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!
Showing posts with label long run. Show all posts
Showing posts with label long run. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Two steps forward, one step back
After my sports massage Wednesday, I was of course very interested to see how my hip would feel during runs.
I went on a short run Thursday, not quite 24 hours after the massage, and the hip felt much better, though I could still feel it at times.
But Friday, even though I was working harder (it was hill day), I rarely felt the hip tenderness at all. When I did, I would shorten my stride, and it seemed to go away entirely. Woo-hoo!
On Sunday, Cory and I did a seven-mile run, starting with five mostly flat miles from our apartment up Polk Boulevard and back, then concluding with two miles along 28th Street.
Mostly I felt great during that run. The back of my right knee did have some twinges during the five-mile portion, which concerned me a little bit.
The good news was that it went away; the bad news was that it was replaced with hip twinges during the 28th Street portion. I'm chalking that up to fatigue.
So all in all, a very successful half-week ... which, unfortunately, I almost completely undid on Monday.
Monday was insanely nice, weatherwise: high of 84 degrees, low humidity, mostly sunny. All of that, plus the minimal soreness I had after the previous day's long run, meant I threw caution to the wind and went for a shakeout three-miler.
Wrong choice. It wasn't a bad run, but it was an unexpected challenge that I'm still feeling a little sore from. I felt worse after that three-miler than I did after Sunday's seven-miler.
I shouldn't have run at all — should've found some other way to enjoy the weather — and if I did have to run, I should've stuck to a route I knew to be flat, no matter how many times I've already run that route.
Oh well. I'll look at it from Cory's perspective: that I seized a good chance to "shock" my system with a weather change (which of course was what happened on race day in 2013).
Friday, May 2, 2014
Upcoming race: Dam to Dam half marathon
As I mentioned in earlier posts about second-quarter and overall 2014 goals, I've signed up for this year's Dam to Dam race.
I'd been interested in doing it in the past, but its transition this year from a 20K to a half marathon sealed the deal. (OK, and so did the reports of how flat the route is.)
The race is May 31, which also lined up quite well with my two-week hiatus in early April as I prepared for, went on and recovered from vacation.
If the past two years are any indication, the heat and humidity might hold off a few more weeks; if not, the early start time (7 a.m.) could be my savior.
So of course, my goal is to break 2:00:00. I probably should set alternative goals, especially if the weather isn't looking auspicious for me, but I'll do that later.
Right now, hitting or breaking 2:00:00 looks feasible. It's not a slam-dunk, but I'm cautiously optimistic that the polar vortex and my time off won't be insurmountable obstacles.
I'll have to average a 9:09-per-mile pace to do it. Not a guarantee, yet also barely faster than what I averaged at the Des Moines Half (9:11). So how close am I?
During my first long run, an eight-miler, I was only concerned about getting the miles in without suffering. I ended up actually enjoying the whole run, except the buggy parts, so I achieved my only real goal.
I treated my second long run, a nine-miler, as a more important test, which I passed, with a 9:12 pace.
The splits are all over the board, from an 8:30 (flat path, calm weather) to 9:54 (half-mile-long hill into nearly 20 mph winds), but the majority are as fast or faster than goal pace.
Overall, the run took 1:22:55, leaving 37:04 for the remaining 4.1 miles. Though that's not outside the realm of possibility, I'd like more of a margin -- and, fortunately, I have faith that I can get it.
Race-day adrenaline will likely speed me up and keep me going earlier in the race. It's also safe to say the Dam to Dam route will be flatter and spend less time going west, which seems to be where Iowa winds come from.
So keep your fingers crossed for pleasant weather, and I'll handle the rest.
I'd been interested in doing it in the past, but its transition this year from a 20K to a half marathon sealed the deal. (OK, and so did the reports of how flat the route is.)
The race is May 31, which also lined up quite well with my two-week hiatus in early April as I prepared for, went on and recovered from vacation.
If the past two years are any indication, the heat and humidity might hold off a few more weeks; if not, the early start time (7 a.m.) could be my savior.
So of course, my goal is to break 2:00:00. I probably should set alternative goals, especially if the weather isn't looking auspicious for me, but I'll do that later.
Right now, hitting or breaking 2:00:00 looks feasible. It's not a slam-dunk, but I'm cautiously optimistic that the polar vortex and my time off won't be insurmountable obstacles.
I'll have to average a 9:09-per-mile pace to do it. Not a guarantee, yet also barely faster than what I averaged at the Des Moines Half (9:11). So how close am I?
During my first long run, an eight-miler, I was only concerned about getting the miles in without suffering. I ended up actually enjoying the whole run, except the buggy parts, so I achieved my only real goal.
I treated my second long run, a nine-miler, as a more important test, which I passed, with a 9:12 pace.
The splits are all over the board, from an 8:30 (flat path, calm weather) to 9:54 (half-mile-long hill into nearly 20 mph winds), but the majority are as fast or faster than goal pace.
Overall, the run took 1:22:55, leaving 37:04 for the remaining 4.1 miles. Though that's not outside the realm of possibility, I'd like more of a margin -- and, fortunately, I have faith that I can get it.
Race-day adrenaline will likely speed me up and keep me going earlier in the race. It's also safe to say the Dam to Dam route will be flatter and spend less time going west, which seems to be where Iowa winds come from.
So keep your fingers crossed for pleasant weather, and I'll handle the rest.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Why random nice days during wintertime are great
Recently, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone, with a certain topic for a blog post.
If I wrote about why winter running is great, I could not only put some content up, but I might also end up convincing myself, thus saving me the half-hour it usually takes to psych me up.
But to be perfectly honest, inspiration was a little lacking. It also didn't help that my best recent run came on the warmest recent day.
So instead of appreciating the cold weather on its own merits, I'll have to settle for appreciating how the cold weather makes me appreciate milder temperatures ... as unimpressed as I am with myself for being so cliche here.
Seriously, though, while I wasn't frustrated at how slow last week's runs went, I was a little sad.
I did succumb once to "if I can barely do three miles, what right do I even have to think about thinking about doing a whole marathon?" though fortunately that thought dissipated once I got to the top of whatever hill I was climbing.
It's one thing to tell yourself that you're struggling because it's windy and below freezing; it's a whole lot more convincing when you log 5.25 miles at a 9:25 pace on a day when it's at least 10 degrees warmer.
With my 5K training plan kicking off next week, I needed to see that kind of result when I'm still in base-training mode — proof that there is something to build off. Especially as winter doesn't show any inclination to ease up.
If I wrote about why winter running is great, I could not only put some content up, but I might also end up convincing myself, thus saving me the half-hour it usually takes to psych me up.
But to be perfectly honest, inspiration was a little lacking. It also didn't help that my best recent run came on the warmest recent day.
So instead of appreciating the cold weather on its own merits, I'll have to settle for appreciating how the cold weather makes me appreciate milder temperatures ... as unimpressed as I am with myself for being so cliche here.
Seriously, though, while I wasn't frustrated at how slow last week's runs went, I was a little sad.
I did succumb once to "if I can barely do three miles, what right do I even have to think about thinking about doing a whole marathon?" though fortunately that thought dissipated once I got to the top of whatever hill I was climbing.
It's one thing to tell yourself that you're struggling because it's windy and below freezing; it's a whole lot more convincing when you log 5.25 miles at a 9:25 pace on a day when it's at least 10 degrees warmer.
With my 5K training plan kicking off next week, I needed to see that kind of result when I'm still in base-training mode — proof that there is something to build off. Especially as winter doesn't show any inclination to ease up.
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.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Do I dare believe?
Back when I was still doing long runs for training — seems so long ago, as I lounge on the couch! — I was conversing with a fellow Scoop Chaser about my progress.
I don't remember which run I'd most recently done: the nine-miler at 9:30, the 10-miler at 9:36 or the 11-miler at 9:23. But whatever one it was, it prompted Zach to ask about my race time target.
I gave him the same tired line I've clung to since registering for the race, that is, just keeping it at or under 9:45 so that I'd beat my previous PR. Can't sustain those paces, blah blah blah.
Though I don't recall his exact response, I do remember the gist of it: "Sure you can. You just did."
This conversation came back to me courtesy of a recent Competitor.com post that asked whether your marathon goal pace is too slow.
I expected the same mushy argument that adrenaline will carry you, which turned out to be wrong in my first half marathon; race-day excitement can't overcome peanut-butter-related GI crises.
Instead, I found hard science. If you taper, your muscles will be fully rested, and your glycogen stores will be topped off. And you're likely to be better fueled during the race, because you don't have to be your own water/Gatorade/Gu station.
All of this — not loosey goosey pep talks — prompted me to reconsider my self-deprecation. Zach's right, Competitor is right ... and my hidden ambition is probably right, too.
Back in January, I boldly declared that I wanted to run a half marathon in 2:05:00, which would mean 9:30 miles.
Once training started, I mentally retreated from that for a handful of reasons: I didn't want to jinx myself, even though I didn't really believe I could do it; I didn't want to build myself up for other people; and I didn't want to experience the letdown of falling far short on race day.
Yet all this time, I've been plugging my long run results into the race pace calculator to see what could happen. The answers have nourished dreams of PRing by far more than a handful of seconds.
With two days to go, do I believe? Do I believe that I trained well and rested well; do I believe that I have the right equipment to pace myself and refuel myself; do I believe that I can talk myself through some discomfort and, no matter what race day brings, be proud of the work that I'd done leading up to it?
I believe all of that, without question. Which means that, beyond superstition and a habit of pessimism, there's no reason I shouldn't believe I can finish minutes under my PR.
I don't remember which run I'd most recently done: the nine-miler at 9:30, the 10-miler at 9:36 or the 11-miler at 9:23. But whatever one it was, it prompted Zach to ask about my race time target.
I gave him the same tired line I've clung to since registering for the race, that is, just keeping it at or under 9:45 so that I'd beat my previous PR. Can't sustain those paces, blah blah blah.
Though I don't recall his exact response, I do remember the gist of it: "Sure you can. You just did."
This conversation came back to me courtesy of a recent Competitor.com post that asked whether your marathon goal pace is too slow.
I expected the same mushy argument that adrenaline will carry you, which turned out to be wrong in my first half marathon; race-day excitement can't overcome peanut-butter-related GI crises.
Instead, I found hard science. If you taper, your muscles will be fully rested, and your glycogen stores will be topped off. And you're likely to be better fueled during the race, because you don't have to be your own water/Gatorade/Gu station.
All of this — not loosey goosey pep talks — prompted me to reconsider my self-deprecation. Zach's right, Competitor is right ... and my hidden ambition is probably right, too.
Back in January, I boldly declared that I wanted to run a half marathon in 2:05:00, which would mean 9:30 miles.
Once training started, I mentally retreated from that for a handful of reasons: I didn't want to jinx myself, even though I didn't really believe I could do it; I didn't want to build myself up for other people; and I didn't want to experience the letdown of falling far short on race day.
Yet all this time, I've been plugging my long run results into the race pace calculator to see what could happen. The answers have nourished dreams of PRing by far more than a handful of seconds.
With two days to go, do I believe? Do I believe that I trained well and rested well; do I believe that I have the right equipment to pace myself and refuel myself; do I believe that I can talk myself through some discomfort and, no matter what race day brings, be proud of the work that I'd done leading up to it?
I believe all of that, without question. Which means that, beyond superstition and a habit of pessimism, there's no reason I shouldn't believe I can finish minutes under my PR.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Sorry, Hal: I'm not running 12 miles this weekend
During my half marathon career, I've stuck with Hal Higdon training plans, and I've been mostly pleased with the results.
One question I've had, though has been growing more persistent as I gain more experience, read more about running and talk more to other runners: Why do long runs continue to add distance right up to race day?
Just about everyone else suggests weaning yourself off the long run in the final few weeks. Not Hal.
I've kept faith with Hal, though, for varying reasons: Because at some point, we're all noobs and follow the first voice we hear. Because I wanted confirmation that I could run longer than 10 miles. Because the previous long run had been awful, so I wanted redemption. Because I think of myself as running better while a little tired than super-rested.
This time around, after I'd finished the 11-miler with a little more than two weeks until race day, it was that long runs had gone so well, I wanted another triumph and the satisfaction of a hard day's work — plus practice in actual springlike weather.
It doesn't look like that weather will arrive in time for the days on which I can do the 12-miler, but that's OK: I've changed my mind and won't be doing another double-digit run.
Don't think this is a total rejection of Hal; this is just an agreement to disagree.
Leading up to my first half marathon, I had a bad encounter with two loose dogs that scared me past tapering into becoming a couch potato, and I could definitely feel the rust. Since then, I've been leery of tapering — and I think that's the underlying reason behind my dedication to Hal's persistent long runs.
The pre-5K taper plan seems to have paid off; a PR is irrefutable proof that proper tapers work.
One question I've had, though has been growing more persistent as I gain more experience, read more about running and talk more to other runners: Why do long runs continue to add distance right up to race day?
Just about everyone else suggests weaning yourself off the long run in the final few weeks. Not Hal.
I've kept faith with Hal, though, for varying reasons: Because at some point, we're all noobs and follow the first voice we hear. Because I wanted confirmation that I could run longer than 10 miles. Because the previous long run had been awful, so I wanted redemption. Because I think of myself as running better while a little tired than super-rested.
This time around, after I'd finished the 11-miler with a little more than two weeks until race day, it was that long runs had gone so well, I wanted another triumph and the satisfaction of a hard day's work — plus practice in actual springlike weather.
It doesn't look like that weather will arrive in time for the days on which I can do the 12-miler, but that's OK: I've changed my mind and won't be doing another double-digit run.
Don't think this is a total rejection of Hal; this is just an agreement to disagree.
Leading up to my first half marathon, I had a bad encounter with two loose dogs that scared me past tapering into becoming a couch potato, and I could definitely feel the rust. Since then, I've been leery of tapering — and I think that's the underlying reason behind my dedication to Hal's persistent long runs.
The pre-5K taper plan seems to have paid off; a PR is irrefutable proof that proper tapers work.
And, as it stands right now, all of my previous diligence — a personal best — has paid off tremendously, and I feel both physically and mentally prepared.
So why pile on more miles than necessary? I have no nagging injuries, but there are the occasional aches, pains, stiffness and soreness that could probably be eased or avoided by easing up a bit.
So why pile on more miles than necessary? I have no nagging injuries, but there are the occasional aches, pains, stiffness and soreness that could probably be eased or avoided by easing up a bit.
No hard feelings, Hal. It's just that your novice is growing up, and she knows that it's OK to disregard advice if it doesn't work. (Peanut butter before long runs, I am glaring hatefully at you.) Just don't say "I told you so" if I fall flat on my face April 28.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Figurative meltdown over a possible literal meltdown
One or two long runs left to go, at most, before the Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon.
The 11-miler's mapped out, and there are two days remaining this week on which I can do it. The high both days: 46 degrees at the most, depending on which weather site you consult.
Lower temperatures don't bother me; it's wind, humidity and heat that frustrate me. I'll be fine in this weather.
Moment of calm. Then —
But what about normal April weather? Or abnormal-in-the-opposite-direction April weather?
Weather.com, my bible, says the average high for April 28 in Des Moines is 67 degrees.
Moment of panic. Have I run more than once in that temperature yet this year? Have I run long on a day that reached the 60s yet this year, even? Maybe my nine-miler ... during the final few miles.
The 70-degree-day run had many complicating factors besides the heat, but wow, that was a tough run. My body is not used to sun and warmth.
If I keep my faith in Hal Higdon, I might have one chance to reacquaint myself with late-spring conditions. If I bow to the advice of the rest of the running world — end the long runs already! — I'll have well-rested but ignorant legs.
Breathe in and breathe out. The high doesn't hit until later in the day, and the race starts at 8 a.m.; it can't be worse than last year's half marathon, held on a day that reached 80 degrees.
I might be the only one in Iowa thinking this right now, but if there are weather gods and they're listening, I would really appreciate your keeping temperatures cool until April 29. Or even just after noon April 28.
The 11-miler's mapped out, and there are two days remaining this week on which I can do it. The high both days: 46 degrees at the most, depending on which weather site you consult.
Lower temperatures don't bother me; it's wind, humidity and heat that frustrate me. I'll be fine in this weather.
Moment of calm. Then —
But what about normal April weather? Or abnormal-in-the-opposite-direction April weather?
Weather.com, my bible, says the average high for April 28 in Des Moines is 67 degrees.
Moment of panic. Have I run more than once in that temperature yet this year? Have I run long on a day that reached the 60s yet this year, even? Maybe my nine-miler ... during the final few miles.
The 70-degree-day run had many complicating factors besides the heat, but wow, that was a tough run. My body is not used to sun and warmth.
If I keep my faith in Hal Higdon, I might have one chance to reacquaint myself with late-spring conditions. If I bow to the advice of the rest of the running world — end the long runs already! — I'll have well-rested but ignorant legs.
Breathe in and breathe out. The high doesn't hit until later in the day, and the race starts at 8 a.m.; it can't be worse than last year's half marathon, held on a day that reached 80 degrees.
I might be the only one in Iowa thinking this right now, but if there are weather gods and they're listening, I would really appreciate your keeping temperatures cool until April 29. Or even just after noon April 28.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
A week on easy street
Back in January, when I registered for a 5K and a half marathon, I snuck one week from the 5K training plan into my half marathon schedule.
So in the midst of training for a half marathon, I've suddenly begun tapering for my upcoming 5K. And talk about a contrast.
Two Mondays ago, I ran 10 miles in the snow at a 9:36 pace; this Monday, I ran four — twice as many as I was "supposed to" — at a 10:34 pace and knew 60-degree days were right around the corner.
Two Wednesdays ago, I did nine 400-meter intervals; yesterday, I did a 30-minute tempo run.
Last Friday, I ran five miles in shorts and a T-shirt; when I run either today or tomorrow, I'll still have the shorts and T-shirt (I hope!), but I'll only need to go two miles. That leaves plenty of time for me to bake a cake. (If you work with me on Saturdays, get excited!)
Last Saturday, I dragged myself out of bed a half-hour early so that I could do a test run. This Saturday, I might venture out to soak up some sun ... or I might hit the snooze button.
No wonder I've felt like I had more time on my hands lately.
It's odd to hear about my running friends' third 10-miler in three weeks on the same day that I slept nine hours. Judging from some deep naps and serious tuning out of the alarm clock, though, the lower-mileage week has been much-needed.
And thinking back over the past month, as the long runs have grown longer, it seems like I've been mixing in a few easier weeks (to accommodate out-of-town trips, visitors and lack of perfectly timed 10K and 15K races to enter).
I'm pretty sure that's a training tip I've read online, though all the sleeping I've been doing could be clouding my brains. Just to be safe, I'll pat myself on the back for doing something right, even if it's on accident.
So in the midst of training for a half marathon, I've suddenly begun tapering for my upcoming 5K. And talk about a contrast.
Two Mondays ago, I ran 10 miles in the snow at a 9:36 pace; this Monday, I ran four — twice as many as I was "supposed to" — at a 10:34 pace and knew 60-degree days were right around the corner.
Two Wednesdays ago, I did nine 400-meter intervals; yesterday, I did a 30-minute tempo run.
Last Friday, I ran five miles in shorts and a T-shirt; when I run either today or tomorrow, I'll still have the shorts and T-shirt (I hope!), but I'll only need to go two miles. That leaves plenty of time for me to bake a cake. (If you work with me on Saturdays, get excited!)
Last Saturday, I dragged myself out of bed a half-hour early so that I could do a test run. This Saturday, I might venture out to soak up some sun ... or I might hit the snooze button.
No wonder I've felt like I had more time on my hands lately.
It's odd to hear about my running friends' third 10-miler in three weeks on the same day that I slept nine hours. Judging from some deep naps and serious tuning out of the alarm clock, though, the lower-mileage week has been much-needed.
And thinking back over the past month, as the long runs have grown longer, it seems like I've been mixing in a few easier weeks (to accommodate out-of-town trips, visitors and lack of perfectly timed 10K and 15K races to enter).
I'm pretty sure that's a training tip I've read online, though all the sleeping I've been doing could be clouding my brains. Just to be safe, I'll pat myself on the back for doing something right, even if it's on accident.
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!
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Cleaning is more dangerous than running
When this winter first started — seems so long ago — I had a co-worker look at me in disbelief when I mentioned having run despite the recent snow.
"You ran in the snow? I would be terrified to. I'd be waiting to wipe out."
In his defense, he dislikes running no matter what conditions, and he also works closely with a Texas transplant who's experiencing his very first Midwest winter ... and has several bruises to remember it by.
At the time, I admitted to a scary slip, during which my flailing arms made contact with the side of a garage, but insisted that my worst running spills had taken place in perfectly mild weather conditions.
I maintain that stance, after cleaning my apartment Sunday night and going on a run Monday morning before the rec paths were completely cleared of snow.
The minor injuries I sustained during the cleaning frenzy:
* A bruised instep on my left foot. This came from stepping on the vacuum cleaner's plug in bare feet, and resulted in the most pain I've experienced since introducing my IT band to the foam roller.
Wait, that's not totally true; the IT band stops feeling tender once I'm done rolling, while the instep was tender to the point of not putting all my weight on it for several hours after that.
* A stiff lower back. I'd thought that the cat's litterbox was growing empty enough where it would be easy to just toss all the old stuff and replace it with fresh, clean sand. And maybe I would've been right, if I hadn't poured the entire contents into a half-full garbage bag.
I could barely lift the whole thing out of the garbage can, and I'm not sure what miracle allowed me to raise it high enough to put into the Dumpster. (Yes, I know, "lift with your legs, not your back.") Fortunately, the bag didn't tear at any point, and I woke up with more foot tenderness than back soreness.
In contrast, during the 10 miles I ran, mostly on snowy paved surfaces, I only suffered a few startled lurches when one foot landed off the path and one foot remained on it. (The snow helped the path blend into the grass.)
Maybe once or twice my shoes didn't quite get traction on an icy uphill slog, and I definitely splashed through a shallow puddle once — so shallow, though, that the absorbent part of my shoes were in the clear.
Still, the worst that happened the entire time? My skin is probably windburned. But I put lotion on it after my shower, which I always do, and it felt normal a few hours later.
Which leads me to the conclusion in the title of this post. I won't give up cleaning, because I'm a neat freak, but for those of you who hate vacuuming and taking out the trash, feel free to use my stories as justification for avoiding those chores.
"You ran in the snow? I would be terrified to. I'd be waiting to wipe out."
In his defense, he dislikes running no matter what conditions, and he also works closely with a Texas transplant who's experiencing his very first Midwest winter ... and has several bruises to remember it by.
At the time, I admitted to a scary slip, during which my flailing arms made contact with the side of a garage, but insisted that my worst running spills had taken place in perfectly mild weather conditions.
I maintain that stance, after cleaning my apartment Sunday night and going on a run Monday morning before the rec paths were completely cleared of snow.
The minor injuries I sustained during the cleaning frenzy:
* A bruised instep on my left foot. This came from stepping on the vacuum cleaner's plug in bare feet, and resulted in the most pain I've experienced since introducing my IT band to the foam roller.
Wait, that's not totally true; the IT band stops feeling tender once I'm done rolling, while the instep was tender to the point of not putting all my weight on it for several hours after that.
* A stiff lower back. I'd thought that the cat's litterbox was growing empty enough where it would be easy to just toss all the old stuff and replace it with fresh, clean sand. And maybe I would've been right, if I hadn't poured the entire contents into a half-full garbage bag.
I could barely lift the whole thing out of the garbage can, and I'm not sure what miracle allowed me to raise it high enough to put into the Dumpster. (Yes, I know, "lift with your legs, not your back.") Fortunately, the bag didn't tear at any point, and I woke up with more foot tenderness than back soreness.
In contrast, during the 10 miles I ran, mostly on snowy paved surfaces, I only suffered a few startled lurches when one foot landed off the path and one foot remained on it. (The snow helped the path blend into the grass.)
Maybe once or twice my shoes didn't quite get traction on an icy uphill slog, and I definitely splashed through a shallow puddle once — so shallow, though, that the absorbent part of my shoes were in the clear.
Still, the worst that happened the entire time? My skin is probably windburned. But I put lotion on it after my shower, which I always do, and it felt normal a few hours later.
Which leads me to the conclusion in the title of this post. I won't give up cleaning, because I'm a neat freak, but for those of you who hate vacuuming and taking out the trash, feel free to use my stories as justification for avoiding those chores.
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.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
A better runner than blogger
At times in the past, I have been a better blogger than runner. Right now, that's not true — and not just by virtue of my inconsistent posting.
When I last wrote, I was coming off a good set of intervals that made me feel great (oh hi, runner's high!). Since then, I've also had:
* Two collegial group runs on absolutely gorgeous days.
* One three-miler in which I averaged a sub-9:00 pace.
* One three-miler in which I averaged a 10:39 pace because it had been snowing for about 24 hours straight, including during my run, and because it felt like 14 degrees. I still went out, people.
* One seven-miler done before work, done in subfreezing temperatures and done slightly faster than race pace. With stop-and-breath or stop-and-blow-the-nose breaks.
* A few "meh" runs. It happens.
* But most importantly, one eight-miler where I kept a 9:08 pace and could still walk afterwards.
Yeah, let's talk more about this run, even though I definitely went faster than I wanted to.
I didn't purposely plan a route that babied me through terrain or through weather; there were some inclines (one at the end, no less) and some stretches that went into the wind, and the reverse was also true. Factor in the tempo run two days before and the longer-than-expected shakeout run the day before, and this becomes a legitimately good run.
My splits were reasonably consistent, as was my mental state. I used the count-backward-from-100 trick to get me through mile one's never-ending hill, and shortly after that, I began suspecting I was en route to a strong effort.
Though my early hunches are often right, I didn't want this one to cause me to push too hard, or to send me into deep despair if I hit a wall. So I reminded myself that I'd barely done two miles and not to get too excited.
A little fatigue did sneak in after mile three and continued to flicker on and off for a few miles, but part of that seemed to be navigational stress. (I took a stretch of path I've only biked coming from the opposite direction.) Once I hit a familiar spot, I could feel my legs perking up again.
The only part that was a true struggle was the final half-mile. About a mile before then, I'd felt my energy — mental and physical — start to waver, but knowing the end was in sight kept me going.
It almost doesn't matter how fresh or faded I am, though; the long hill north on 60th from EP True to Ashworth, is going to take my breath away. Suffering is a given; the only question is how much.
This run was close enough to perfect to counter any panic over half marathon distance (it can overwhelm me when I haven't gone long in a while!), but far enough to highlight a few areas for improvement. I'd say I definitely deserved the chicken parmesan I dug into that night.
When I last wrote, I was coming off a good set of intervals that made me feel great (oh hi, runner's high!). Since then, I've also had:
* Two collegial group runs on absolutely gorgeous days.
* One three-miler in which I averaged a sub-9:00 pace.
* One three-miler in which I averaged a 10:39 pace because it had been snowing for about 24 hours straight, including during my run, and because it felt like 14 degrees. I still went out, people.
* One seven-miler done before work, done in subfreezing temperatures and done slightly faster than race pace. With stop-and-breath or stop-and-blow-the-nose breaks.
* A few "meh" runs. It happens.
* But most importantly, one eight-miler where I kept a 9:08 pace and could still walk afterwards.
Yeah, let's talk more about this run, even though I definitely went faster than I wanted to.
I didn't purposely plan a route that babied me through terrain or through weather; there were some inclines (one at the end, no less) and some stretches that went into the wind, and the reverse was also true. Factor in the tempo run two days before and the longer-than-expected shakeout run the day before, and this becomes a legitimately good run.
My splits were reasonably consistent, as was my mental state. I used the count-backward-from-100 trick to get me through mile one's never-ending hill, and shortly after that, I began suspecting I was en route to a strong effort.
Though my early hunches are often right, I didn't want this one to cause me to push too hard, or to send me into deep despair if I hit a wall. So I reminded myself that I'd barely done two miles and not to get too excited.
A little fatigue did sneak in after mile three and continued to flicker on and off for a few miles, but part of that seemed to be navigational stress. (I took a stretch of path I've only biked coming from the opposite direction.) Once I hit a familiar spot, I could feel my legs perking up again.
The only part that was a true struggle was the final half-mile. About a mile before then, I'd felt my energy — mental and physical — start to waver, but knowing the end was in sight kept me going.
It almost doesn't matter how fresh or faded I am, though; the long hill north on 60th from EP True to Ashworth, is going to take my breath away. Suffering is a given; the only question is how much.
This run was close enough to perfect to counter any panic over half marathon distance (it can overwhelm me when I haven't gone long in a while!), but far enough to highlight a few areas for improvement. I'd say I definitely deserved the chicken parmesan I dug into that night.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Runner's World explains it all
On Friday, my Runner's World magazine, as well as chocolate-covered almonds from my bank, arrived in the mail. It was a very exciting day, obviously.
I'm still madly in love with Runner's World and am so glad my sister bought me a subscription for my 23rd birthday ... mostly because of the magazine itself, but also because the subscription arrived just as I was contemplating quitting running.
Anyways, the top three reasons why I'm giddy over this month's issue:
1. The article called "One-Pot Wonder," about warm, easy and nutritious post-run meals. Though I have to admit that I've only actually tried one recipe during three years as a RW subscriber, the magazine seems to usually offer at least a few that this C-student in the kitchen could handle.
2. The photo spread "The Runner's Body (A Celebration)." No, I wasn't leering. I was squealing gleefully upon seeing all those female legs that look like mine — calves that don't fit in knee-high boots and thighs that completely fill walking shorts. Rawr.
3. "Good Question, Great Answer!" I've read many a reference to doing long runs at slower-than-race-pace. I've never encountered an explanation for it. (I'm not a natural runner, so this just seemed counterintuitive — trust that on race day, you'll be able to kick it up a notch despite your body's protests? Insanity!)
But in this Q&A, I found the reason for going slower: Bart Yasso points out that if you don't, then you're essentially racing every weekend, which of course wears you down. It was a lightbulb moment that became a lighthouse moment, as my thoughts swung around to the five half marathons I've trained for and the three that I actually did.
Other factors certainly contributed to my two DNSes and the two I did but suffered through, but this has given me something to chew on for any future halfs as well as my recreational long runs.
I'm still madly in love with Runner's World and am so glad my sister bought me a subscription for my 23rd birthday ... mostly because of the magazine itself, but also because the subscription arrived just as I was contemplating quitting running.
Anyways, the top three reasons why I'm giddy over this month's issue:
1. The article called "One-Pot Wonder," about warm, easy and nutritious post-run meals. Though I have to admit that I've only actually tried one recipe during three years as a RW subscriber, the magazine seems to usually offer at least a few that this C-student in the kitchen could handle.
2. The photo spread "The Runner's Body (A Celebration)." No, I wasn't leering. I was squealing gleefully upon seeing all those female legs that look like mine — calves that don't fit in knee-high boots and thighs that completely fill walking shorts. Rawr.
3. "Good Question, Great Answer!" I've read many a reference to doing long runs at slower-than-race-pace. I've never encountered an explanation for it. (I'm not a natural runner, so this just seemed counterintuitive — trust that on race day, you'll be able to kick it up a notch despite your body's protests? Insanity!)
But in this Q&A, I found the reason for going slower: Bart Yasso points out that if you don't, then you're essentially racing every weekend, which of course wears you down. It was a lightbulb moment that became a lighthouse moment, as my thoughts swung around to the five half marathons I've trained for and the three that I actually did.
Other factors certainly contributed to my two DNSes and the two I did but suffered through, but this has given me something to chew on for any future halfs as well as my recreational long runs.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Warning: Extreme grossness ahead
I'm serious: If you're squeamish about bodies, don't bother reading any longer.
This is either the second- or third-grossest running-related experience I have had. Here goes.
Over the course of last night's run, I occasionally saw clouds of gnats, or wiped one off my face as I flicked away sweat droplets. This is normal-level gross for runners.
I suspected that one or two had probably flown into my mouth. This is also normal-level gross, though I'm sure some runner at some point already has made the crack about midrun fueling or alternative protein sources.
Like many runners, I find that running loosens things up in my sinuses, and it comes out both through the nose and the mouth. So once I returned home, I spat into my bathroom sink ...
... and saw several colors. Red, from the Gatorade I'd gulped upon my return; yellow-brown, from the mucus; and black, from the gnat that had apparently lodged itself in my throat, where it would've remained had I not acted like a 19th-century saloon patron.
If that wasn't gross enough for you, I'm sorry (not really); I just figured that, given how my former co-workers were afraid to hear that a gnat had been sucked up into my vortexlike nostrils while I was on a run, this would freak people out.
Also, any resemblance in the structure of this post to "The Monster at the End of This Book" is purely subconscious. It was a big favorite of preschool-age Sadye.
This is either the second- or third-grossest running-related experience I have had. Here goes.
Over the course of last night's run, I occasionally saw clouds of gnats, or wiped one off my face as I flicked away sweat droplets. This is normal-level gross for runners.
I suspected that one or two had probably flown into my mouth. This is also normal-level gross, though I'm sure some runner at some point already has made the crack about midrun fueling or alternative protein sources.
Like many runners, I find that running loosens things up in my sinuses, and it comes out both through the nose and the mouth. So once I returned home, I spat into my bathroom sink ...
... and saw several colors. Red, from the Gatorade I'd gulped upon my return; yellow-brown, from the mucus; and black, from the gnat that had apparently lodged itself in my throat, where it would've remained had I not acted like a 19th-century saloon patron.
If that wasn't gross enough for you, I'm sorry (not really); I just figured that, given how my former co-workers were afraid to hear that a gnat had been sucked up into my vortexlike nostrils while I was on a run, this would freak people out.
Also, any resemblance in the structure of this post to "The Monster at the End of This Book" is purely subconscious. It was a big favorite of preschool-age Sadye.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
When la dolce vita catches up to you, it's not so sweet
It dawned on me recently, after reading yet another runner's status update/Daily Mile post/tweet, that I hadn't gone on a long run in a while. Nearly a month, in fact.
So yesterday — Sunday's rain enabled me to procrastinate — I set out on an eight-miler, bright and early. I finished in about 1:17, averaging a 9:36 pace. The key word here is average, in two senses.
One, in how those miles ranged from 8:50 to 10:27, depending on the terrain and whether the wind was canceling out the humidity or canceling out my strength.
And two, in how unremarkable the run felt. With the exception of a few highs and lows, I mostly just moved OK.
That was 24 hours ago, and my body is definitely still demanding what the heck I did to it. There's no pain, which I appreciate, and it seems that I was able to cure the insatiable hunger and lower-back stiffness last night ... but the sleepiness and slow-moving, sore legs have stuck around.
The last long run I took, a 7.5-miler in July, didn't seem to affect me quite this much. I doubt the extra half-mile is to blame. Though the routes and weather conditions were different, it's not their fault, either.
What to blame? More like whom to blame. Me.
While it's true I've been running fairly consistently over the past month, I've also been rather self-indulgent recently. Dinner out, with appetizers and/or dessert? Yes, please. A glass of wine and/or cup of ice cream after work? You got it.
Don't worry: My alcohol tolerance hasn't shot up, nor have the buttons on my pants popped; I'm indulging in moderation, but on what's becoming a routine basis.
Fellow young athletes have shared wisdom about treats and training with me in the past.
One, my roller-derby-playing friend Jeniece, cited a blog post comparing bodies to machines — the quality of the fuel, for each, affects performance, i.e., when you're pouring junk in, don't expect stellar results.
The other, Scheels bike group leader Jordan, mentioned that he abstains from alcohol, not because he doesn't like it, but because it cancels out the gains from working out. (He has some ambitious biking goals, which I've forgotten.)
I'm not going to turn into an ascetic — even despite that New York Times blog post that destroyed my "I run for pizza" philosophy — but now that the ice cream and wine are gone from my freezer and fridge, respectively, I don't think I'll restock.
So yesterday — Sunday's rain enabled me to procrastinate — I set out on an eight-miler, bright and early. I finished in about 1:17, averaging a 9:36 pace. The key word here is average, in two senses.
One, in how those miles ranged from 8:50 to 10:27, depending on the terrain and whether the wind was canceling out the humidity or canceling out my strength.
And two, in how unremarkable the run felt. With the exception of a few highs and lows, I mostly just moved OK.
That was 24 hours ago, and my body is definitely still demanding what the heck I did to it. There's no pain, which I appreciate, and it seems that I was able to cure the insatiable hunger and lower-back stiffness last night ... but the sleepiness and slow-moving, sore legs have stuck around.
The last long run I took, a 7.5-miler in July, didn't seem to affect me quite this much. I doubt the extra half-mile is to blame. Though the routes and weather conditions were different, it's not their fault, either.
What to blame? More like whom to blame. Me.
While it's true I've been running fairly consistently over the past month, I've also been rather self-indulgent recently. Dinner out, with appetizers and/or dessert? Yes, please. A glass of wine and/or cup of ice cream after work? You got it.
Don't worry: My alcohol tolerance hasn't shot up, nor have the buttons on my pants popped; I'm indulging in moderation, but on what's becoming a routine basis.
Fellow young athletes have shared wisdom about treats and training with me in the past.
One, my roller-derby-playing friend Jeniece, cited a blog post comparing bodies to machines — the quality of the fuel, for each, affects performance, i.e., when you're pouring junk in, don't expect stellar results.
The other, Scheels bike group leader Jordan, mentioned that he abstains from alcohol, not because he doesn't like it, but because it cancels out the gains from working out. (He has some ambitious biking goals, which I've forgotten.)
I'm not going to turn into an ascetic — even despite that New York Times blog post that destroyed my "I run for pizza" philosophy — but now that the ice cream and wine are gone from my freezer and fridge, respectively, I don't think I'll restock.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
My sixth check-in on the Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge
With the year halfway done, here's how I'm doing on Daily Mile's Rock River 1000 Mile Challenge.
Obviously, I should be at 500 miles ... and I've logged 461, or 39 off pace for the year.
I know objectively that this is a somewhat significant gap, as far as catching up goes, but when I think of how much I avoided summer runs in the past few years, I feel like patting myself on the back, high-fiving myself and buying myself a celebratory drink.
After all, I logged about seven-ish miles for the two weeks after my half marathon, which had put me within three miles of being exactly on track. Those two weeks were spent recovering from the race and moving 300 miles for a new, improved job, so I don't have any reason to berate myself.
That fortnight is responsible for about two-thirds of my shortfall; over the course of the following month, I came up short a few miles a few weeks, and that's it. So I'm well on my way to establishing the habit of running four-plus miles regularly, and I'm working on going past that more often.
Will this get me to 1,000 miles by Dec. 31? Maybe, maybe not — I have to average closer to 21 miles per week for the rest of the year. But it's not outside the realm of possibility, and I'm on track to break 900 if I maintain the status quo. That would still be worth celebrating.
Past monthly check-ins: January through April (at Get Running) and May (at Little Runner, Bigger City).
Obviously, I should be at 500 miles ... and I've logged 461, or 39 off pace for the year.
I know objectively that this is a somewhat significant gap, as far as catching up goes, but when I think of how much I avoided summer runs in the past few years, I feel like patting myself on the back, high-fiving myself and buying myself a celebratory drink.
After all, I logged about seven-ish miles for the two weeks after my half marathon, which had put me within three miles of being exactly on track. Those two weeks were spent recovering from the race and moving 300 miles for a new, improved job, so I don't have any reason to berate myself.
That fortnight is responsible for about two-thirds of my shortfall; over the course of the following month, I came up short a few miles a few weeks, and that's it. So I'm well on my way to establishing the habit of running four-plus miles regularly, and I'm working on going past that more often.
Will this get me to 1,000 miles by Dec. 31? Maybe, maybe not — I have to average closer to 21 miles per week for the rest of the year. But it's not outside the realm of possibility, and I'm on track to break 900 if I maintain the status quo. That would still be worth celebrating.
* * *
Past monthly check-ins: January through April (at Get Running) and May (at Little Runner, Bigger City).
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