a special competition attached to Bulldog Hill — a medal for fastest ascent in each age group.
At that point in 2013, I was mentally checked out, so I didn't even remember there being timing mats, but Zach said he remembered seeing them. (We both recalled spectators urging us to go hard and not walk ... and walking nevertheless ... full of irritation at these people not running ... )
Now that I live at the foot of said hill, though, I'll actually pay attention to the timing mats.
I doubt that at mile 10 or 11, I'll have much giddy-up, but if I'm in an OK mental state, it would be fun — well, OK, interesting — to use up what I've got, then see how I stack up to the elites.
Repeated exposure to the hill is definitely paying dividends. Not in increased speed after more miles before it, but in a decrease in dread/fear/loathing. I hope this pays off in fewer scowls aimed at the innocent spectators on race day.
At that point in 2013, I was mentally checked out, so I didn't even remember there being timing mats, but Zach said he remembered seeing them. (We both recalled spectators urging us to go hard and not walk ... and walking nevertheless ... full of irritation at these people not running ... )
Now that I live at the foot of said hill, though, I'll actually pay attention to the timing mats.
I doubt that at mile 10 or 11, I'll have much giddy-up, but if I'm in an OK mental state, it would be fun — well, OK, interesting — to use up what I've got, then see how I stack up to the elites.
Repeated exposure to the hill is definitely paying dividends. Not in increased speed after more miles before it, but in a decrease in dread/fear/loathing. I hope this pays off in fewer scowls aimed at the innocent spectators on race day.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
My recurring yoga epiphany pops up again
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
No trail left behind
I have been a somewhat lazy blogger, but I've been a relatively ambitious biker. You win some, you lose some.
As I mentioned recently, the mileage is certainly adding up, and I am happy to say I've been able to vary my routes — even in spite of recent flooding.
Trail fatigue was a problem for me last year, so that's why I'm patting myself on the back for exploring new trails.
Here's what I would've crossed off my Des Moines biking bucket list, if I had such a thing.
* Great Western Trail, south of Cumming. I was surprised by quite a bit about the Cumming-to-Martensdale portion of this trail.
It's hillier than the north chunk — not truly hilly, but definitely with more inclines. It's in rougher shape, too, despite being so rural.
And man, is it rural. The roads are neither straight, nor on a grid, nor paved. I've definitely become a city slicker.
* Raccoon River Valley Trail complete loop. I'd never been north of Panora or north of Minburn until the BACooN Ride.
Since I'd done large chunks of it before, nothing necessarily surprised me, but I was glad to have conquered the entire loop. (Still unclaimed: the northern stretch from Herndon to Jefferson.)
Especially on a day where I felt pretty blah physically and mentally, and where I seriously feared I'd melt in the humidity. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!
* High Trestle Trail. My most recent exploration came when Cory and I rode from Ames back to Des Moines, after returning a truck we borrowed from a buddy who lives there.
After 12 hot, hilly, humid miles, we picked up the High Trestle and did it all — and it was totally worth that first challenging portion!
I don't think photos do the bridge justice (especially not my sweaty smartphone selfie).
I can't wait to go back along that smooth, spacious pavement, maybe take a detour to Snus Hill Winery, and hang out on that overlook ... after putting bug spray on.
As I mentioned recently, the mileage is certainly adding up, and I am happy to say I've been able to vary my routes — even in spite of recent flooding.
Trail fatigue was a problem for me last year, so that's why I'm patting myself on the back for exploring new trails.
Here's what I would've crossed off my Des Moines biking bucket list, if I had such a thing.
* Great Western Trail, south of Cumming. I was surprised by quite a bit about the Cumming-to-Martensdale portion of this trail.
It's hillier than the north chunk — not truly hilly, but definitely with more inclines. It's in rougher shape, too, despite being so rural.
And man, is it rural. The roads are neither straight, nor on a grid, nor paved. I've definitely become a city slicker.
* Raccoon River Valley Trail complete loop. I'd never been north of Panora or north of Minburn until the BACooN Ride.
Since I'd done large chunks of it before, nothing necessarily surprised me, but I was glad to have conquered the entire loop. (Still unclaimed: the northern stretch from Herndon to Jefferson.)
Especially on a day where I felt pretty blah physically and mentally, and where I seriously feared I'd melt in the humidity. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!
* High Trestle Trail. My most recent exploration came when Cory and I rode from Ames back to Des Moines, after returning a truck we borrowed from a buddy who lives there.
After 12 hot, hilly, humid miles, we picked up the High Trestle and did it all — and it was totally worth that first challenging portion!
I don't think photos do the bridge justice (especially not my sweaty smartphone selfie).
 |
| Conditions weren't great for lingering over the perfect shot. |
Friday, June 13, 2014
RAGBRAI training report, two weeks in
As I mentioned last week, RAGBRAI crept up on me while I was fretting about Dam to Dam.
So I'm happy to declare today that I feel positive about the state of my seat, about two weeks into training.
I did download the training plan; I do look at it; I do write down my mileage; and I have compared my weekly totals to what the plan suggests. Key word — suggests.
Here's my approach so far:
* Go on a long ride each week.
* Get a ride in the day after that, if possible.
* Incorporate a hill in most recreational rides.
* Design loops to avoid trail fatigue.
* Ride to places far away at which you need just one, portable thing. (Examples thus far: produce from a quarter-share in a CSA from a Johnston apartment complex; medicine from a pharmacy at 100th and Douglas in Urbandale.)
* Invite people to join at least portions of the rides.
It's only two weeks in, but I feel comfortable with this attitude, and I feel comfortable in my fitness level. It's not perfect, but it's good enough, and it'll get better.
What's helpful is having done RAGBRAI last year, and with the same people I'm doing it with this year — I know their tendencies, and this time I'll know how to balance my own with theirs.
Basically that means ride my pace, rather than struggle to keep up, because I don't like prolonged stops anyways. Let them get their first beer out of the way before I hop off the saddle.
Our long ride on Sunday — 75 flat miles — was critical to both realizing I'm on the right track, fitnesswise, and to reminding me of my riding preferences versus others'.
The next test: not falling off the wagon over the next two weeks, which are fairly busy with nonbiking commitments.
So I'm happy to declare today that I feel positive about the state of my seat, about two weeks into training.
I did download the training plan; I do look at it; I do write down my mileage; and I have compared my weekly totals to what the plan suggests. Key word — suggests.
Here's my approach so far:
* Go on a long ride each week.
* Get a ride in the day after that, if possible.
* Incorporate a hill in most recreational rides.
* Design loops to avoid trail fatigue.
* Ride to places far away at which you need just one, portable thing. (Examples thus far: produce from a quarter-share in a CSA from a Johnston apartment complex; medicine from a pharmacy at 100th and Douglas in Urbandale.)
* Invite people to join at least portions of the rides.
It's only two weeks in, but I feel comfortable with this attitude, and I feel comfortable in my fitness level. It's not perfect, but it's good enough, and it'll get better.
What's helpful is having done RAGBRAI last year, and with the same people I'm doing it with this year — I know their tendencies, and this time I'll know how to balance my own with theirs.
Basically that means ride my pace, rather than struggle to keep up, because I don't like prolonged stops anyways. Let them get their first beer out of the way before I hop off the saddle.
Our long ride on Sunday — 75 flat miles — was critical to both realizing I'm on the right track, fitnesswise, and to reminding me of my riding preferences versus others'.
The next test: not falling off the wagon over the next two weeks, which are fairly busy with nonbiking commitments.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Holy smokes, RAGBRAI is close
Good thing I embraced Bike Month, because RAGBRAI is basically almost here.
Of course I exaggerate — slightly. But I did just download the training plan and do a double-take at how few weeks remain on it.
I do have a couple long rides under my belt and more of the medium-length rides that the plan incorporates. The longest of those even involved heat, humidity and a few hills.
So I think it's fair to assume I at least managed to develop a base before the real training.
One good development: the fact that a team member spoke ominously about the hilliness of this year's route, causing me to panic every time I had to work hard going uphill.
How is that good? It means that I've at least vowed to hit the horrific Neal Smith Trail hill once a week, and that when my options for traveling by bike are short-and-hilly or twice-as-long-but-flat, I feel obliged to pick the former.
Another good development: Training for Dam to Dam kept me from burning myself out on biking. (Granted, the fact that I did both meant I felt like I mastered neither, but that's another story.)
I remember last year, when I dutifully followed the weeklong rider plan for four days of RAGBRAI, I found myself tiring of riding.
I have no intention of ramping up the training plan to "make up" for the lost month, so I should be much mentally fresher this time around.
Of course I exaggerate — slightly. But I did just download the training plan and do a double-take at how few weeks remain on it.
I do have a couple long rides under my belt and more of the medium-length rides that the plan incorporates. The longest of those even involved heat, humidity and a few hills.
So I think it's fair to assume I at least managed to develop a base before the real training.
One good development: the fact that a team member spoke ominously about the hilliness of this year's route, causing me to panic every time I had to work hard going uphill.
How is that good? It means that I've at least vowed to hit the horrific Neal Smith Trail hill once a week, and that when my options for traveling by bike are short-and-hilly or twice-as-long-but-flat, I feel obliged to pick the former.
Another good development: Training for Dam to Dam kept me from burning myself out on biking. (Granted, the fact that I did both meant I felt like I mastered neither, but that's another story.)
I remember last year, when I dutifully followed the weeklong rider plan for four days of RAGBRAI, I found myself tiring of riding.
I have no intention of ramping up the training plan to "make up" for the lost month, so I should be much mentally fresher this time around.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Race report: Woofin' It 5K 2014
"Are you up for a challenge?"
That was how Furry Friends' director greeted me at Saturday's Woofin' It 5K.
Last year's "borrowed" dog, Sam, had been bursting with energy, but Cory and I had survived. (Taking turns holding the leash helped.) So I laughed and said sure, bring it on.
Enter Rowan, a 6-year-old American Staffordshire terrier mix. As I took the leash of this ball of muscles, the shelter folks warned: "Just so you know, he's a bit of a puller ... "
And we were off! By the time we met up with Cory, who was pinning his bib on and stashing his belongings in the car, I'd already broken a sweat. This didn't bode well for my "costume."
Because we showed up a bit late, we hadn't quite made it to the start line when the race began, but with Rowan towing me, we caught up, no problem.
After we crested the first hill, my legs already complaining about the previous day's 21 bike miles/3.1 run-walk miles, I happened to glance down at my shoe. The keyholder was gone.
CRAP. I handed Rowan off to Cory and fled down that hill, sweat pouring from every pore (oh hi humidity!), to find it at the very start of the race.
How many college grads does it take to secure car keys on a pair of shoes while a feisty dog itches to race? More than two, evidently.
The good news for me, I guess, was that doubling back helped tire Rowan out a bit. Don't get me wrong, that dog was ready to run, but after the first mile or so, I was able to maintain some semblance of form and not spend every other breath shouting fruitlessly "heel! heel!"
Still, Rowan was determined to save face in front of other dogs. He might slow to a trot when it was just Cory and I, but let another human-dog duo pass us, and he'd leap to action.
Or when he needed a break, 8 times out of 10, he would act like he was marking yet another plant. (Though I didn't look closely, I had a hunch that nothing was coming out from under that raised leg.)
On the other hand, he seemed determined to make Cory and I look like bad pet parents. The other race participants chuckled indulgently at our swerving, abrupt stopping/starting, and bathroom breaks; the couple sitting on their porch seemed less amused by Rowan's liquid present on their lawn.
All three of us were glad to see the finish line, I think, but it was a happy tired.
There sure wasn't a dull moment with Rowan at the helm ... though if Furry Friends has an even more energetic dog waiting for me next year, I might ask about hooking him/her up to my bike instead!
For the record: Even with our doubling back, I finished this 5K faster (42:11) than the Girls on the Run one the night before (somewhere around 46 minutes).
That was how Furry Friends' director greeted me at Saturday's Woofin' It 5K.
Last year's "borrowed" dog, Sam, had been bursting with energy, but Cory and I had survived. (Taking turns holding the leash helped.) So I laughed and said sure, bring it on.
Enter Rowan, a 6-year-old American Staffordshire terrier mix. As I took the leash of this ball of muscles, the shelter folks warned: "Just so you know, he's a bit of a puller ... "
And we were off! By the time we met up with Cory, who was pinning his bib on and stashing his belongings in the car, I'd already broken a sweat. This didn't bode well for my "costume."
 |
| It turns out that cheap eyeliner is NOT waterproof. Should've taken a picture before the race, I guess. Not pictured: Cory's awesome socks, with a cat saying "woof" and a dog saying "meow." |
After we crested the first hill, my legs already complaining about the previous day's 21 bike miles/3.1 run-walk miles, I happened to glance down at my shoe. The keyholder was gone.
CRAP. I handed Rowan off to Cory and fled down that hill, sweat pouring from every pore (oh hi humidity!), to find it at the very start of the race.
How many college grads does it take to secure car keys on a pair of shoes while a feisty dog itches to race? More than two, evidently.
The good news for me, I guess, was that doubling back helped tire Rowan out a bit. Don't get me wrong, that dog was ready to run, but after the first mile or so, I was able to maintain some semblance of form and not spend every other breath shouting fruitlessly "heel! heel!"
Still, Rowan was determined to save face in front of other dogs. He might slow to a trot when it was just Cory and I, but let another human-dog duo pass us, and he'd leap to action.
Or when he needed a break, 8 times out of 10, he would act like he was marking yet another plant. (Though I didn't look closely, I had a hunch that nothing was coming out from under that raised leg.)
On the other hand, he seemed determined to make Cory and I look like bad pet parents. The other race participants chuckled indulgently at our swerving, abrupt stopping/starting, and bathroom breaks; the couple sitting on their porch seemed less amused by Rowan's liquid present on their lawn.
All three of us were glad to see the finish line, I think, but it was a happy tired.
There sure wasn't a dull moment with Rowan at the helm ... though if Furry Friends has an even more energetic dog waiting for me next year, I might ask about hooking him/her up to my bike instead!
For the record: Even with our doubling back, I finished this 5K faster (42:11) than the Girls on the Run one the night before (somewhere around 46 minutes).
Friday, January 17, 2014
A first for Little Runner: Running errands
During this past Holiday Running Streak, I did consider combining small, nearby errands with my workouts.
But unlike Run, Karla, Run!, I never actually did it. I forget why. I'm sure the reasons weren't very convincing (though in my defense, I have done errands by bike instead of by car).
I broke that particular streak this week, however, and I think I may have found the perfect motivating factor: laziness/incompetence.
Let me explain. I'm well aware that often, it's easier not to drive because of parking and traffic, and when it comes to downtown events after work on Fridays, I wholeheartedly support hoofing it. And while I haven't made a habit of it, I have willingly done a few errands on two wheels instead of four.
But returning a library book midday on a Wednesday, when you literally will pass by the library on your commute to work? It was tempting to find an easier route — coming back from downtown is slightly uphill and into the 9 mph wind (imagine a baby crying) — and just head to work a few minutes early.
And then I thought about parallel parking, which I never learned in high school and never attempted by myself until I moved to Des Moines in May 2012; and parking meters, which no one likes, but which especially annoy people accustomed to living in second-rate cities that don't dare discourage shoppers by charging for parking.
Oh, and don't forget how, if you park with the driver's side next to the curb, which I find easier, you have to climb over the frozen snow to get to the meter and sidewalk.
That settled it. I may be the world's biggest baby, given all the minor inconveniences I just listed, but I can carry a single, pathetic paperback book for less than two miles as I glide downhill, the wind at my back, while deliberately running slowly because it's base-rebuilding time.
Fashionistas would likely be horrified to hear that not only did I do it and survive, but that I also realized there's no reason I can't actually pick up a book or a few small groceries while doing more errand runs.
There will be spandex and a light sweat. But hey, even though Des Moines is cool enough to make people pay for parking, it's not so cool that it can't handle my midrun rosy cheeks and messy hair once in a while.
But unlike Run, Karla, Run!, I never actually did it. I forget why. I'm sure the reasons weren't very convincing (though in my defense, I have done errands by bike instead of by car).
I broke that particular streak this week, however, and I think I may have found the perfect motivating factor: laziness/incompetence.
Let me explain. I'm well aware that often, it's easier not to drive because of parking and traffic, and when it comes to downtown events after work on Fridays, I wholeheartedly support hoofing it. And while I haven't made a habit of it, I have willingly done a few errands on two wheels instead of four.
But returning a library book midday on a Wednesday, when you literally will pass by the library on your commute to work? It was tempting to find an easier route — coming back from downtown is slightly uphill and into the 9 mph wind (imagine a baby crying) — and just head to work a few minutes early.
And then I thought about parallel parking, which I never learned in high school and never attempted by myself until I moved to Des Moines in May 2012; and parking meters, which no one likes, but which especially annoy people accustomed to living in second-rate cities that don't dare discourage shoppers by charging for parking.
Oh, and don't forget how, if you park with the driver's side next to the curb, which I find easier, you have to climb over the frozen snow to get to the meter and sidewalk.
That settled it. I may be the world's biggest baby, given all the minor inconveniences I just listed, but I can carry a single, pathetic paperback book for less than two miles as I glide downhill, the wind at my back, while deliberately running slowly because it's base-rebuilding time.
Fashionistas would likely be horrified to hear that not only did I do it and survive, but that I also realized there's no reason I can't actually pick up a book or a few small groceries while doing more errand runs.
There will be spandex and a light sweat. But hey, even though Des Moines is cool enough to make people pay for parking, it's not so cool that it can't handle my midrun rosy cheeks and messy hair once in a while.
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:
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| 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!
Monday, November 18, 2013
I need a change from this scenery
I've listed off the serious and facetious parts of West Des Moines running that I'll miss.
But don't worry; I'm not going to shed tears over this weekend's move. Besides my visual fatigue with the same roads and trails, here's what I'm looking forward to leaving behind:
But don't worry; I'm not going to shed tears over this weekend's move. Besides my visual fatigue with the same roads and trails, here's what I'm looking forward to leaving behind:
5. The geese around my current apartment complex: I try to dodge their doo-doo along the sidewalks, within reason. In winter, with icy and snowy conditions, this becomes a real hazard.
Also, Doug's affirmative answer to my question of "do geese attack?" has reinforced my paranoia that they'll choose to herd ME off the sidewalk, instead of the other way around.
4. Construction all over: First it was the Jordan Creek Trail underneath Interstate 35. Then it was the Walnut Creek Trail under Interstate 235. Now it's the Jordan Creek Trail pretty much everywhere east of 60th Street, it seems.
Yes, I like safe and smooth infrastructure, but that doesn't mean I can't wish the trails could remain open when they're not being repaired.
Yes, I like safe and smooth infrastructure, but that doesn't mean I can't wish the trails could remain open when they're not being repaired.
3. That rough spot on the Jordan Creek Trail that I either had to detour around, or ride gingerly to avoid another pinch flat: After discovering two pinch flats either during or after a certain stretch along EP True Parkway, I reacted not by learning to change a flat tire, but by scouting out a detour that added miles and a crossing of EP True that didn't have a traffic light.
It's definitely one of the rougher spots on the trail, and compounding the issue is that the slope from sidewalk to street (of which there are several) isn't very smoothly done. I'd forgive lengthy construction closures if this were what was being fixed.
It's definitely one of the rougher spots on the trail, and compounding the issue is that the slope from sidewalk to street (of which there are several) isn't very smoothly done. I'd forgive lengthy construction closures if this were what was being fixed.
2. The 60th Street hill(s) and Westown Parkway overpass: When your parents' house/your apartment sits close to several hills, you become a stronger runner without even trying — unless, of course, you're motivated enough and organized enough to drive to a flatter starting point consistently. (I am not.)
Here, I have a dramatic downhill to the north and south on 60th Street, meaning there's a dramatic uphill if I do an out-and-back those directions. Then, to the east, is the Westown Parkway overpass. (And yes, there are hills to the west, but just not of the demonic sort.)
I've definitely developed a strategy for these hills, and I don't deny the value of running hills, even if your race courses will all be perfectly flat. And I even recognize that, with my new apartment being close to the Sherman Hill neighborhood, I'm not escaping all elevation increases.
Still — good riddance to these particular inclines. Familiarity breeds contempt, in this case.
1. The traffic lights at the beginning/end of these hills. Funny how when I'm flying downhill, they turn red, but when I'm crawling uphill, they turn green as soon as I reach the top — leaving no excuse not related to my fitness to linger.
Here, I have a dramatic downhill to the north and south on 60th Street, meaning there's a dramatic uphill if I do an out-and-back those directions. Then, to the east, is the Westown Parkway overpass. (And yes, there are hills to the west, but just not of the demonic sort.)
I've definitely developed a strategy for these hills, and I don't deny the value of running hills, even if your race courses will all be perfectly flat. And I even recognize that, with my new apartment being close to the Sherman Hill neighborhood, I'm not escaping all elevation increases.
Still — good riddance to these particular inclines. Familiarity breeds contempt, in this case.
1. The traffic lights at the beginning/end of these hills. Funny how when I'm flying downhill, they turn red, but when I'm crawling uphill, they turn green as soon as I reach the top — leaving no excuse not related to my fitness to linger.
Friday, October 4, 2013
My second-best recent running accomplishment
Last week, when I set out for my 10-mile long run, I had high hopes.
My nine-miler had gone incredibly well — a 9:16 pace, without pushing myself like I did during my speedy 10K and recent 5K PR. Such effortless speed, though, wasn't meant to be during the 10-miler.
As soon as I set out, I thought of Karla Bruning's recent post about the half marathon PR that was NOT meant to be. I was just tired. Not achy or in pain, but just heavy and sluggish.
My first-half splits weren't bad (9:04, 9:00, 8:57, 8:53 and 9:20), and my second-half ones — though much slower — weren't truly bad, either (9:56, 9:21, 9:51, 9:47 and 9:50).
By then, I'd hit a hillier portion of the run, the temperature had of course risen some, and I was carrying a bottle of water, which always seems to weigh me down. All that plus normal fatigue equaled a slowdown.
So you're confused about the title of this post: "My second-best recent running accomplishment." Clearly it's not my times from this run, nor how I felt; it's also not just that I went out there and finished.
What it is, is how I mentally managed myself. When I first suspected that it wasn't my day, I told myself to calm down and give it a while. Maybe that worked, or maybe it was just the flatness of the first five miles. Doesn't matter — I didn't freak out.
I made it a little past the halfway point and got my water bottle, which as I mentioned was about the time that the run got rough. "You've got this, it's OK," I told myself, echoing what I'd said early on, when the doubts crept in.
Funny how that works better than "you suck," "quit being a (expletive) wimp" and other drill-sergeantlike things I've wheezed during unplanned walk breaks.
Also funny: how this time, unlike the meltdown half marathons, when I told myself to make it a mile, then stop for water, then start running again ... I actually did it. And the splits were slow, but not wounded-turtle-slow.
It probably helped to also know where the hills were, as opposed to during those races, because I did hold out the carrot of "at the top of the hill, you can walk."
Still, during those races, I've been able to see how much farther "one mile" is, and where the hill ends, and I've continually failed to follow through on "if you do X, you can walk."
Is it the positive self-talk? Is confidence finally accumulating after five years of running? Is my willpower strengthening? Is my modification of the training schedule the perfect one for me?
It's probably a combination of all the factors, and given how long it's taken to develop some mental strength, I don't feel bad at all for this long-winded pat on the back.
Here's hoping I can exercise this same muscle during the IMT half, if needed!
My nine-miler had gone incredibly well — a 9:16 pace, without pushing myself like I did during my speedy 10K and recent 5K PR. Such effortless speed, though, wasn't meant to be during the 10-miler.
As soon as I set out, I thought of Karla Bruning's recent post about the half marathon PR that was NOT meant to be. I was just tired. Not achy or in pain, but just heavy and sluggish.
My first-half splits weren't bad (9:04, 9:00, 8:57, 8:53 and 9:20), and my second-half ones — though much slower — weren't truly bad, either (9:56, 9:21, 9:51, 9:47 and 9:50).
By then, I'd hit a hillier portion of the run, the temperature had of course risen some, and I was carrying a bottle of water, which always seems to weigh me down. All that plus normal fatigue equaled a slowdown.
So you're confused about the title of this post: "My second-best recent running accomplishment." Clearly it's not my times from this run, nor how I felt; it's also not just that I went out there and finished.
What it is, is how I mentally managed myself. When I first suspected that it wasn't my day, I told myself to calm down and give it a while. Maybe that worked, or maybe it was just the flatness of the first five miles. Doesn't matter — I didn't freak out.
I made it a little past the halfway point and got my water bottle, which as I mentioned was about the time that the run got rough. "You've got this, it's OK," I told myself, echoing what I'd said early on, when the doubts crept in.
Funny how that works better than "you suck," "quit being a (expletive) wimp" and other drill-sergeantlike things I've wheezed during unplanned walk breaks.
Also funny: how this time, unlike the meltdown half marathons, when I told myself to make it a mile, then stop for water, then start running again ... I actually did it. And the splits were slow, but not wounded-turtle-slow.
It probably helped to also know where the hills were, as opposed to during those races, because I did hold out the carrot of "at the top of the hill, you can walk."
Still, during those races, I've been able to see how much farther "one mile" is, and where the hill ends, and I've continually failed to follow through on "if you do X, you can walk."
Is it the positive self-talk? Is confidence finally accumulating after five years of running? Is my willpower strengthening? Is my modification of the training schedule the perfect one for me?
It's probably a combination of all the factors, and given how long it's taken to develop some mental strength, I don't feel bad at all for this long-winded pat on the back.
Here's hoping I can exercise this same muscle during the IMT half, if needed!
Friday, September 13, 2013
One month until taper time
Training for the IMT Half Marathon has absolutely flown by.
That might be another benefit of fall half marathons, compared with spring ones. I tend to get so bored with aimless running that I expand my training schedule in the spring; whereas if I continue doing RAGBRAI, as I hope to do, I won't start training for real until the first full week in August.
Yesterday, as I did my nine-mile long run, I realized how fast it had crept up on me — and subsequently how little time I'd spent looking ahead with dread.
Particularly during the flat miles — approximately from miles 3 to 7.5 — I was flying. Being in the cool, shady, flat stretch of the Clive Greenbelt Trail really helped, but there was a sense of confidence, too.
After all, as I've been reporting on Daily Mile, I'm getting better about gently encouraging myself up hills by focusing on consistent effort, not speed. I'm also notching about the same speed during my shorter runs in hot, humid weather as I would during more favorable conditions.
So once I warmed up (even before the flat stretch) and until I slowed to grab my water bottle and tackle the horrible hill from Greenbelt Park to Sunset Terrace, I found myself thinking: "I could totally tack on four miles to this run. I could do the half marathon right now. Especially if I didn't carry my own water at any point."
All I've got left in the long-run department now are 10- and 11-milers, and then it's down to a medium-length run during taper week. Wasn't I just finally running longer than 4.25 miles for the first time since the Hy-Vee half?
(I sound so mournful, but I won't mind ending the pre-long-run anxiety and post-long-run cramming in of all the other things I want/need to do that day. And if I finally set a new PR and/or break 2:05:00, there will be no regrets that it's over.)
I'll end this rambling post with this:
Yep, I'm a sweaty runner. However, let me also add that it took more than eight miles for any of it to roll into my eyes. I'd say the Halo was a good investment.
Long run stats, for those who are interested: Nine miles in 1:23:23 (9:16 pace); splits of 9:31, 9:35, 9:00, 8:59, 8:47, 9:34, 8:49, 9:48 (the hill) and 8:58.
That might be another benefit of fall half marathons, compared with spring ones. I tend to get so bored with aimless running that I expand my training schedule in the spring; whereas if I continue doing RAGBRAI, as I hope to do, I won't start training for real until the first full week in August.
Yesterday, as I did my nine-mile long run, I realized how fast it had crept up on me — and subsequently how little time I'd spent looking ahead with dread.
Particularly during the flat miles — approximately from miles 3 to 7.5 — I was flying. Being in the cool, shady, flat stretch of the Clive Greenbelt Trail really helped, but there was a sense of confidence, too.
After all, as I've been reporting on Daily Mile, I'm getting better about gently encouraging myself up hills by focusing on consistent effort, not speed. I'm also notching about the same speed during my shorter runs in hot, humid weather as I would during more favorable conditions.
So once I warmed up (even before the flat stretch) and until I slowed to grab my water bottle and tackle the horrible hill from Greenbelt Park to Sunset Terrace, I found myself thinking: "I could totally tack on four miles to this run. I could do the half marathon right now. Especially if I didn't carry my own water at any point."
All I've got left in the long-run department now are 10- and 11-milers, and then it's down to a medium-length run during taper week. Wasn't I just finally running longer than 4.25 miles for the first time since the Hy-Vee half?
(I sound so mournful, but I won't mind ending the pre-long-run anxiety and post-long-run cramming in of all the other things I want/need to do that day. And if I finally set a new PR and/or break 2:05:00, there will be no regrets that it's over.)
I'll end this rambling post with this:
 |
| I wrung my Halo headband out after the nine-mile run onto the sidewalk, to see how much liquid it held. "A lot" is my best measurement. |
Long run stats, for those who are interested: Nine miles in 1:23:23 (9:16 pace); splits of 9:31, 9:35, 9:00, 8:59, 8:47, 9:34, 8:49, 9:48 (the hill) and 8:58.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Riding the emotional roller coaster again
I found myself having a Lindsay Bluth Funke moment a few days ago, during a run.
"Have I lost it?" I asked myself during the first of five miserable intervals.
"Did I ever even have it?" I thought as nausea rose after the third.
I'll still agree with the thought that the only run you regret is the one you don't go on, but man, I did not award myself any gold stars after that particular effort.
Well, OK, despite how certain friends feel about participation trophies, I did pat myself — gently — on the back for realizing it wasn't my day and adapting my effort/expectations to conditions. (Hot and humid.)
Some of this floated around my head as I prepared for and embarked on my first long run of training — five miles, the longest I've run since April 28's half marathon.
But as it turns out, all of this RAGBRAI preparation had erased my memories of the emotional cycle most of my runs follow.
Today, the first few steps felt awesome. I loved running. I was thrilled to be running. Did I have to stop at five miles?
After the first mile, the sweat and fatigue began to build up. Running was kind of tough, but why? I'd had a good night's sleep, proper nutrition and none of the trigger foods/drinks.
Midway through, I found my rhythm. Running was awesome again. I passed a few groups of social runners. Thanks for the brief snippet of "Runaround" from your iPod, ladies, but some of us are flying at the target 9:30 pace.
And then came the hills, sometimes metaphorical, other times (like today) literal. Negotiations about when to walk ensued. The mind won today; next time, the body likely will. Hopefully the mind wins more often.
Finally, during the last half mile, the hundredths of a mile took their sweet time registering, but I knew they'd tick up even more slowly if I slowed down. Plus, that average pace — which had bloated to 9:44 in the previous stage — was shrinking.
Biking (well, in flat Des Moines at least) didn't feature so many mood swings. All of that happiness and gourmand behavior must've softened me up. Hence the day of doubt.
But hey, the deeper the slide, the higher the rise, and I haven't found much in athletics yet that can beat the runner's high.
"Have I lost it?" I asked myself during the first of five miserable intervals.
"Did I ever even have it?" I thought as nausea rose after the third.
I'll still agree with the thought that the only run you regret is the one you don't go on, but man, I did not award myself any gold stars after that particular effort.
Well, OK, despite how certain friends feel about participation trophies, I did pat myself — gently — on the back for realizing it wasn't my day and adapting my effort/expectations to conditions. (Hot and humid.)
Some of this floated around my head as I prepared for and embarked on my first long run of training — five miles, the longest I've run since April 28's half marathon.
But as it turns out, all of this RAGBRAI preparation had erased my memories of the emotional cycle most of my runs follow.
Today, the first few steps felt awesome. I loved running. I was thrilled to be running. Did I have to stop at five miles?
After the first mile, the sweat and fatigue began to build up. Running was kind of tough, but why? I'd had a good night's sleep, proper nutrition and none of the trigger foods/drinks.
Midway through, I found my rhythm. Running was awesome again. I passed a few groups of social runners. Thanks for the brief snippet of "Runaround" from your iPod, ladies, but some of us are flying at the target 9:30 pace.
And then came the hills, sometimes metaphorical, other times (like today) literal. Negotiations about when to walk ensued. The mind won today; next time, the body likely will. Hopefully the mind wins more often.
Finally, during the last half mile, the hundredths of a mile took their sweet time registering, but I knew they'd tick up even more slowly if I slowed down. Plus, that average pace — which had bloated to 9:44 in the previous stage — was shrinking.
Biking (well, in flat Des Moines at least) didn't feature so many mood swings. All of that happiness and gourmand behavior must've softened me up. Hence the day of doubt.
But hey, the deeper the slide, the higher the rise, and I haven't found much in athletics yet that can beat the runner's high.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
You know nothing, Little Runner!
Last Wednesday, I congratulated myself for what seemed to be a RAGBRAI trial run: a ride with a lunch stop in the middle and a little bit of heat/wind at the end. I've totally got this.
Um, not quite. The 65-miler lacked humidity, 90-degree weather, more than a few hills, more than a few stops, fried food, frozen treats and beer.
But don't worry. I got all of that in Sunday, and I can handle it. Mostly.
I rode with several of my RAGBRAI companions from the Principal Riverwalk up to Big Creek and back that day, which was everything I've come to expect from July in Iowa. Throw in the hills on the Neal Smith Trail, plus some residual fatigue from the previous day's run, and I was a little uncertain about how well a 50-plus-miler would go.
The first prolonged one came at Latitude 41, and the idea of lunch had me positively giddy. I ordered a Summer Shandy and a catfish strip basket and tucked right into both.
It was so delicious ... and so greasy. Did we really have to get back up and keep riding north and then turn back around? We couldn't just nap? No? UGH.
The next seven or so miles were not the easiest miles I've ever done. My first all-fried-food meal in months sloshed around, and the beer's carbonation didn't bring me any relief until well into our next stop (at Big Creek).
Almost as good as the relief from the grease? The 25-cent Fla-Vor-Ice I got at the air-conditioned concession stand. So much welcome coolness.
When we trusted that the rain on the radar had passed, we hopped back on and flew. The hills were mostly down; the wind, mostly at our backs. I felt strong, cheerful and grateful for second-half momentum — and then we stopped again. Latitude 41 was still there and still open.
At the time, I would've rather kept going. But that's not what we're going to be doing in a few weeks. In a few weeks, we'll be riding only long enough to build up a thirst and a hunger. So it was good that we stopped for another beer and another few glasses of ice-cold water.
And really, come to think of it, our stop-and-go riding was done during the sunniest part of the day. After that beer, we stopped only for a bathroom break on the 16 miles back to the starting apartment, under a sky only just bright enough for my sunglasses to still help, not hinder.
So how did I feel upon our return? Surprisingly, just sweaty and of average fatigue/hunger. Not dehydrated, sunburned or queasy. And most of all, content with how my stomach handled a true RAGBRAI simulation.
Still to be determined: how my legs and seat will handle RAGBRAI.
Um, not quite. The 65-miler lacked humidity, 90-degree weather, more than a few hills, more than a few stops, fried food, frozen treats and beer.
But don't worry. I got all of that in Sunday, and I can handle it. Mostly.
I rode with several of my RAGBRAI companions from the Principal Riverwalk up to Big Creek and back that day, which was everything I've come to expect from July in Iowa. Throw in the hills on the Neal Smith Trail, plus some residual fatigue from the previous day's run, and I was a little uncertain about how well a 50-plus-miler would go.
The first prolonged one came at Latitude 41, and the idea of lunch had me positively giddy. I ordered a Summer Shandy and a catfish strip basket and tucked right into both.
It was so delicious ... and so greasy. Did we really have to get back up and keep riding north and then turn back around? We couldn't just nap? No? UGH.
The next seven or so miles were not the easiest miles I've ever done. My first all-fried-food meal in months sloshed around, and the beer's carbonation didn't bring me any relief until well into our next stop (at Big Creek).
Almost as good as the relief from the grease? The 25-cent Fla-Vor-Ice I got at the air-conditioned concession stand. So much welcome coolness.
When we trusted that the rain on the radar had passed, we hopped back on and flew. The hills were mostly down; the wind, mostly at our backs. I felt strong, cheerful and grateful for second-half momentum — and then we stopped again. Latitude 41 was still there and still open.
At the time, I would've rather kept going. But that's not what we're going to be doing in a few weeks. In a few weeks, we'll be riding only long enough to build up a thirst and a hunger. So it was good that we stopped for another beer and another few glasses of ice-cold water.
And really, come to think of it, our stop-and-go riding was done during the sunniest part of the day. After that beer, we stopped only for a bathroom break on the 16 miles back to the starting apartment, under a sky only just bright enough for my sunglasses to still help, not hinder.
So how did I feel upon our return? Surprisingly, just sweaty and of average fatigue/hunger. Not dehydrated, sunburned or queasy. And most of all, content with how my stomach handled a true RAGBRAI simulation.
Still to be determined: how my legs and seat will handle RAGBRAI.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Recon missions
Bikewise, Monday turned out to be completely different than what I'd hoped for, but it still turned out to be a success.
Regina and I set out on the Great Western Trail with the intention of reaching Cumming and evaluating our physical state there (she was only a few days removed from a century ride). Instead, we made it about three miles from Waterworks Park before my back tire went flat.
At least we had nice weather for the walk of shame back ... and that gave us plenty of time to brew a plan to salvage our afternoon: investigate the horrific-sounding hill on the Des Moines-to-Knoxville day of RAGBRAI.
We're leisure riders, not competitive; we like our trails flat and our winds mild. But what scared us — and probably many other people — was that Des Moines planned to put ambulances at the bottom of this hill in clear anticipation of wipeouts.
From a few intersections away, we could see the incline, and the sign that warned of a blind curve and demanded that we reduce our speed. We crept up to the top, sailed down to the bottom and came to a unanimous verdict there: We will survive.
No doubt it's a steep hill, and neither of us looked forward to climbing it. Fortunately, it did look like the descent would be worth it, rather than the cruel joke of a death spiral after all the effort it took to scale this mountain.
Sometimes knowing makes things worse (vaccinations), but this time, knowing might make it a little bit better.
With that mission accomplished, the next stop was to the bike doctor: our friend Cory. It was the second time I'd sat up close to watch the tire-changing process, but the first time I'd begun thinking "maybe I can do this myself."
Cory and other bike-savvy friends assure us bike n00bs that they'll take care of our mechanical issues ... but still, next time I haven't spent all afternoon learning lessons and don't have time constraints, I ought to take him up on the offer to walk me through doing it myself.
Regina and I set out on the Great Western Trail with the intention of reaching Cumming and evaluating our physical state there (she was only a few days removed from a century ride). Instead, we made it about three miles from Waterworks Park before my back tire went flat.
At least we had nice weather for the walk of shame back ... and that gave us plenty of time to brew a plan to salvage our afternoon: investigate the horrific-sounding hill on the Des Moines-to-Knoxville day of RAGBRAI.
We're leisure riders, not competitive; we like our trails flat and our winds mild. But what scared us — and probably many other people — was that Des Moines planned to put ambulances at the bottom of this hill in clear anticipation of wipeouts.
From a few intersections away, we could see the incline, and the sign that warned of a blind curve and demanded that we reduce our speed. We crept up to the top, sailed down to the bottom and came to a unanimous verdict there: We will survive.
No doubt it's a steep hill, and neither of us looked forward to climbing it. Fortunately, it did look like the descent would be worth it, rather than the cruel joke of a death spiral after all the effort it took to scale this mountain.
Sometimes knowing makes things worse (vaccinations), but this time, knowing might make it a little bit better.
With that mission accomplished, the next stop was to the bike doctor: our friend Cory. It was the second time I'd sat up close to watch the tire-changing process, but the first time I'd begun thinking "maybe I can do this myself."
Cory and other bike-savvy friends assure us bike n00bs that they'll take care of our mechanical issues ... but still, next time I haven't spent all afternoon learning lessons and don't have time constraints, I ought to take him up on the offer to walk me through doing it myself.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
The Woofin' It 5K told through pictures
Last weekend, I did the Woofin' It 5K charity race to benefit the Clive Jaycees and, much more importantly, Furry Friends Refuge.
A friend/fellow athlete, upon hearing of my race plans amid post-half marathon laziness, said jokingly: "Better get out there and run, otherwise you're gonna be out-of-shape for this race!"
I laughed dismissively. "I'll be fine. It's a race with dogs. It's not serious."
A few days later, on a beautiful Saturday morning, I may have ate those words.
This was the toughest 5K I've done in Des Moines — my shoulders and back ached for 24-plus hours afterward — but it was hands-down the most fun 5K I've done, too. Consider me registered (mentally) for the 2014 edition!
A friend/fellow athlete, upon hearing of my race plans amid post-half marathon laziness, said jokingly: "Better get out there and run, otherwise you're gonna be out-of-shape for this race!"
I laughed dismissively. "I'll be fine. It's a race with dogs. It's not serious."
A few days later, on a beautiful Saturday morning, I may have ate those words.
 |
| The ultimate costume contest winners: Thing 1 and Thing 2. I've never had such a pleasant prerace wait — so many dogs of so many breeds/mutt mixes, and in so many pieces of clothing! |
 |
| Most dogs, like this tropically dressed one, were eager to meet and greet their competitors. Many butts were sniffed; many howls and barks were emitted; many humans were jerked in random directions and tangled up by leashes. |
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| When my friend/fellow racer Cory and I approached the shelter director to ask for our dogs, she told us only one was left. This is Sam, a 3-year-old coonhound mix. "Are you real runners?" the director asked us. "Because Sam really likes to run." I was too full of pride at being able to answer yes that I didn't think too hard about what her question meant. |
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| It took all of a mile for me to be grateful that I was sharing Sam with Cory. The first mile was uphill, and Sam's legs were apparently far fresher than mine. Also not helping my performance: how much I kept laughing in between shouts of "Sam, heel!" while keeping a two-handed death grip on his leash. |
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| Sam did a great job. He made the classic rookie mistake of going out too fast, but he took advantage of the water stops and ignored my suggestion that we take a few walk breaks — for his sake, of course, not mine. |
Monday, April 29, 2013
Race recap: Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon
So as not to bury the lead, several race-day fears came true yesterday at the Hy-Vee half marathon.
I was comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts at the starting line, meaning the abrupt warmup I'd fretted about had indeed arrived. And the combination of adrenaline, wanting to break free from the crowd and a prolonged downhill stretch at the beginning meant I started far too strong.
Toss in misleading MapMyRun distances and paces (apparently I ran 13.75 miles at a 9:30 clip!), and you've got the makings of a letdown. Watch the slow, steady downward progress:
My 5K split was 28:33 (a 9:11 pace); 10K split was 58:40 (a 9:26 pace); 15K split was 1:29:30 (a 9:36 pace); and overall time was 2:10:33 (a 9:58 pace).
I'd rather focus on the positives, though, and the good news is that, once I literally cooled down, this wasn't even a struggle.
* Spectator signs were excellent. My favorite was "If this were easy, it would be called your mom," followed by "Worst parade ever :( " and "Run faster, I just farted."
(I would've smiled more at "Don't walk, people are watching," except that I indulged in walking and did not care who saw.)
* The friend factor was off the charts. Emily and Zach ran the half with me; we let Zach take off with the fast kids, but we ladies stuck together for not quite half of the race. Even though we hardly talked (she's an iPod runner), somehow it made the miles fly by.
After the race, I got to commiserate about the conditions with the friends who ran the half, and I was consoled/credited by those who didn't run the half, all along the lines of "Seriously, you just ran 13.1 miles. That's amazing. I can't even fathom doing that."
And both of those groups united for a long, leisurely post-race celebration.
* Post-race brunch was beyond amazing. We hit up Jethro's for a $6 all-you-can-eat brunch, and words cannot describe how amazing everything tasted ... for a beyond-reasonable price.
To top it off, we saw Huckleberry stroll by and mark a shrub as his, and there was this sign:
* Post-race beer was fantastic. One at Jethro's, a few more in a supportive friend's courtyard. There's no caloric guilt in having a few Summer Shandies after running 13.1 miles, right? And it's totally OK to drink your post-race fuel instead of eating it, right?
Overall, while I fell short physically and mentally during the race (I'm really sorry to everyone who heard me ask where the f*** the finish line was, or declare that this length was f***ing bulls***), I'm pleased with the lead-up and aftermath.
I trained my body well; it just so happened that race-day conditions didn't arrive until the taper period.
And with that, plus my embarrassment/frustration/anger at acknowledging hopes and dreams only to fall short, it was less than an hour before I was thinking and saying: "Maybe I can redeem myself at the Des Moines half this fall."
No declarations of "running sucks, I quit forever." It's just time to recuperate and think about RAGBRAI now.
I was comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts at the starting line, meaning the abrupt warmup I'd fretted about had indeed arrived. And the combination of adrenaline, wanting to break free from the crowd and a prolonged downhill stretch at the beginning meant I started far too strong.
Toss in misleading MapMyRun distances and paces (apparently I ran 13.75 miles at a 9:30 clip!), and you've got the makings of a letdown. Watch the slow, steady downward progress:
My 5K split was 28:33 (a 9:11 pace); 10K split was 58:40 (a 9:26 pace); 15K split was 1:29:30 (a 9:36 pace); and overall time was 2:10:33 (a 9:58 pace).
I'd rather focus on the positives, though, and the good news is that, once I literally cooled down, this wasn't even a struggle.
* Spectator signs were excellent. My favorite was "If this were easy, it would be called your mom," followed by "Worst parade ever :( " and "Run faster, I just farted."
(I would've smiled more at "Don't walk, people are watching," except that I indulged in walking and did not care who saw.)
* The friend factor was off the charts. Emily and Zach ran the half with me; we let Zach take off with the fast kids, but we ladies stuck together for not quite half of the race. Even though we hardly talked (she's an iPod runner), somehow it made the miles fly by.
 |
| No sweat, no scowls: This is obviously a pre-race photo. |
And both of those groups united for a long, leisurely post-race celebration.
* Post-race brunch was beyond amazing. We hit up Jethro's for a $6 all-you-can-eat brunch, and words cannot describe how amazing everything tasted ... for a beyond-reasonable price.
 |
| That first bite of bacon tasted soooo good. I might've wept for joy. The potatoes, which you can barely see, were the real star, though. Yes, those are Bloody Marys; no, I didn't finish mine after the first two sips. |
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| Don't worry. I left a tip. |
Overall, while I fell short physically and mentally during the race (I'm really sorry to everyone who heard me ask where the f*** the finish line was, or declare that this length was f***ing bulls***), I'm pleased with the lead-up and aftermath.
I trained my body well; it just so happened that race-day conditions didn't arrive until the taper period.
And with that, plus my embarrassment/frustration/anger at acknowledging hopes and dreams only to fall short, it was less than an hour before I was thinking and saying: "Maybe I can redeem myself at the Des Moines half this fall."
No declarations of "running sucks, I quit forever." It's just time to recuperate and think about RAGBRAI now.
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