Last year I wrote about recovering physically from a marathon. What I didn't touch on is mental recovery.
At some point during a marathon, well, at least most the runners I know, you find yourself questioning your sanity. I signed up for this? I thought this would be fun? I trained five months for this? This hurts!
If the mental game hadn't started during the taper, it surely appears around mile 22. That voice gets louder and clearer, until you stop running. But that's the lure of the marathon. You've trained your body to physically complete the task at hand. The mental side is the tougher part.
After crossing the finish line, I think most of us experience a moment of euphoria. We've accomplished a great task that not many have. As the euphoria fades, your conscience returns. He's saying something like 'Never. Again.'
A few hours after the first marathon, I announced I wanted to do another.
This year, it's taking a bit longer to come to that conclusion. In the two weeks following the race, a head cold was getting the best of me. The runs up until Hot Chocolate on November 3rd were pathetic attempts. I wondered if I should hang up running for awhile. Even at the start line of Hot Chocolate, I wasn't completely sold on doing the race. I had signed up just days before. I knew I needed to run another race to get me out of my slump. The post-marathon slump.
Since Hot Chocolate, I've had some good runs which is motivating me to run through winter. Even still, 38 days after the race, I have not decided if another marathon is in the cards. My brother commented that he wants to run Chicago next year. If he signs up February 1st, I know I'll be right behind him.
But for the time being, the brother scenario is the one exception. I'm just not ready to talk about it. Yet.
My friend Carrie announced her retirement shortly after completing the Berlin Marathon this year. Though I have since heard that she would consider coming out of retirement for the right race.
And the cycle continues.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Hot Chocolate 15K; "Don't people know they can buy chocolate at the store?"
Ah, the Hot Chocolate 15K. You're good in theory.
You fall on the perfect weekend. If you were a week earlier, I may still have the marathon too fresh in my mind to consider you. I like that you're a 15K. I like that you're on a Saturday.
Your inaugural year was supreme. A smaller field of runners along the lakefront path. No pressure, just an easy long run after having a few weeks off from dedicated long runs. Best of all, there were boxes and boxes of Hershey's chocolate handed out at the end. So much chocolate in fact, that Kim A. and I had our hats and shirts filled to the brim. It was like trick-or-treating for adults and we loved it.
As the years have gone by, you've grown. This year, I heard an announcement of over 40,000 runners. That's a larger field than that of the Chicago Marathon. That's crazy. For the first time, you were held on "all city streets" which was much appreciated by anyone who ran you last year and hadn't anticipated trail running. But even at that, it was way too crowded to be of much joy.
Your expo is held in Union Station which may be great for suburbanites, but not for most city dwellers. You've picked up Ghirardelli as a sponsor, but they aren't as generous as Hershey's. Or maybe it's that you're too big now for any chocolatier to accommodate. Instead of being showered with more candy than you can eat at the finish, you're handed three squares of chocolate, then told to walk a mile to the post race party which happens to be a mud field. After trucking through the mud, we received a ballpark nacho tray including one marshmallow, one pretzel stick, the smallest rice krispie treat known to man and three apple slices. We then received about three tablespoons of melted chocolate to dip everything in. We walk around a big set up in the middle of the mud field where each person hands out one piece of chocolate each. If were were trick-or-treaters at your house, we'd come back and egg it (ok, maybe not, I'd never do that...) After a ten minute walk, I come back with four pieces. Complete waste of time.
Don't get me wrong, the chocolate is delicious. But after running 9.3 miles, I want to take in a lot of chocolate. I've been thinking for the last 90 minutes how I plan on stuffing my face with everything that comes in chocolate, because, after all, this is the Hot Chocolate Run. I even showed the Roosevelt Street bridge who's boss as I ran up it, just thinking about delicious chocolate. Oh, and how much easier it is to run up that bridge after running 8.5 vs. 25.5.
Some of the runners in our group were wise and decided not to trek to the post race party. Instead, they headed to brunch at Anne Sather's. Now, Anne doesn't disappoint. She advertises cinnamon rolls and you get big cinnamon rolls. Brian was there with a few people when Kim and I arrived. We discussed the race. We all had great times, even some P.R.'s.
As the subject of the stingy chocolate distribution came up, Brian posed a question, "Don't people know they can buy chocolate at the store?" In one sentence, he'd wrapped up the entire conversation, and quite possibly, the last chapter in my Hot Chocolate run career.
You fall on the perfect weekend. If you were a week earlier, I may still have the marathon too fresh in my mind to consider you. I like that you're a 15K. I like that you're on a Saturday.
Your inaugural year was supreme. A smaller field of runners along the lakefront path. No pressure, just an easy long run after having a few weeks off from dedicated long runs. Best of all, there were boxes and boxes of Hershey's chocolate handed out at the end. So much chocolate in fact, that Kim A. and I had our hats and shirts filled to the brim. It was like trick-or-treating for adults and we loved it.
As the years have gone by, you've grown. This year, I heard an announcement of over 40,000 runners. That's a larger field than that of the Chicago Marathon. That's crazy. For the first time, you were held on "all city streets" which was much appreciated by anyone who ran you last year and hadn't anticipated trail running. But even at that, it was way too crowded to be of much joy.
Your expo is held in Union Station which may be great for suburbanites, but not for most city dwellers. You've picked up Ghirardelli as a sponsor, but they aren't as generous as Hershey's. Or maybe it's that you're too big now for any chocolatier to accommodate. Instead of being showered with more candy than you can eat at the finish, you're handed three squares of chocolate, then told to walk a mile to the post race party which happens to be a mud field. After trucking through the mud, we received a ballpark nacho tray including one marshmallow, one pretzel stick, the smallest rice krispie treat known to man and three apple slices. We then received about three tablespoons of melted chocolate to dip everything in. We walk around a big set up in the middle of the mud field where each person hands out one piece of chocolate each. If were were trick-or-treaters at your house, we'd come back and egg it (ok, maybe not, I'd never do that...) After a ten minute walk, I come back with four pieces. Complete waste of time.
Don't get me wrong, the chocolate is delicious. But after running 9.3 miles, I want to take in a lot of chocolate. I've been thinking for the last 90 minutes how I plan on stuffing my face with everything that comes in chocolate, because, after all, this is the Hot Chocolate Run. I even showed the Roosevelt Street bridge who's boss as I ran up it, just thinking about delicious chocolate. Oh, and how much easier it is to run up that bridge after running 8.5 vs. 25.5.
Some of the runners in our group were wise and decided not to trek to the post race party. Instead, they headed to brunch at Anne Sather's. Now, Anne doesn't disappoint. She advertises cinnamon rolls and you get big cinnamon rolls. Brian was there with a few people when Kim and I arrived. We discussed the race. We all had great times, even some P.R.'s.
As the subject of the stingy chocolate distribution came up, Brian posed a question, "Don't people know they can buy chocolate at the store?" In one sentence, he'd wrapped up the entire conversation, and quite possibly, the last chapter in my Hot Chocolate run career.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Walkers vs. Runners
Let me start by saying I think any form of exercise is great exercise. Luckily there's many to choose from to fit each person's likes and needs. I think walking is great exercise.
I enjoy the ten minute walk each morning and evening from work to the bus or train stop. Or taking a long walk and taking care of a few errands.
When I trained for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day (60 miles), I counted every where I walked, not just training walks. I thought I didn't need to walk as far as the schedule said since I'd run a few 5K's. Truthfully, the main reason I didn't train completely for the 3-Day: walking gets boring. Followed closely by reason number two I didn't train completely: I liked to sleep in and stay out late. As I side note, I was not monitoring nutrition or the amount of sleep I was getting. When I did train, it started whenever I felt like it. I walked until I got bored and then I went home.
That was me. I was not smart then. That's not every walker.
Distance walking seems to get short changed on training compared to, let's say, half marathon training.
This is where walkers and runners are so different.
When I started training for my first half marathon, I did a lot of research. I consulted known running greats like Hal Higdon and Jeff Galloway. I read up on nutrition, stretching, cross training, recovery and form.
I printed out the chosen training schedule and had it taped in my office at work and at home on the fridge. That way, I could never forget how long I needed to run that day. I went to bed early every Friday night so I could complete a long run early Saturday morning. I started each mid-week run from my condo after work. I logged every mile in a running journal. I played out my iPod.
That's when I started make running part of my life.
For the last five years, I've thought nothing of giving half of all my Saturdays to running - Up and running by no later than 8am each day, going anywhere from 5 to 20 miles. But in order to keep a routine like this up, you're forced to become a little O.C.D.
My running friends are all* the same way. They have their routines. Their routes. Their plans. Their special shirt or socks. Their pre-race meal. Their power song. I know Sara has to have Apart Pizza for breakfast the morning before a long run. I know Kim always wants to start a run running into the wind.
When my friend(s) say 'Let's meet at 5am on Saturday to get 16 in before it gets too warm," I agree, even though this is an hour and a half before our training group usually runs. Whether it's two people running that morning or six, we all arrive on time and ready to go. We have a plan. We execute it. Then we eat. There's no questions or gray area. We're all the same that way.
Every once and awhile, one of us does a walk for charity. Inevitably, we come back with stories of how other walkers aren't taking training seriously. They aren't punctual. They lack focus. As this conversation plays out, I'm reminded of my training walks.
We're just different that way. Maybe the walkers are smarter?
(* except for Brian)
I enjoy the ten minute walk each morning and evening from work to the bus or train stop. Or taking a long walk and taking care of a few errands.
When I trained for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day (60 miles), I counted every where I walked, not just training walks. I thought I didn't need to walk as far as the schedule said since I'd run a few 5K's. Truthfully, the main reason I didn't train completely for the 3-Day: walking gets boring. Followed closely by reason number two I didn't train completely: I liked to sleep in and stay out late. As I side note, I was not monitoring nutrition or the amount of sleep I was getting. When I did train, it started whenever I felt like it. I walked until I got bored and then I went home.
That was me. I was not smart then. That's not every walker.
Distance walking seems to get short changed on training compared to, let's say, half marathon training.
This is where walkers and runners are so different.
When I started training for my first half marathon, I did a lot of research. I consulted known running greats like Hal Higdon and Jeff Galloway. I read up on nutrition, stretching, cross training, recovery and form.
I printed out the chosen training schedule and had it taped in my office at work and at home on the fridge. That way, I could never forget how long I needed to run that day. I went to bed early every Friday night so I could complete a long run early Saturday morning. I started each mid-week run from my condo after work. I logged every mile in a running journal. I played out my iPod.
That's when I started make running part of my life.
For the last five years, I've thought nothing of giving half of all my Saturdays to running - Up and running by no later than 8am each day, going anywhere from 5 to 20 miles. But in order to keep a routine like this up, you're forced to become a little O.C.D.
My running friends are all* the same way. They have their routines. Their routes. Their plans. Their special shirt or socks. Their pre-race meal. Their power song. I know Sara has to have Apart Pizza for breakfast the morning before a long run. I know Kim always wants to start a run running into the wind.
When my friend(s) say 'Let's meet at 5am on Saturday to get 16 in before it gets too warm," I agree, even though this is an hour and a half before our training group usually runs. Whether it's two people running that morning or six, we all arrive on time and ready to go. We have a plan. We execute it. Then we eat. There's no questions or gray area. We're all the same that way.
Every once and awhile, one of us does a walk for charity. Inevitably, we come back with stories of how other walkers aren't taking training seriously. They aren't punctual. They lack focus. As this conversation plays out, I'm reminded of my training walks.
We're just different that way. Maybe the walkers are smarter?
(* except for Brian)
Chicago Marathon 2011
Brian and I cross the start line with positive thoughts. I've been saying 'We're going to kill it' for the last few days, so how could we not?
The Chicago Marathon is such a spectacle. It's easy to forget you're running - At least in the beginning. As a runner, you find yourself looking to the sides of the road or overhead to take in the sights and spectators. In those first few miles as you travel through the packed downtown streets, you marvel in what a cool experience a marathon is. Why wouldn't everyone want to do this?
Unfortunately, the miles of feeling amazing are short lived in the long 26.2 journey. Brian and I ran a solid 10 for the first 7 or 8 miles. As we headed up north on Sheridan to Addison, I started feeling ill. I tried to assess if it was the head cold or something else. I needed to give myself some time to work through it and see if I felt better. We saw Kim and then my Mom, Tricia and Dave around the ballpark.
As I passed my Mom, I wondered if I should tell her I wasn't feeling well. If I was to slow down or go to the medical tent, how would she know?
The ill-feeling became worse. I started to wonder if I would know when I needed to stop. As long as I could keep running, did I feel well enough? Or does your body not tell you when you need to stop? Is that how people pass out while running a marathon?
Then I thought through the process of quitting. If I kept feeling worse, I'd have to stop. So, how does that work? Do I walk to the side, ask the spectators to make way, remove my bib and start walking on the sidewalk? Where would I walk to? I have no phone, no money, no keys, no form of identification; nothing. All I have is five packets of Gu Roctane, my fuel belt, and the clothes on my back. All my stuff is at gear check which far away from Lakeview. Should I walk up to a spectator and ask to use their phone to call my Mom? How embarrassing would that be?
So instead, Brian and I kept going. I didn't tell Brian about any of this until much later in the race when we both felt like complete hell.
Around mile 10, we saw my friend Carrie. I was excited to see her. She told me I looked great. I realized the sick feeling had passed.
We headed back downtown in a blur, then out west. Way west. Have you ever been in bad traffic heading west on Fullerton or Belmont where it takes you forever to get to Ashland? Imagine running to Damen. At that point in the marathon, it seems like the mental end of the world. You can look a block south to see you're just going to have to turn around and run all the way back.
On our way back east, the sun was relentless. It was getting warm. We were heading in to Little Italy now at mile 17. We had stopped briefly to stretch as things were starting to ache.
Here's where I start thinking about my reeler. That's Kim. Instead of thinking about how far I have to go to finish (which you can't process doing anyway), I think of how far until I get to Archer just west of Chinatown. That's where Kim waits for me to arrive, then 'reels' me in, like a fish on line to the finish line.
But before we reach Kim, we have to tackle Pilsen. Pilsen is quite arguably the party area of the Marathon. By far the best music on the course and there's usually some spectators handing out beer. I kept an eye out for my Dad, but never did see him. I had found his camouflaged hunting hat twice last year in Pilsen. Brian did find his friends, which I was happy to see. By the time we reached Pilsen, we had seen my Mom, Tricia and Dave four or five times. They are amazing.
Rounding the corner at 18th and Halsted, we see the temperature reading on a bank sign of 89. Better than 90 something, but far warmer than we'd been hoping for.
As Brian and I headed south on Halsted approaching the south branch of the river, we saw a familiar face. Kim had arrived at her usual spot early and decided to walk further up the course and help us over the Halsted bridge. We were so happy to see her. We forgot about our aches and pains as Kim gave us the race highlights she'd watched on T.V.
Chinatown was a madhouse, but Tricia managed to find us in the crowd. She'd made the best signs!
Now we headed south on Wentworth. For me, this is where I'm transported in to a time warp, or as most people call it, the Wall. There's less than 5 miles to go, yet it mind as well be 10. Your body asks why you're doing this. Regardless, you just have to keep moving forward, however fast that may be.
At 33rd we cross the Dan Ryan. Logistically, this is good. We are heading east and we're very close to turning north. Once we turn north on to Michigan, my very fuzzy brain starts doing math. 35th street minus 12th street equals 23 blocks. I can do 23 blocks. This process continues on until the Roosevelt street sign is in view.
At mile 24, we see Ken, Sara and Kim S. They jump up and down when they see me, which makes me smile. Smiling doesn't hurt, but just about everything else does.
Kim helps me push forward up until 13th and Michigan when we run in to John. John's working for the marathon today instead of running. His job is to weed out anyone who's on the course and doesn't have a bib. He looks at Kim, and Kim points that she'll exit the course on the left. Now I have to prepare to climb the Roosevelt bridge alone.
I can only imagine what I must look like 'running' up this hill. I am sure it's a train wreck. But I'm running, or, I think I am. So many people are walking up the hill. We have a quarter of a mile to go. I see Jen near the top of the hill. She's also working for the marathon today and cheers wildly when she sees me. As I push up the hill, I see a runner with a prosthetic leg. He wears a shirt that has the Wounded Warrior Project logo on it. I'm inspired by this man.
We turn the corner to see the finish line right ahead of us. I run in at 4:54:09 and hold up four fingers.
The Chicago Marathon is such a spectacle. It's easy to forget you're running - At least in the beginning. As a runner, you find yourself looking to the sides of the road or overhead to take in the sights and spectators. In those first few miles as you travel through the packed downtown streets, you marvel in what a cool experience a marathon is. Why wouldn't everyone want to do this?
Unfortunately, the miles of feeling amazing are short lived in the long 26.2 journey. Brian and I ran a solid 10 for the first 7 or 8 miles. As we headed up north on Sheridan to Addison, I started feeling ill. I tried to assess if it was the head cold or something else. I needed to give myself some time to work through it and see if I felt better. We saw Kim and then my Mom, Tricia and Dave around the ballpark.
As I passed my Mom, I wondered if I should tell her I wasn't feeling well. If I was to slow down or go to the medical tent, how would she know?
The ill-feeling became worse. I started to wonder if I would know when I needed to stop. As long as I could keep running, did I feel well enough? Or does your body not tell you when you need to stop? Is that how people pass out while running a marathon?
Then I thought through the process of quitting. If I kept feeling worse, I'd have to stop. So, how does that work? Do I walk to the side, ask the spectators to make way, remove my bib and start walking on the sidewalk? Where would I walk to? I have no phone, no money, no keys, no form of identification; nothing. All I have is five packets of Gu Roctane, my fuel belt, and the clothes on my back. All my stuff is at gear check which far away from Lakeview. Should I walk up to a spectator and ask to use their phone to call my Mom? How embarrassing would that be?
So instead, Brian and I kept going. I didn't tell Brian about any of this until much later in the race when we both felt like complete hell.
Around mile 10, we saw my friend Carrie. I was excited to see her. She told me I looked great. I realized the sick feeling had passed.
We headed back downtown in a blur, then out west. Way west. Have you ever been in bad traffic heading west on Fullerton or Belmont where it takes you forever to get to Ashland? Imagine running to Damen. At that point in the marathon, it seems like the mental end of the world. You can look a block south to see you're just going to have to turn around and run all the way back.
On our way back east, the sun was relentless. It was getting warm. We were heading in to Little Italy now at mile 17. We had stopped briefly to stretch as things were starting to ache.
Here's where I start thinking about my reeler. That's Kim. Instead of thinking about how far I have to go to finish (which you can't process doing anyway), I think of how far until I get to Archer just west of Chinatown. That's where Kim waits for me to arrive, then 'reels' me in, like a fish on line to the finish line.
But before we reach Kim, we have to tackle Pilsen. Pilsen is quite arguably the party area of the Marathon. By far the best music on the course and there's usually some spectators handing out beer. I kept an eye out for my Dad, but never did see him. I had found his camouflaged hunting hat twice last year in Pilsen. Brian did find his friends, which I was happy to see. By the time we reached Pilsen, we had seen my Mom, Tricia and Dave four or five times. They are amazing.
Rounding the corner at 18th and Halsted, we see the temperature reading on a bank sign of 89. Better than 90 something, but far warmer than we'd been hoping for.
As Brian and I headed south on Halsted approaching the south branch of the river, we saw a familiar face. Kim had arrived at her usual spot early and decided to walk further up the course and help us over the Halsted bridge. We were so happy to see her. We forgot about our aches and pains as Kim gave us the race highlights she'd watched on T.V.
Chinatown was a madhouse, but Tricia managed to find us in the crowd. She'd made the best signs!
Now we headed south on Wentworth. For me, this is where I'm transported in to a time warp, or as most people call it, the Wall. There's less than 5 miles to go, yet it mind as well be 10. Your body asks why you're doing this. Regardless, you just have to keep moving forward, however fast that may be.
At 33rd we cross the Dan Ryan. Logistically, this is good. We are heading east and we're very close to turning north. Once we turn north on to Michigan, my very fuzzy brain starts doing math. 35th street minus 12th street equals 23 blocks. I can do 23 blocks. This process continues on until the Roosevelt street sign is in view.
At mile 24, we see Ken, Sara and Kim S. They jump up and down when they see me, which makes me smile. Smiling doesn't hurt, but just about everything else does.
Kim helps me push forward up until 13th and Michigan when we run in to John. John's working for the marathon today instead of running. His job is to weed out anyone who's on the course and doesn't have a bib. He looks at Kim, and Kim points that she'll exit the course on the left. Now I have to prepare to climb the Roosevelt bridge alone.
I can only imagine what I must look like 'running' up this hill. I am sure it's a train wreck. But I'm running, or, I think I am. So many people are walking up the hill. We have a quarter of a mile to go. I see Jen near the top of the hill. She's also working for the marathon today and cheers wildly when she sees me. As I push up the hill, I see a runner with a prosthetic leg. He wears a shirt that has the Wounded Warrior Project logo on it. I'm inspired by this man.
We turn the corner to see the finish line right ahead of us. I run in at 4:54:09 and hold up four fingers.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Head Cold vs. Chicago Marathon
I've fallen off blogging for awhile. Hopefully this entry can explain (at least partially) what happened.
Saturday, the day before the marathon and following the Salute luncheon, we headed home. The goal was to stay off my feet as much as possible the rest of the day.
As afternoon turned into evening, I noticed something new. I had a sore throat.
I could panic or I could try ignoring it.
Ignoring it would use less energy. I downed Airborne and hoped for the best.
I packed up my gear check bag, double checked my list, and prepped for bed.
By morning I had a runny nose as well. I grabbed advil, dayquil and kleenex, then headed to the L.
During my train ride, I looked up the effects of medications and marathon running. As with any internet medical question, in the end, I thought taking any cold medicine may lead to death.
When I arrived at Michigan & Congress to meet Brian at 6am, I had taken nothing. Brian could tell I was stuffed up, and over the next hour convinced me that Dayquil would probably not kill me, and, well, if I felt bad, I could always go to medical.
Easy to say. Harder to do.
We checked our bags, visited the port-a-potties, then headed to the corral.
We'd discussed a strategy over the last few days. We were going to start at a 10 minute mile pace and see where we went from there. Now standing in the corral with the sniffles, I hoped I could hold up my end of the deal.
In a few minutes, I was about to start my 4th marathon. I was nervous. It seems that all marathoners are that way - you just never know what's going to happen between the start and finish lines. That unknown can make you crazy or keep you coming back for more.
About 11 minutes after the gun went off, Brian and I reached the start line.
Saturday, the day before the marathon and following the Salute luncheon, we headed home. The goal was to stay off my feet as much as possible the rest of the day.
As afternoon turned into evening, I noticed something new. I had a sore throat.
I could panic or I could try ignoring it.
Ignoring it would use less energy. I downed Airborne and hoped for the best.
I packed up my gear check bag, double checked my list, and prepped for bed.
By morning I had a runny nose as well. I grabbed advil, dayquil and kleenex, then headed to the L.
During my train ride, I looked up the effects of medications and marathon running. As with any internet medical question, in the end, I thought taking any cold medicine may lead to death.
When I arrived at Michigan & Congress to meet Brian at 6am, I had taken nothing. Brian could tell I was stuffed up, and over the next hour convinced me that Dayquil would probably not kill me, and, well, if I felt bad, I could always go to medical.
Easy to say. Harder to do.
We checked our bags, visited the port-a-potties, then headed to the corral.
We'd discussed a strategy over the last few days. We were going to start at a 10 minute mile pace and see where we went from there. Now standing in the corral with the sniffles, I hoped I could hold up my end of the deal.
In a few minutes, I was about to start my 4th marathon. I was nervous. It seems that all marathoners are that way - you just never know what's going to happen between the start and finish lines. That unknown can make you crazy or keep you coming back for more.
About 11 minutes after the gun went off, Brian and I reached the start line.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Marathon Weekend
The Marathon may just be on Sunday, but it really encompasses an entire weekend.
Have you ever been to the Chicago Marathon Expo?
You don't have to be a runner to think it's awesome. And believe me, it's awesome.
Most people I know go on Friday. I guess it's because they're locals and they can. Or because it's less crowded. Or more likely it's because the anticipation is killing them.
Imagine the movie 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' when Charlie walks in to Willy Wonka's factory. I think that's the look on just about any marathoner's face entering the expo. It's sensory overload, in a good way.
I could easily spend half a day visiting the lay of the land. The new gadgets, destination races, celebrity appearances, nutrition samples... But coach Kim reminds me that I need to get off my feet, so we enter the expo on a mission.
Two and a half hours later, we exit with my bib and race packet, a few gus, and two shirts. A new expo speed record.
Friday night's also traditionally a large pasta dinner night. This year I had mine at home since most of my dinner friends were still traveling Europe after their Berlin Marathon. I went to the ethnic market a few days before and got everything we needed to make dinner.
Saturday I sleep in. Like, past 7:30. I haven't done this in about 6 months. Weird.
In the early afternoon, Dave and I head down to my charity's luncheon at the Hyatt McCormick Place. The luncheon was much smaller than last year. Salute said they had a smaller team this year, but were able to raise more money. Great news for a great cause. One guy raised over $9,000! Amazing.
Late afternoon we head back home and talk to my Mom about her arrival. My mom is my biggest supporter. She's come to just about any race she could in these last few years. She could write a book as to how to follow a runner through the Chicago Marathon. As part of the marathon ritual, she comes to the City the night before the race and spends the night.
As Saturday progresses, I notice I'm getting a sore throat. Family, friends and co-workers all around me have been sick, but I'd hoped I could fend it off...at least until after the race. I take tablet after tablet of Airborne and hope for the best. There wasn't much else I could do.
I laid down around 9:30. I knew there was no chance I'd fall asleep at that time. The night before the marathon is the only night of the year I don't sleep like a rock. I tossed and turned for awhile, but eventually fell asleep, crossing my fingers the sore throat was nothing to worry about.
Have you ever been to the Chicago Marathon Expo?
You don't have to be a runner to think it's awesome. And believe me, it's awesome.
Most people I know go on Friday. I guess it's because they're locals and they can. Or because it's less crowded. Or more likely it's because the anticipation is killing them.
Imagine the movie 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' when Charlie walks in to Willy Wonka's factory. I think that's the look on just about any marathoner's face entering the expo. It's sensory overload, in a good way.
I could easily spend half a day visiting the lay of the land. The new gadgets, destination races, celebrity appearances, nutrition samples... But coach Kim reminds me that I need to get off my feet, so we enter the expo on a mission.
Two and a half hours later, we exit with my bib and race packet, a few gus, and two shirts. A new expo speed record.
Friday night's also traditionally a large pasta dinner night. This year I had mine at home since most of my dinner friends were still traveling Europe after their Berlin Marathon. I went to the ethnic market a few days before and got everything we needed to make dinner.
Saturday I sleep in. Like, past 7:30. I haven't done this in about 6 months. Weird.
In the early afternoon, Dave and I head down to my charity's luncheon at the Hyatt McCormick Place. The luncheon was much smaller than last year. Salute said they had a smaller team this year, but were able to raise more money. Great news for a great cause. One guy raised over $9,000! Amazing.
Late afternoon we head back home and talk to my Mom about her arrival. My mom is my biggest supporter. She's come to just about any race she could in these last few years. She could write a book as to how to follow a runner through the Chicago Marathon. As part of the marathon ritual, she comes to the City the night before the race and spends the night.
As Saturday progresses, I notice I'm getting a sore throat. Family, friends and co-workers all around me have been sick, but I'd hoped I could fend it off...at least until after the race. I take tablet after tablet of Airborne and hope for the best. There wasn't much else I could do.
I laid down around 9:30. I knew there was no chance I'd fall asleep at that time. The night before the marathon is the only night of the year I don't sleep like a rock. I tossed and turned for awhile, but eventually fell asleep, crossing my fingers the sore throat was nothing to worry about.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Mission: Go to Ethnic Market. Buy Gatorade.
It's four days before the Marathon.
My achilles is on the mend, but my mind's driving me crazy.
Hello taper madness.
I get home from work and I decide a nice walk to the ethnic market in my neighborhood will do me some good. It's about a mile from my place and has fresh, reasonably priced produce. Actually the market has a lot more than that, but most of the dry goods are in languages I can't read (though I know enough Spanish to know it's not in Spanish), so don't tend to go down the aisles.
I have a long list of veggies we need for a recipe. The recipe calls for veggies, chicken and lots of pasta. Perfect for a Friday dinner before the marathon.
I walk around the market with my basket and get red peppers, broccoli, cucumbers, carrots and romaine lettuce. I'm even able to find the market's homemade salsa which is marked in English for the dumb patrons like me.
I start to walk over to the check out line when I remember one last thing on my grocery list: Gatorade. I wanted to make sure I made a better effort to drink more Gatorade in the few days leading up to the race.
Does the ethnic market carry Gatorade? I saw Coke and Pepsi on the way in, so there's hope. I walk down the narrow aisles, the ones I usually avoid, until I come upon a rather large selection of Gatorade. I wasn't anticipating having so many choices, so it takes me awhile to decide what flavors of Gatorade I want. Meanwhile, people who can read the language on the packages other than Gatorade stroll past me with their carts.
Eventually I pony up to the register with 4 - 32 oz bottles of Gatorade and a bunch of produce. What a strange combination the check out girl must have thought.
I pay her all in singles, which likely got her off the thought of produce and Gatorade.
My achilles is on the mend, but my mind's driving me crazy.
Hello taper madness.
I get home from work and I decide a nice walk to the ethnic market in my neighborhood will do me some good. It's about a mile from my place and has fresh, reasonably priced produce. Actually the market has a lot more than that, but most of the dry goods are in languages I can't read (though I know enough Spanish to know it's not in Spanish), so don't tend to go down the aisles.
I have a long list of veggies we need for a recipe. The recipe calls for veggies, chicken and lots of pasta. Perfect for a Friday dinner before the marathon.
I walk around the market with my basket and get red peppers, broccoli, cucumbers, carrots and romaine lettuce. I'm even able to find the market's homemade salsa which is marked in English for the dumb patrons like me.
I start to walk over to the check out line when I remember one last thing on my grocery list: Gatorade. I wanted to make sure I made a better effort to drink more Gatorade in the few days leading up to the race.
Does the ethnic market carry Gatorade? I saw Coke and Pepsi on the way in, so there's hope. I walk down the narrow aisles, the ones I usually avoid, until I come upon a rather large selection of Gatorade. I wasn't anticipating having so many choices, so it takes me awhile to decide what flavors of Gatorade I want. Meanwhile, people who can read the language on the packages other than Gatorade stroll past me with their carts.
Eventually I pony up to the register with 4 - 32 oz bottles of Gatorade and a bunch of produce. What a strange combination the check out girl must have thought.
I pay her all in singles, which likely got her off the thought of produce and Gatorade.
Massage & Physical Therapy
Crossing the finish line of the twenty miler was good and bad.
I was pleased with being able to stick with the 10:30 pace throughout the run.
My achilles, on the other hand, was hurting.
Sh-t! How do I manage to do this to myself each year?
I headed over to the NovaCare tent where a PT took a good look it. There was a long line of people, all with similar aches from training. She said she was happy to hear I'd been experiencing it for only a week and thought some deep tissue massages and PT would put me in good shape for race day. I appreciated her positive attitude as I was trying to stay positive myself.
Flashbacks of last year's doctor's visit just a few weeks before race day appeared in my mind as I called the doctor on Monday. If I went to the doctor's office, I was certain to hear, one way or the other, that I should give up running. Or I may have to visit an orthopedic, have an MRI, maybe an X-Ray, all before going to PT. So I took a different approach when calling the doctors office. Instead of calling and saying I had a running-related injury and wanted to see the doctor, I just asked if I could go straight to PT. The nurse wasn't sure if this was possible, but said she would check.
Ok, that went better than I thought. Now on to the next thing that will help straighten out the achilles - massage.
Who doesn't love a massage? I found a massage therapist (a former distance runner no less) who lives two blocks away and tends to run long on his sessions. Really? Yeah, really awesome.
We worked out a game plan for working on the achilles over the next week. After I left the massage therapist's house on Monday night, I already felt better.
Wednesday came and I still hadn't heard back from the doctor's office. I call the doctor's office in the morning and the answering service tells me they are not in the office yet. I call later on and I told they are at lunch...twice. Then I call again in the evening to find out they close early that day. I then call their suburban location and get a hold of another nurse who was able to tell me the doctor approved my request for PT and she'll send it over.
Thursday morning I have the script from the doctor and call PT. Their schedule is booked for the rest of the week, so I'll have to come in Tuesday. Now I start to worry. I'm basically losing a week here. I won't be doing a 12 mile long run in this condition. Then I remind myself what Kim A. has told me all too many times - as long as you have a 20 miler under your belt, the runs during the taper don't matter.
Thursday night I go back to the massage therapist where he's able to loosen up my calf muscle and I continue to stretch it out. I do a two mile light run that evening and it tender, but not painful.
Saturday I go out on a run on my own. I'm fearful I can't or shouldn't push a 12 mile run on a bumb wheel, so I go out on my own to see what I can do. I end up run/walking about six miles. I am frustrated, but I try not to let those thoughts linger. It's still bothering me, but it's bothering me less. That's good.
Tuesday I get in to the PT and she works her magic. Thursday I return. More magic.
The following Saturday I go out to run a great 8 miler, my last long run before the marathon.
I continue to stretch and go to PT, but I feel much better.
I'm good to go.
I was pleased with being able to stick with the 10:30 pace throughout the run.
My achilles, on the other hand, was hurting.
Sh-t! How do I manage to do this to myself each year?
I headed over to the NovaCare tent where a PT took a good look it. There was a long line of people, all with similar aches from training. She said she was happy to hear I'd been experiencing it for only a week and thought some deep tissue massages and PT would put me in good shape for race day. I appreciated her positive attitude as I was trying to stay positive myself.
Flashbacks of last year's doctor's visit just a few weeks before race day appeared in my mind as I called the doctor on Monday. If I went to the doctor's office, I was certain to hear, one way or the other, that I should give up running. Or I may have to visit an orthopedic, have an MRI, maybe an X-Ray, all before going to PT. So I took a different approach when calling the doctors office. Instead of calling and saying I had a running-related injury and wanted to see the doctor, I just asked if I could go straight to PT. The nurse wasn't sure if this was possible, but said she would check.
Ok, that went better than I thought. Now on to the next thing that will help straighten out the achilles - massage.
Who doesn't love a massage? I found a massage therapist (a former distance runner no less) who lives two blocks away and tends to run long on his sessions. Really? Yeah, really awesome.
We worked out a game plan for working on the achilles over the next week. After I left the massage therapist's house on Monday night, I already felt better.
Wednesday came and I still hadn't heard back from the doctor's office. I call the doctor's office in the morning and the answering service tells me they are not in the office yet. I call later on and I told they are at lunch...twice. Then I call again in the evening to find out they close early that day. I then call their suburban location and get a hold of another nurse who was able to tell me the doctor approved my request for PT and she'll send it over.
Thursday morning I have the script from the doctor and call PT. Their schedule is booked for the rest of the week, so I'll have to come in Tuesday. Now I start to worry. I'm basically losing a week here. I won't be doing a 12 mile long run in this condition. Then I remind myself what Kim A. has told me all too many times - as long as you have a 20 miler under your belt, the runs during the taper don't matter.
Thursday night I go back to the massage therapist where he's able to loosen up my calf muscle and I continue to stretch it out. I do a two mile light run that evening and it tender, but not painful.
Saturday I go out on a run on my own. I'm fearful I can't or shouldn't push a 12 mile run on a bumb wheel, so I go out on my own to see what I can do. I end up run/walking about six miles. I am frustrated, but I try not to let those thoughts linger. It's still bothering me, but it's bothering me less. That's good.
Tuesday I get in to the PT and she works her magic. Thursday I return. More magic.
The following Saturday I go out to run a great 8 miler, my last long run before the marathon.
I continue to stretch and go to PT, but I feel much better.
I'm good to go.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
20 miler #2
Alright. I've had one great 20 miler with Carrie. Now I'm going to do the official 20 miler - the Newton Ready to Run.
Each year we do the Ready to Run in the third weekend of September. This year, with my close friends resting up for Berlin, I was going to tackle it alone. Well, not alone really. Instead of three hours of constant conversation about anything under the sun but running, I'd have short dialogs with some of my fellow 10:30's in my wave. The rest of the time I'd try doing a long run with my iPod.
The twenty miler course started at Wilson and headed north to around Bryn Mawr. We then headed south, like, so far south we ran out of lakefront path.
At the start, samples of Gatorade prime was handed out. I used it to wash down a few gu chomps, then it was our wave's turn to start.
I approached the twenty miler different this year. The weather was cool and overcast. I decided to announce a goal finish time of 3:30 to a few friends. I wanted to see if making a decision to state a finish time would help me mentally stick to a consistent pace.
The 20 miler is a journey, literally and figuratively. It's certainly a long distance to run, even for the best in shape. But I think the mental part is really the toughest. I find it's easier to keep my legs moving forward than it is to often deal with whatever is going on in my head. Whether I have made the mistake of counting backwards from 20 or if I realize I've underestimated where I am on the route.
Year and after year, the 20 miler has been a warm race. This year, the course weather condition flags stayed green meaning 'ideal running conditions.' Not something you see often mid-September in Chicago. There was on and off light rain, but from the sounds of chatter around me, most appreciated the cooling effect as opposed to heat.
As mile one turned in to five and ten, my pace stayed on target, but my achilles was not happy. It continued to grow tigher and my calf muscle throbbed along with it. In the last few miles of the run, my left IT band had begun bothering me as well.
Once again, the group I finished with was happy to see the South Shore Cultural Center where the finish line was. Immediately after crossing the finish line, I headed over to the the NovaCare tent. I had finished in 3:33.
It's been a week - time to have someone take a look at the achilles.
Each year we do the Ready to Run in the third weekend of September. This year, with my close friends resting up for Berlin, I was going to tackle it alone. Well, not alone really. Instead of three hours of constant conversation about anything under the sun but running, I'd have short dialogs with some of my fellow 10:30's in my wave. The rest of the time I'd try doing a long run with my iPod.
The twenty miler course started at Wilson and headed north to around Bryn Mawr. We then headed south, like, so far south we ran out of lakefront path.
At the start, samples of Gatorade prime was handed out. I used it to wash down a few gu chomps, then it was our wave's turn to start.
I approached the twenty miler different this year. The weather was cool and overcast. I decided to announce a goal finish time of 3:30 to a few friends. I wanted to see if making a decision to state a finish time would help me mentally stick to a consistent pace.
The 20 miler is a journey, literally and figuratively. It's certainly a long distance to run, even for the best in shape. But I think the mental part is really the toughest. I find it's easier to keep my legs moving forward than it is to often deal with whatever is going on in my head. Whether I have made the mistake of counting backwards from 20 or if I realize I've underestimated where I am on the route.
Year and after year, the 20 miler has been a warm race. This year, the course weather condition flags stayed green meaning 'ideal running conditions.' Not something you see often mid-September in Chicago. There was on and off light rain, but from the sounds of chatter around me, most appreciated the cooling effect as opposed to heat.
As mile one turned in to five and ten, my pace stayed on target, but my achilles was not happy. It continued to grow tigher and my calf muscle throbbed along with it. In the last few miles of the run, my left IT band had begun bothering me as well.
Once again, the group I finished with was happy to see the South Shore Cultural Center where the finish line was. Immediately after crossing the finish line, I headed over to the the NovaCare tent. I had finished in 3:33.
It's been a week - time to have someone take a look at the achilles.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Hello, Achilles
Yay! I crossed the finish line of fort2base.
I ran a fast race. I was happy.
My left Achilles tendon on the other hand, was pretty pissed off. I had determined it was my achilles by doing what any one does when they have something wrong medically - ask the internet. The trick with asking the internet is to not ask just one source. One source may tell you not to run (and truthfully, who can follow that advice?). Too many sources will lead you to believe your injury could cause death. Two or three sources may be just right.
I'm pretty sure it happened somewhere up the climb of that large hill that I refused to walk up. Maybe the other runners had it right.
Injuries, to a certain extent, are second nature in distance running. It's not a question of 'if' but 'when.'
Post fort2base I decided to take a few days off, eat some pizza and drink some beers. Oh, and visit the foam roller. Who thought I could do a 9:35 for 11.5 miles anyway?
Around lunch time on Tuesday I was getting restless. My lower left leg was tight and my achilles was puffy. From what I had read, you can run with an achilles injury, just as long as it's not severe. How was I going to find out if it was severe? Go out on a run. So I did just that. Sort of.
I ran for about a mile and a half, then walked. Then it got tighter. I stretched it out and tried running again. But I couldn't loosen it up. After some short, slow runs and more walking, I called it a day.
For the next few days, I would RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate) to get me to Sunday, CARA's Ready to Run 20 Miler.
I ran a fast race. I was happy.
My left Achilles tendon on the other hand, was pretty pissed off. I had determined it was my achilles by doing what any one does when they have something wrong medically - ask the internet. The trick with asking the internet is to not ask just one source. One source may tell you not to run (and truthfully, who can follow that advice?). Too many sources will lead you to believe your injury could cause death. Two or three sources may be just right.
I'm pretty sure it happened somewhere up the climb of that large hill that I refused to walk up. Maybe the other runners had it right.
Injuries, to a certain extent, are second nature in distance running. It's not a question of 'if' but 'when.'
Post fort2base I decided to take a few days off, eat some pizza and drink some beers. Oh, and visit the foam roller. Who thought I could do a 9:35 for 11.5 miles anyway?
Around lunch time on Tuesday I was getting restless. My lower left leg was tight and my achilles was puffy. From what I had read, you can run with an achilles injury, just as long as it's not severe. How was I going to find out if it was severe? Go out on a run. So I did just that. Sort of.
I ran for about a mile and a half, then walked. Then it got tighter. I stretched it out and tried running again. But I couldn't loosen it up. After some short, slow runs and more walking, I called it a day.
For the next few days, I would RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate) to get me to Sunday, CARA's Ready to Run 20 Miler.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Will [Fort2Base]
Early in the spring, I came across a booth at the Shamrock Shuffle Expo for a Fort2Base run. As a save the date, they passed out a door tag which has been on my office door since. As the summer months have gone by, I've kept the race in mind.
Race Day:
We rose shortly after 3:30am, picked up Jeff and Sara by 4:30, and were then on our way to Great Lakes. We cruised to our destination until the last few miles, when we reached a traffic jam. A combination of traffic lights, two lane roads, and a military checkpoint had slowed matters.
When we parked, it was still dark as night. We followed dim street lights and verbal directions to find packet pick up, a lucky porta potty on the way, and then to the bus.
Jeff would run the 5k which was held on the base. The 11.5 mile run was a point to point, and Sara and I were on our way to Ft. Sheridan.
We arrived to a small field of runners. Many had shirt memorializing the day or supporting Salute Inc. Many members of this group were in the military. A short speech followed by the National Anthem occurred right before the start.
Then the gun went off. Sara planned on running a fast race. I however, was not so sure. I had thought of running the race safe at my training pace of 10:30. Then I'd thought of just going out to see what happened.
The cool morning allowed for a great start. As I looked down at my watch, I realized I hadn't calibrated it as I had planned to during the week. Now while running I couldn't remember - was it reading miles as too short or too long. At mile 2 I decided just to look at time. I had done two miles in less than 19 minutes. If I kept this up, I thought, I may be looking for a bus ride back to base.
At the 5K I checked my watch again; 27:30. Wow. I've never run a 27:30 5K. How am I going to finish this race? Around the four mile mark, I was reintroduced to Curt. Curt is a charity runner with Team Salute as well. He had said hello and good morning to me on the bus. We were wearing matching shirts for the charity.
Curt and I got to talking about a lot of things - The day, our height, where we lived, what we did, the traffic jam, the military, my brother. And as we continued to talk, the miles kept going by.
Mile 5 was equal to my best Shamrock Shuffle time a few years ago.
The 10K mark time beat my best 10K by a few minutes.
So then Curt and I worked in to the conversation what we had been avoiding - our speed. Curt said I was running much faster than he was prepared to run that day, but he wasn't showing any signs of backing down. I admitted I normally ran 10:30's. He checked his watch from time to time reminding me we were killing 10:30's. Thanks so much Curt!
We reached mile 8 and I still felt great. We were getting ready to head on to the base. I had thought of a strategy of how I would gradually slow down as to not burn out and have to walk at the end. I would still have an amazing race if I did this. But as we approached the base and I saw young men in uniform, I couldn't help but feeling an overwhelming sense of Gratitude and Will.
I shelved my strategy and instead said:
I can keep going for 3.5 more miles. I can do this because I have trained to be able to, but more importantly, I will do this because my brother has spent years away from his home, his country, his friends and his family. He has done this because he felt it was important. I am ever so grateful. Ten years ago he was 18 and in basic training. Ten years ago we had no idea what was about to happen. In ten years, he has been to Korea, Afghanistan Iraq and back. He has done so willingly in service to his country. So I will keep going.
Curt and I traveled through the streets of Great Lakes. Then we headed down a steep hill. So steep that we had to shorten our strides and slow ourselves down from going too fast. When we reached the bottom, we knew eventually we would go back up. But for a mile or so, the course smiled at us, letting us believe for a moment that maybe there wouldn't be an uphill.
Then around mile 10. It appeared. It wasn't a Nasvhille rolling hill. It was a straight up, man-I-wish-it-was-snowing-and-I-had-a-sled-hill. At the bottom of the hill were Navy members. They cheered us on and yelled at us to conquer the hill.
Everyone in front of us was walking. Curt said he would walk up the hill. I looked at him and said it was ok, I would meet him at the top. I knew it would be hard, but I had decided some time ago that I was going to run this race as hard as I started it. I had to. And so, for as far as I could see in front of me, along side me, or a quick glance behind me, I ran alone, up the hill.
The last aide station had military members handing out water. They saw me running over the top of the hill and were cheering hysterically for me. My vision became cloudy with tears. All I am doing is running. Why are they cheering for me? Then I turned the last corner where I saw Jeff and Sara, and then, the finish line.
One hour, fifty-one minutes later.
Thanks Dan.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Post 20-Mile Explanation
Last Saturday, I had a great 20 mile run with the CARA 10:30's, but more importantly, with Carrie. We decided at the North Avenue water stop to leave the group behind and continue on with a two man show. Finishing out this way allowed for no lines at any drinking fountains we felt the need to visit, plenty of trees to use as support to stretch, and a two-on-one assault on Cricket Hill.
I've had a my far share of sub-par runs this training season. Saturday rebuilt our spirits that we will have great race days. Carrie's now tapering for Berlin, while I'm preparing for 20 mile run #2 on September 18.
Running 20 miles is a process. Once you finish running, there's stretching, icing, driving home - the list goes on. I had plans to meet up with Brian and Kim later in the day. Both understand the processes of training for a marathon.
Here was what I told them I needed to do -
North Coast Music Festival starts at noon, however, there is no way I will be there at noon. I have 20 to run Saturday morning. We doing 2 miles before the 6:30am group and then 18 with the group. My very bad math estimates that it will take us 3.5 hours to do 18, and thus, ending at 10am.
I will then hobble to the lake where I'll ice down my legs that already hate me. From there, I will proceed to my brand new car, with it's amazing new car smell, and enter it covered in sweat, salt and lake smell. I will then drive said car through a McDonald's drive thru where I will purchase one large fountain Coke using a credit card (since I don't run with cash).
I will then proceed home, now regaining consciousness, feeling empowered that I got my ass out of bed and accomplished 20 miles before noon. As I park at my place and attempt to get out of my car, I will realize that I'm already getting stiff. Walking up one flight of stairs to my place will be challenging, but the most important thing is to no spill the cherished McDonald's fountain Coke.
I will enter my place where Dave will kindly ask how my run went. I will give him a really long explanation, during which, he will come over in my general vicinity and smell me. A rather disgusted look will appear on his face and he will tell me to go shower.
After the shower, I will eat three huge pieces of Captain Crunch french toast, covered in butter and syrup, because, well, Captain Crunch + french toast is not enough sugar or fat for me already. A food coma will soon follow. I will then enter my bedroom and crash for approximately two hours.
Sad thing is, I was right on all accounts with the exception of the length of my nap. 90 minutes was all I could handle - I was too excited to head to North Coast.
I've had a my far share of sub-par runs this training season. Saturday rebuilt our spirits that we will have great race days. Carrie's now tapering for Berlin, while I'm preparing for 20 mile run #2 on September 18.
Running 20 miles is a process. Once you finish running, there's stretching, icing, driving home - the list goes on. I had plans to meet up with Brian and Kim later in the day. Both understand the processes of training for a marathon.
Here was what I told them I needed to do -
North Coast Music Festival starts at noon, however, there is no way I will be there at noon. I have 20 to run Saturday morning. We doing 2 miles before the 6:30am group and then 18 with the group. My very bad math estimates that it will take us 3.5 hours to do 18, and thus, ending at 10am.
I will then hobble to the lake where I'll ice down my legs that already hate me. From there, I will proceed to my brand new car, with it's amazing new car smell, and enter it covered in sweat, salt and lake smell. I will then drive said car through a McDonald's drive thru where I will purchase one large fountain Coke using a credit card (since I don't run with cash).
I will then proceed home, now regaining consciousness, feeling empowered that I got my ass out of bed and accomplished 20 miles before noon. As I park at my place and attempt to get out of my car, I will realize that I'm already getting stiff. Walking up one flight of stairs to my place will be challenging, but the most important thing is to no spill the cherished McDonald's fountain Coke.
I will enter my place where Dave will kindly ask how my run went. I will give him a really long explanation, during which, he will come over in my general vicinity and smell me. A rather disgusted look will appear on his face and he will tell me to go shower.
After the shower, I will eat three huge pieces of Captain Crunch french toast, covered in butter and syrup, because, well, Captain Crunch + french toast is not enough sugar or fat for me already. A food coma will soon follow. I will then enter my bedroom and crash for approximately two hours.
Sad thing is, I was right on all accounts with the exception of the length of my nap. 90 minutes was all I could handle - I was too excited to head to North Coast.
A Nashville Tale [Brian's Story]
Brian had a pretty incredible experience in Nashville, though I'm not speaking of the race. Here's a true tale of a runner's attempt to reach the starting line of a destination race.
"The story of my first experience doing a destination race starts with fading sunlight in the city of lost children.
No, wait, that's not where it starts. The events leading up to that are every bit as important for the reader, to provide the proper context. It is April in Chicago. I'm planning to leave for Florida for a week to visit my grandpa and play some golf ... and then head to Nashville to meet up with my friends for the Country Music Half Marathon.
My last training run before the half was 8 miles. Well, it was supposed to be 10, but since I hadn't run anything longer than 10k in months ... the training run, at 95 degrees on a humid Florida morning, didn't go smoothly. This was further complicated by something my Chicago Lakeshore trail training didn't prepare me for - how the properly share the trail with Alligators.
So back to the city of lost children. I try desperately to never book flights out of Orlando. Millions of children of all ages, all backgrounds, nationalities, cultures and customs ... all with one thing in common. They are all crying because they don't want to leave Disney World. So my exit from the city of lost children is filled with their cries and their howls (which I drown out with my iPhone and headphones). And my journey has yet to begin.
Because I made the brilliant decision not to stay downtown in the $500/night Holiday Inn Express with my group (Important note: All of them are women) the night before the race, because I ... um ... the morning of a race. You know, there are things. One needs to do. So after a lovely dinner with the group, I headed off to check in at my hotel - you know, the one that's not conveniently located.
Backing up a moment, when I picked up my rental car (note: a VERY nice Ford Escape - I was really, really impressed with the vehicle) they offered me a GPS for $20 a day. Now, I have an iPhone - what do I need a GPS for?
Does everyone remember that part where I was drowning out the cries of the children by playing music? Anyone with an iPhone knows what's about to happen.
THe address for the hotel on my reservation actually doesn't exist. I'm staying at a very nice, classy Days Inn near what appears to be the airport.
Actually, that's the address that doesn't exist. After a quick call using SYNC (yes, it works) (iPhone Battery 6%), the guy at the hotel gives me a different address, which doesn't appear to be as close to the airport. But upon arriving, I realize it is actually closer to things ... hm, how to say this ... nearer to say, night workers.
As I pull up to the hotel - the impossibly steep driveway that reaches the hotel perched high on a hill overlooking what could only be described as a sketchy diner - complete with thuggy late-teen, early 20s folks in loitering in the parking lot. But that's not really what I noticed first. No, its the crime scene tape blocking two of the rooms on the second floor. That's what really draws my eyes.
Upon entering, there are several people in the lobby ahead of me. At this point, I'm concerned about the wellbeing of my rental. The guys behind the counter - two guys of Indian descent - both have their shirts unbuttoned further than is appropriate, and both are wearing gold chains. I've actually walked into a SNL sketch. For the first 5 minutes, literally nothing is said. The two are on the phone, apparently on hold, no one in the lobby is talking ... its just weird. Oh, and the people in the lobby - the "couple" in front of me - a guy who clearly came to Nashville to be a rock star - Jack White meets Kid Rock - and his ... um, escort - a charming couple. He - despite not actually actively smoking, he was producing a full cloud of an entire bar of cigarettes ... from his faded and cracked leather jacket and ironic t-shirt. (Her dress, on the other hand was certainly far too small to retain any such odors).
When its finally my turn ... the guy explains to me that ... my room isn't available - indicating the upstairs where the crime scene tape is. Now, I should point out, that I pre-paid for this room ($45) though American Express - its not just a reservation, its a pre-pay. But, he can't offer me my money back ... instead, he'll book me at the sister property ... just down the road.
Now, I can't argue with going anywhere that's not this place. I'm in. Nothing could be worse. But, I tell him I need extended checkout. I need to have the room until 3pm. (I'm thinking I didn't want to leave my luggage in the back of the rental while we run the race). He agrees for $15 I can have extended checkout. I give him the cash, and he gives me, in return, a business card with the words "checkout at 3pm OK" scribbled on it (Note: Easy way to save $15).
Now I'm off to the next property. Americas Best Value Inn. It is NOT just down the road, its another 10 miles away. And its 11pm. iPhone battery = dead. Race meeting time 5am.
Ok, I show up, and I'm in another movie, but this one is far creepier. There's no one in the parking lot, and it ALMOST looks passable as a hotel. Of course the guy at the desk (also a wild and crazy guy, but this one of eastern european descent) tries to haggle with me about the checkout, and about the room in general ... calls the other hotel ... begrudgingly gives me my key. And then I walk into the room.
Holy mother of god, I wasn't prepared for this. The first thing that draws your eye, after the horrifying polyester bedspread and the broken lighting fixture is the bloodstain on the floor. It also had a few drips ... like whomever was bleeding was trying to either get to the place they bled the most, or trying to get away from it. Whichever, the efforts to remove the stain were weak.
Then I noticed the fact that the toilet wouldn't stop running (and the water squeaked) and when I went to go over and have a look, that's when i found the toilet seat was not attached to the toilet. Hmmph. Oh, oh oh... and they have haphazardly screwed plywood over the area under the sink. (Later, I learned this is a precaution to prevent their clientele from removing the pipes to sell as scrap - typically in exchange for crystal meth.)
There are no bedbugs. its late. I'm tired, and I need to get to sleep.
When I wake up (at 430), and realize my luggage is FAR safer in the back of my rental than it is in this room, I carry everything to the car. I walk by the office, and the guy behind the desk (wild, crazy guy #3) now has his shirt off standing at the desk and is either dancing or copulating with an unseen party ... or just being extra special creepy. As I'm loading my luggage into the car ... a woman - EYES WIDE OPEN, very few teeth - walks by and says "OH! I'm surprised to see someone! I thought i was the only crazy one up this early!" ... and wanders off.
Lesson learned. Sharing a room with 3 girls is TOTALLY ok. "
"The story of my first experience doing a destination race starts with fading sunlight in the city of lost children.
No, wait, that's not where it starts. The events leading up to that are every bit as important for the reader, to provide the proper context. It is April in Chicago. I'm planning to leave for Florida for a week to visit my grandpa and play some golf ... and then head to Nashville to meet up with my friends for the Country Music Half Marathon.
My last training run before the half was 8 miles. Well, it was supposed to be 10, but since I hadn't run anything longer than 10k in months ... the training run, at 95 degrees on a humid Florida morning, didn't go smoothly. This was further complicated by something my Chicago Lakeshore trail training didn't prepare me for - how the properly share the trail with Alligators.
So back to the city of lost children. I try desperately to never book flights out of Orlando. Millions of children of all ages, all backgrounds, nationalities, cultures and customs ... all with one thing in common. They are all crying because they don't want to leave Disney World. So my exit from the city of lost children is filled with their cries and their howls (which I drown out with my iPhone and headphones). And my journey has yet to begin.
Because I made the brilliant decision not to stay downtown in the $500/night Holiday Inn Express with my group (Important note: All of them are women) the night before the race, because I ... um ... the morning of a race. You know, there are things. One needs to do. So after a lovely dinner with the group, I headed off to check in at my hotel - you know, the one that's not conveniently located.
Backing up a moment, when I picked up my rental car (note: a VERY nice Ford Escape - I was really, really impressed with the vehicle) they offered me a GPS for $20 a day. Now, I have an iPhone - what do I need a GPS for?
Does everyone remember that part where I was drowning out the cries of the children by playing music? Anyone with an iPhone knows what's about to happen.
THe address for the hotel on my reservation actually doesn't exist. I'm staying at a very nice, classy Days Inn near what appears to be the airport.
Actually, that's the address that doesn't exist. After a quick call using SYNC (yes, it works) (iPhone Battery 6%), the guy at the hotel gives me a different address, which doesn't appear to be as close to the airport. But upon arriving, I realize it is actually closer to things ... hm, how to say this ... nearer to say, night workers.
As I pull up to the hotel - the impossibly steep driveway that reaches the hotel perched high on a hill overlooking what could only be described as a sketchy diner - complete with thuggy late-teen, early 20s folks in loitering in the parking lot. But that's not really what I noticed first. No, its the crime scene tape blocking two of the rooms on the second floor. That's what really draws my eyes.
Upon entering, there are several people in the lobby ahead of me. At this point, I'm concerned about the wellbeing of my rental. The guys behind the counter - two guys of Indian descent - both have their shirts unbuttoned further than is appropriate, and both are wearing gold chains. I've actually walked into a SNL sketch. For the first 5 minutes, literally nothing is said. The two are on the phone, apparently on hold, no one in the lobby is talking ... its just weird. Oh, and the people in the lobby - the "couple" in front of me - a guy who clearly came to Nashville to be a rock star - Jack White meets Kid Rock - and his ... um, escort - a charming couple. He - despite not actually actively smoking, he was producing a full cloud of an entire bar of cigarettes ... from his faded and cracked leather jacket and ironic t-shirt. (Her dress, on the other hand was certainly far too small to retain any such odors).
When its finally my turn ... the guy explains to me that ... my room isn't available - indicating the upstairs where the crime scene tape is. Now, I should point out, that I pre-paid for this room ($45) though American Express - its not just a reservation, its a pre-pay. But, he can't offer me my money back ... instead, he'll book me at the sister property ... just down the road.
Now, I can't argue with going anywhere that's not this place. I'm in. Nothing could be worse. But, I tell him I need extended checkout. I need to have the room until 3pm. (I'm thinking I didn't want to leave my luggage in the back of the rental while we run the race). He agrees for $15 I can have extended checkout. I give him the cash, and he gives me, in return, a business card with the words "checkout at 3pm OK" scribbled on it (Note: Easy way to save $15).
Now I'm off to the next property. Americas Best Value Inn. It is NOT just down the road, its another 10 miles away. And its 11pm. iPhone battery = dead. Race meeting time 5am.
Ok, I show up, and I'm in another movie, but this one is far creepier. There's no one in the parking lot, and it ALMOST looks passable as a hotel. Of course the guy at the desk (also a wild and crazy guy, but this one of eastern european descent) tries to haggle with me about the checkout, and about the room in general ... calls the other hotel ... begrudgingly gives me my key. And then I walk into the room.
Holy mother of god, I wasn't prepared for this. The first thing that draws your eye, after the horrifying polyester bedspread and the broken lighting fixture is the bloodstain on the floor. It also had a few drips ... like whomever was bleeding was trying to either get to the place they bled the most, or trying to get away from it. Whichever, the efforts to remove the stain were weak.
Then I noticed the fact that the toilet wouldn't stop running (and the water squeaked) and when I went to go over and have a look, that's when i found the toilet seat was not attached to the toilet. Hmmph. Oh, oh oh... and they have haphazardly screwed plywood over the area under the sink. (Later, I learned this is a precaution to prevent their clientele from removing the pipes to sell as scrap - typically in exchange for crystal meth.)
There are no bedbugs. its late. I'm tired, and I need to get to sleep.
When I wake up (at 430), and realize my luggage is FAR safer in the back of my rental than it is in this room, I carry everything to the car. I walk by the office, and the guy behind the desk (wild, crazy guy #3) now has his shirt off standing at the desk and is either dancing or copulating with an unseen party ... or just being extra special creepy. As I'm loading my luggage into the car ... a woman - EYES WIDE OPEN, very few teeth - walks by and says "OH! I'm surprised to see someone! I thought i was the only crazy one up this early!" ... and wanders off.
Lesson learned. Sharing a room with 3 girls is TOTALLY ok. "
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Shorter Days, Longer Runs
I've been noticing something's different lately when I walk out early in the mornings - It's dark.
The days are getting shorter, but my runs are getting longer.
It's harder to get out of bed at 5, so often I'm waiting until 5:30. Even 5:30 was pushing it this week.
In order to run 8 miles before I head home, get ready for work, and then commute in, I have to get up pretty damn early. Or start picking up my pace.
Which leads me to think I may need to transition out of the morning runner in to the evening or lunchtime runner again here soon.
Which reminds me that in 6 weeks, it's race day.
[Anxiety starting to build]
Friday, August 19, 2011
Now Training Gets Serious.
Week 11 of 18.
No more staying up late, drinking beer and eating light.
Training now gets serious.
I need lots of water and tons of sleep.
More food and bring it often.
The foam roller and fuel belt are my best friends.
I'm tired of my running playlist from overuse.
I'm going for calorie consumption, with some limits.
The Wednesday mid-week run this week is the same distance of our Saturday long run the first week: 8 miles.
Saturday's long run is 18. It is the 3rd longest run I'll do before race day.
Scary to think training's already at that point.
No more staying up late, drinking beer and eating light.
Training now gets serious.
I need lots of water and tons of sleep.
More food and bring it often.
The foam roller and fuel belt are my best friends.
I'm tired of my running playlist from overuse.
I'm going for calorie consumption, with some limits.
The Wednesday mid-week run this week is the same distance of our Saturday long run the first week: 8 miles.
Saturday's long run is 18. It is the 3rd longest run I'll do before race day.
Scary to think training's already at that point.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Monday, August 01, 2011
Darth Vader does Yoga
In the spring, I discovered a yoga studio with the help of GroupOn.
It's a few blocks away from my place, which is quite nice. There are classes that start shortly after I usually get home from work. You can pre-register online to save your spot in the class which is ingenious.
After trying out a few classes, I found a vinyassa flow class with an instructor I liked quite well.
I was enjoying getting back in to a routine of yoga practice - finding my inner self and all that good stuff - until he appeared.
On the outside, he appeared to be your average man in his early thirties. He sat next to me in the seated position as we relaxed and waited for practice to start.
The instructor welcomed us to practice and then asked us to start lengthening our breath. That's when I noticed something wasn't right. Instead of the sound of even tempered, rather quiet breathing, I heard heavy, labored breathing. Like that of Darth Vader.
Certainly DV couldn't continue like that for an entire class. Maybe he was warming up?
Nope.
I tried my very best to block him out and enjoy the practice.
Exactly a week later, the same thing happened. I should have memorized what he looked like the first time, then I could have avoided this!
A week later, I try setting myself up at the far end of the room from him to no avail. DV can fill the entire room with his breath.
So I've stayed away for awhile - partially because marathon training has picked up but mostly because I can't enjoy a yoga practive with DV.
I plan on going back to yoga tomorrow. We'll see if the dark side still rules practice.
It's a few blocks away from my place, which is quite nice. There are classes that start shortly after I usually get home from work. You can pre-register online to save your spot in the class which is ingenious.
After trying out a few classes, I found a vinyassa flow class with an instructor I liked quite well.
I was enjoying getting back in to a routine of yoga practice - finding my inner self and all that good stuff - until he appeared.
On the outside, he appeared to be your average man in his early thirties. He sat next to me in the seated position as we relaxed and waited for practice to start.
The instructor welcomed us to practice and then asked us to start lengthening our breath. That's when I noticed something wasn't right. Instead of the sound of even tempered, rather quiet breathing, I heard heavy, labored breathing. Like that of Darth Vader.
Certainly DV couldn't continue like that for an entire class. Maybe he was warming up?
Nope.
I tried my very best to block him out and enjoy the practice.
Exactly a week later, the same thing happened. I should have memorized what he looked like the first time, then I could have avoided this!
A week later, I try setting myself up at the far end of the room from him to no avail. DV can fill the entire room with his breath.
So I've stayed away for awhile - partially because marathon training has picked up but mostly because I can't enjoy a yoga practive with DV.
I plan on going back to yoga tomorrow. We'll see if the dark side still rules practice.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
SARA Training
CARA (Chicago Area Runners Association) is the non-for-profit group I've been training with for the last four years.
Sara is someone I met in 2008 while training for the first marathon.
SARA Training is when one takes three years of CARA training and does their own thing. Not because they don't love CARA, but because, for one reason or another, it's easier to take a different approach.
For example, to avoid 90 degree heat, SARA training will start at 5am (or 6am, pending trenchal downpour)whereas CARA is stuck with their schedule. SARA training can start anywhere, but chooses to start at Sara's house.
CARA's program has announcements and large groups of people divided by pace group. SARA training gets down to business. A pair runs together, picks up a third on the path at Foster, and what remains of our CARA group around North avenue.
Instead of post-run gatorade, there's iced coffee.
Brunch is just as important to a post-run routine as stretching, and the SARA program takes it quite seriously. There's pre-run logistic emails that start on Tuesday. Brunch is a hot topic - where we will go, what time we will get there, if there will be a line, and, most importantly what we will eat. Nothing is off limits. During the run, brunch plans adapt for the late start due to weather. Post-run, we speed up stretching and showering, forego sleeping. And head to brunch.
I order eggs benedict AND a bacon cinnamon roll.
Sara is someone I met in 2008 while training for the first marathon.
SARA Training is when one takes three years of CARA training and does their own thing. Not because they don't love CARA, but because, for one reason or another, it's easier to take a different approach.
For example, to avoid 90 degree heat, SARA training will start at 5am (or 6am, pending trenchal downpour)whereas CARA is stuck with their schedule. SARA training can start anywhere, but chooses to start at Sara's house.
CARA's program has announcements and large groups of people divided by pace group. SARA training gets down to business. A pair runs together, picks up a third on the path at Foster, and what remains of our CARA group around North avenue.
Instead of post-run gatorade, there's iced coffee.
Brunch is just as important to a post-run routine as stretching, and the SARA program takes it quite seriously. There's pre-run logistic emails that start on Tuesday. Brunch is a hot topic - where we will go, what time we will get there, if there will be a line, and, most importantly what we will eat. Nothing is off limits. During the run, brunch plans adapt for the late start due to weather. Post-run, we speed up stretching and showering, forego sleeping. And head to brunch.
I order eggs benedict AND a bacon cinnamon roll.
Friday, July 22, 2011
What's crazier than running at 6:30 am on a Saturday?
Running at 6am.
Nah, let's make it 5am.
It's been in the upper 90's the last few days with high humidity, and Saturday looks to be no different.
If this was my first summer training, I might think that I'd be finished with a 14 miler before it really got hot by starting at 6:30am.
Truth is, I know better.
In 2008, there was a particularly hot Saturday where our long run was 16 miles. I'm not the only one that remembers the day. I guess you could call it one of our war stories from training.
I don't recall the run south to the loop being all too bad. It was the journey back that got us. That's the day I learned how much I dislike the lakefront between Ohio and Fullerton. It's an uncomfortable mass of concrete being continuously blasted by the sun.
Between Ohio and North Avenue, we went from two groups of ten to groups of 3 or 4. Each person was doing whatever they could to keep moving forward, but it wasn't pretty. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't call it running. But we finished the run and learned a valuable lesson.
Check the weather and run earlier.
Which leads me to thinking about the last few days of intense heat. Remember during the blizzard we were wishing for this? Now we have all the heat we could ever dream of but we don't want it. In lieu of complaining, I read a facebook status from Salute Inc. which I found to some things up quite nicely:
Nah, let's make it 5am.
It's been in the upper 90's the last few days with high humidity, and Saturday looks to be no different.
If this was my first summer training, I might think that I'd be finished with a 14 miler before it really got hot by starting at 6:30am.
Truth is, I know better.
In 2008, there was a particularly hot Saturday where our long run was 16 miles. I'm not the only one that remembers the day. I guess you could call it one of our war stories from training.
I don't recall the run south to the loop being all too bad. It was the journey back that got us. That's the day I learned how much I dislike the lakefront between Ohio and Fullerton. It's an uncomfortable mass of concrete being continuously blasted by the sun.
Between Ohio and North Avenue, we went from two groups of ten to groups of 3 or 4. Each person was doing whatever they could to keep moving forward, but it wasn't pretty. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't call it running. But we finished the run and learned a valuable lesson.
Check the weather and run earlier.
Which leads me to thinking about the last few days of intense heat. Remember during the blizzard we were wishing for this? Now we have all the heat we could ever dream of but we don't want it. In lieu of complaining, I read a facebook status from Salute Inc. which I found to some things up quite nicely:
Monday, July 11, 2011
Return of the Morning Runner
Shortly after October 10th, 2010, Laura, the morning runner, retired.
Right around that time, Laura, the afternoon or evening runner, returned.
I find the morning version, although someone resistant to getting up at 6, or maybe 5am, tends to be more productive with a run out of the way in the morning.
But, as we all know, if you go out too hard too early, you might be in trouble.
As was the case last Friday (before the 4th of July weekend).
Skilling's prediction was humid and growing warmer throughout the day.
So much for knocking out 11 on my way home from work, thought the afternoon runner.
Then the afternoon runner had an epiphany: What if I turned (back) in to a morning runner?
We're not talking about the morning runner who wakes up a half hour earlier than normal to run three miles.
We're talking two hours earlier. 4:45am
The sun wasn't yet up when I headed out. I ran for about a mile before I passed another runner on the sidewalk.
Once on the lakefront path, I noticed something quite unusual. No bikes.
By the time I made it down to Diversey, bikes were whizzing by and the path had a fair number of morning runners.
Morning runners, even in a city as big as Chicago, will smile or wave at you. Afternoon and evening runners do not. Why is that? Does it have to do with sleep deprivation or is there a common belief that anyone out at that time in the morning must be doing it for the same reason you are?
By the time I reached my house, I had just enough time to get ready, eat a quick 2nd breakfast, and head to work on the bus.
As I stood waiting for the bus, I realized how tired my legs were. Thoughts of taking a nap on the bus, as per usual, crossed my mind.
Then the bus came. No seats were left.
I thought of how it would be better to walk then to have to stand still. So when the bus reached it's first stop (about a mile and a half from work), I got off.
I walked to work, beginning to think of all the things I needed to do. Once I did sit down, however, I found it very hard to do much of anything.
I was beat.
It was 8:30am.
Right around that time, Laura, the afternoon or evening runner, returned.
I find the morning version, although someone resistant to getting up at 6, or maybe 5am, tends to be more productive with a run out of the way in the morning.
But, as we all know, if you go out too hard too early, you might be in trouble.
As was the case last Friday (before the 4th of July weekend).
Skilling's prediction was humid and growing warmer throughout the day.
So much for knocking out 11 on my way home from work, thought the afternoon runner.
Then the afternoon runner had an epiphany: What if I turned (back) in to a morning runner?
We're not talking about the morning runner who wakes up a half hour earlier than normal to run three miles.
We're talking two hours earlier. 4:45am
The sun wasn't yet up when I headed out. I ran for about a mile before I passed another runner on the sidewalk.
Once on the lakefront path, I noticed something quite unusual. No bikes.
By the time I made it down to Diversey, bikes were whizzing by and the path had a fair number of morning runners.
Morning runners, even in a city as big as Chicago, will smile or wave at you. Afternoon and evening runners do not. Why is that? Does it have to do with sleep deprivation or is there a common belief that anyone out at that time in the morning must be doing it for the same reason you are?
By the time I reached my house, I had just enough time to get ready, eat a quick 2nd breakfast, and head to work on the bus.
As I stood waiting for the bus, I realized how tired my legs were. Thoughts of taking a nap on the bus, as per usual, crossed my mind.
Then the bus came. No seats were left.
I thought of how it would be better to walk then to have to stand still. So when the bus reached it's first stop (about a mile and a half from work), I got off.
I walked to work, beginning to think of all the things I needed to do. Once I did sit down, however, I found it very hard to do much of anything.
I was beat.
It was 8:30am.
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