5k

Saturday, June 9^th, 2012.  14 mile training run.

This is a recovery week, so I have gone fewer miles at a slower pace than I normally would.  I’m learning that rest and “easy days” are every bit as important as tough, muscle building workouts.  Despite the slower pace, I start the feel the now familiar sting of glycogen depletion.  I glace down at my GPS watch and see that I just passed ten and a half miles.  “Figures,” I mutter to myself.  It’s usually around ten miles that I start to ask myself if I really enjoy distance running.

Then, a crazy thought enters my head.  It is a combination of a memory and an obsession.

October 29^th 2011.  The Chosen Marathon.  New Braunfelds, Texas.

I just finished climbing the big hill of the The Chosen Marathon (a VERY cool run for anyone interested!) and, as distance runners say, I hit the wall.  For those of you who haven’t had the privilege of hitting the wall, meeting the beast or running with the devil, it is similar to being woken up in the middle of a very deep sleep – and being forced to run.  You’re head is fuzzy, muscles are uncoordinated and unresponsive, sudden and often uncontrollable urges to vomit ransack your body, and you feel pretty much like poop.

The reality of the situation is that your body has burned up all of the glycogen stored in the muscles.  Glycogen is basically the gas that your body runs on.  When you hit the wall, you’re out of gas.  Unlike an automobile, however, you’re body has a backup system and can continue to go even without fuel – it just hurts like the dickens.

I continued jogging at what I felt was a steady pace.  Twenty miles.  Twenty-one miles.  Twenty two?  Where the heck was twenty-two.  I should have passed it by now…I checked my watch as saw that only 5 minutes had elapsed since mile twenty-one – ouch.

Being my first marathon, my objective was simply to finish the race.

Then, something magical happened.  Over the crest on the next hill I saw a mile marker that read “23”.  My heart leaped. “Twenty-three miles,” my fuzzy brain reasoned.  “That means I only have a 5k left.  A short 3 miles to the finish line.” 

My Personal Record for the 5k was just over twenty minutes. 

“Soooooo,” my increasingly fuzzy brain continued, “if we go hard, we’ll be done in just over twenty minutes!”  (You can see hear how the brain grows delirious after excessive running).

I kicked it into high gear.  “Twenty minutes to go,” my brain sang happily, “just keep up this pace…we can do it!”

That lasted 20 yards.

“System overload! Warning, Alert!! STOP!!!! We don’t have the resources for this!!! Whose crazy idea was this anyways?” my brain shouted.

Those who have run marathons and half marathons share in a unique knowledge that the last 3 miles of these races are among the longest 3 miles ever covered on foot.

June 9^th, 2012 10.9 miles into a 14 mile training run.

I hit the lap button on my watch (that will keep the total miles and time while giving new time and milage from this point on).  3.1 miles to the end of my training run.  Just a 5k to go.

My brain fires off the message to pick up the pace.  Legs respond slowly…but surely and I feel myself accelerating to a sub 8 minute/mile pace.  (We’ve already established that I’m not a super-fast-Olympic-elite runner.  Anything sub 8 is fast for me.)

I rounded the corner and headed up the street through town.  Somewhere in the back of my mind (which was slowly slipping into the fuzzy state) it registered that most of the next 3.1 miles were uphill – not steep, but consistently uphill.

One mile. 

“Isn’t this supposed to be a recovery week,” I ask myself. 

“Shut up and run,” My Self responds.

1.5 miles.  “I can’t do this,” I gasp.  The all knowing, all powerful watch says that I am nearing 7.30 – mile. 

Just go to the highway.  Just make the highway.

I reach the highway.  The gas station is only a few yards down the road.  Run to the gas station.

I pass the gas station and find another marker to run to, and another and another.  My pace drops to almost 7 flat for time but despite my best efforts, I feel my legs turn to lead and see that I am close to 8 min. miles again.  I wish it was faster but know that I am giving it all I have at this point and there is nothing I can do to make it any better – and that is good enough for me.

2 miles come and go.  One more mile.  I pump my arms hard to keep leaden legs moving. 

2.3 miles…2.65.

Just don’t give up.  You’re almost there.  There is semblance of joy now, because I know I can do, and will do it.  And I will do it after having run 11 miles, and that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy – or is that dehydration?

3.1 miles in 23.08.

I slow to a trot and coast the rest of the way home.  Not a PR for the 5k but I feel good about the workout.

What's in Your I Pod?

The US Track and Field, Road Runner, and just about each and every authoritative and sanctioning body of running sports either prohibits or strongly discourages listening to earphones while running.




OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....(Wiping a tear) That was funny.







But seriously, what do you listen to while  you run?  I'm looking to beef up my collection of cool songs to run to  (and if you don't run, just cool songs that make you feel like you want to get up and go...inspirational...)

Leave a comment with the song title and band, (or even a link where we can listen to the song if you are so inspired).  I'll be posting some of my favorites as well.

Rock and Run!!!

1.  Breaking Benjamin - Give Me A Sign
2.  Strung Out - Match Book
3.  Relient K - The One I'm Waiting For
4.  The Letter Black - The Best of Me
5.  Skillet - Awake and Alive
6.  Anberlin - Northern Lights
7.  Yellowcard - Believe

Sixteen

The day may have started the night before.  I laid out my shorts and shoes, drank an extra bottle of water and went to bed about two hours later than I knew I should have. I generally look forward to my long runs as a much needed chance to blow off stress.  As strange as it sounds, often a long run is very relaxing.  In this case, however, I commented to my wife that this particular long run would be anything but relaxing. 

There is no easy way to run sixteen miles.

My alarm went off at 5:00 am.  There seemed something very, very wrong about waking up at this ungodly hour on the only day of the week that I could (in theory) sleep in.  I usually don't mind getting up early on the weekends, but this morning, I was particularly tired and resented myself for forcing me out of bed.  I made a mental note to have a serious discussion with my other self about how rude it is to drag people out of bed - a conversation that I would save for a time when I could control my emotions a little better.

I dressed for the long run - including all the little extras that go with long run attire, filled my water bottles with ice and water, added a Cliff Bar for good measure and stepped outside.

The temperature stood at a pleasant 70 degrees or so, but I could tell that, as most mornings in Central Texas, that it would be humid.

The local running group would be doing six miles later that morning.  I planned to meet up with them for part of my run, thinking that even if I could have company for six it might ease the burden of sixteen.  I knew full well however, there is no easy way to run sixteen miles.

The darkness had all but dissipated by the time I reached the park and started running.  There are AWESOME trails at this park and I intended to spend as much time as possible climbing the hills in order to get some good practice for Cactus Roses (the 50 mile race in October).  Apprehension got the best of me for the moment.  I hadn't been more then a month since I had seen 3 snakes in 3 days on trails.  I knew that I was the first (and for the moment, only) person in the park.  I didn't know how long a snake...such as an 8 foot rattlesnake might wish to lounge on a soft dirt trail after a long night hunting mice, but I had no intentions of being the first to come running up on him and find out just how much venom those fangs can hold.  I resolved to stick to the roads for a little while.  There were plenty of hills on the roads and I could do some trails later - after someone else scared all the rattlers and copperheads back into hiding.

I followed the road up and down the hills for just over six miles before coming to rest with a large group of people all dressed in running gear and chatting about handheld water bottles vs. running belts (handhelds all the way!).  Someone commented that I didn't look like I was off to a good start, based on my sweat soaked shirt and the fact that they hadn't begun to run yet.  I replied that I started a little earlier...trying not to draw attention (or remind me) that even though I had already done a 10k, I wasn't even half way finished.  There is no easy way to run sixteen miles.

We started as a group just after 7:30.  I was good and warm, plus slightly rested from the breather I took while waiting for the group to start.  So honestly, it is probably my fault that the pace started so fast.  The chit-chat was quickly cut as the 5 of us who lead the group charged up the hills at an 8 minute/mile pace.  We submitted the hill...and accelerated.  I thought to myself that surely this pace would slow after a mile or two.  I was wrong.  Each time I thought I would be forced to give some, someone else took the charge.  We finished the first three mile loop in under 24 minutes...certainly not an Olympic pace but for a bunch of guys with day jobs, running on a Saturday morning, I thought it wasn't too bad.

We all stopped for water; by this time the temperature had climbed to well over 80 and it was still pretty humid.  Then we took off again.  Whatever hope I had for some reprieve on the second loop was dashed to pieces as we clicked off the first mile (mile 4 for the group, 9 for me) in 7:30.  We averaged a 7 flat for the last mile and 7:56 for the total 6 miles.  I thought to myself, "This would have been a great run...except that I still have to go 4 more miles."  There's no easy way to run sixteen miles...but sprinting 6 of them sure didn't help.

I headed to the trails and proceeded to climb the hills as best I could.  My legs felt like jelly and my clothing looked like it had been submersed in a pool...a very stinky pool.  Still I charged up and down the hills, thinking each time as I gasped for precious air, of the Cactus Rose elevation map that looked less like an elevation map and more like the Teton Mountain Range.

I finished my loop of the trails and came out facing Jacob's Ladder.  If you haven't had the privilege of climbing Jacob's Ladder after a 15 mile...you are smart.  I made the climb and jogged around towards the car thinking that this was challenging work out and I was satisfied that I had pushed myself, when I saw a fellow runner jogging towards me.  We stopped to exchange pleasantries.
 "How far did you go?" I asked.
"I just finished 20.  How far are you going?"
"Sixteen," I responded.
"How much more do you have?"
I looked longingly towards my car, only yards away...to sit, to drink cold water, to feel the air conditioning...I forced my gaze down to my watch.  15.3 miles, it read.
"Point 7," I coughed.
"Go finish it up," he said, pushing me back toward the trail.
It had been a good, hard run and an extremely challenging workout.  But it was not yet done.  After all, there is no easy way to run sixteen miles.