Taper

It's that time.... I feel run down and sluggish, yet all the while, hungry- even ravenous at times. Phantom pains come and go, and every possible part of me that could ache seems to do just that. The other day I actually had the thought that I really should start working out- you know, "get back in shape". Then I remembered that I will be running a twelve-hour race in just over a week... if I'm not in shape for that now, I'm never gonna be. Insecurity has crept in and I have begun to analyze and question every aspect of my training. I focus on the runs that I cut short or missed altogether; the extra pounds I continue to carry around; the inconsistencies in my mileage from week to week; the slow pace of my last long run... the list continues. I visualize my disappointment when I reach the twelve-hour mark of my race, several miles short of my goal... that is, if I make it the full twelve hours to begin with. I do all of the things that I know I should not do, because that's just the way it goes during the taper.

If you are a runner, perhaps you would agree that staying motivated and positive during the two or three week taper prior to an endurance event is the hardest part of training. Hell, staying motivated would be icing on the cake; I just try to survive until race day without driving myself crazy in the meantime. Have I trained enough? Can I really do this? What if it's really hot? What if it rains all day? Can I run in the rain for twelve hours? 

The taper is a time to gradually come down from the long, hard efforts of training, to rest and prepare mentally for what lies ahead. It is a time to reflect on all of the hard work one has put in during the preceding weeks and months and to use that as fuel for visualizing a successful race. But for some horribly inexplicable reason, every taper leading up to every race in which I have competed has been wrought with self-doubt and a feeling of if only I had [insert verb of choice] a little harder, a little further, a little more frequently.... The reality is that you and I both know that no matter how much harder, further, and more frequently I had done anything, I would still feel as I do in this very moment: completely and utterly unprepared.

Don't get me wrong; I am very excited about my event, and I know on an intellectual level that no amount of additional training will make me any more prepared for my race than I am now. In fact, it would do just the opposite and result in fatigue and potentially even injury.

When I began this journey nearly six months ago, June 2^nd seemed light years away. I’d first have to get through the holiday season, the January doldrums, the blur that inevitably is February and March, and the start of spring. June 2^nd was at the end of two more seasons, in the distant future. I had plenty of time to get in shape, build my mileage up slowly and steadily.... I'd start with about 30 miles per week and gradually build up to a peak of 70. I'd get up at 5:30 most mornings to get a longish run in before work, and I'd add a second run some evenings after work. On the weekends, I'd do back-to-back long runs. I'd join the YMCA and start a regular strength training program so that I'd finally have some upper body endurance to keep me going during the latter half of the race. I'd revamp my diet and cut out sugar for the most part. I'd be a lean, strong, good looking running machine come June 2nd. A twelve-hour run would have nothing on me.

And then life happened.

A rough patch that started late last fall only got rougher through January and February. The winter blues set in and it was a good day if I could get up at 6:30. Work picked up and demanded more and more of my time. I quickly realized that back-to-back long runs every weekend were neither healthy nor realistic. I peaked at 56 miles in a week, with most of my training weeks in the low 40s. I did join the Y, but I went when I could- usually twice a week. My left knee didn't always cooperate and I started to feel soreness in my feet and ankles, which caused me to cut some of my runs short. I began to spend more time with someone very dear to me, not of moment of which I would trade for anything. And I don't know who I was trying to kid by cutting sugar from my diet. There's a reason why my mother has always called me Cookie Monster. My body feels like it has morphed into a blob rather than the lean sculpted physique I had envisioned back in December.

Funny how, as John Lennon said, life happens while we're busy making plans. Life did cut into my plans quite a bit, but in spite of that, I also know this:

In the last six months I have spent about 130 hours running 861 miles. I have run in wind and rain, sleet and snow. I have run in sub-zero and 90-degree temperatures. I have run in the sun and under clouds. I have run in the wee hours of morning, at noon, during the heat of the afternoon, and at night. I have run my personal best times in a five-mile race and a half marathon. I have built strength and endurance. I have trained.

Now, it's all about mind over matter. Nine days to go!

Thank you for reading!

Lemonade

I suppose that a life in which everything happens according to plan would be a life not worth living... or incredibly boring, at best. It's typically the things that happen outside of our plans, with spontaneity and improvisation, that give us the stuff of great experiences and stories to tell. They force us to find our resolve and make a new plan. They inspire us to make lemonade out of the proverbial lemons.

My current "lemon" has materialized in the form of a mysterious pain on the ball of my right foot. It is different from Chronic Knee Pain, which I have felt for the last six years, and even from Phantom Ankle Pain, which made its first appearance a few weeks before I ran the Fargo Marathon in 2010. No, this time, the pain is different. Unlike Chronic Knee Pain, which I have learned to manage to the point of most often not feeling any pain; and unlike Phantom Ankle Pain, which, true to its name, comes and goes with no warning and is completely debilitating for the 20 to 30 seconds during which my left ankle feels as though it is being stabbed, "Bruised Foot Pain" is constant and does not respond to any amount of massage, ice, or stretching.

Bruised Foot Pain has been with me for about six weeks now. At first, I chalked it up to the aches and pains that one can expect after a hard or long run, but in the last two weeks, the pain has become more constant. It is concentrated in one area, just below the metatarsal of my second toe. It feels strikingly similar to Hamburger Foot, which is the official scientific term used to describe the feeling one may experience after running 40 miles. The difference between Hamburger Foot and Bruised Foot Pain, however, is just about 40 miles; that is, Bruised Foot Pain exists before I even start running.

This morning I set out for my long run only to discover rain and the ominous clouds of an imminent thunderstorm. I don't mind rain, but I don't do thunder and lightening. I momentarily considered trying to beat the storm and get a few miles in before the sky opened up, but Bruised Foot Pain did not agree. I decided instead to get my grocery shopping done (no line at 7:30 on a Sunday morning!)- a wise choice in retrospect, as the ten second sprint to my car yielded two bags of wet groceries and the scolding of Bruised Foot Pain. The only thing worse than trying to run through the pain this morning would have been trying to run through it in a flash flood.

Shortly after I returned home, the rain stopped. I considered again attempting my run. As happens so often in running, I was once again straddling the line between tough and stupid and had to make my decision: if I rest my foot, it might finally start to feel better and I may actually make it through twelve hours of running on June 2nd; if I grit my teeth and push through, I won't feel guilty for missing my long run this week, but I may make the pain worse. Six years ago, I would likely have taken the risk of the latter option; today, I chose the former.

I instead went to the gym for a strength training workout- something I had planned to do anyway. What I hadn't planned on, however, was a quite sunny afternoon and my sudden inspiration to go for a bike ride. I hadn't ridden my bike "just to ride" since I moved to Des Moines, so I decided that today would be the day. I set out to follow one of my usual running routes, through downtown and to Gray's Lake Park. I steered clear of the lake, knowing it would be rather crowded, and made my way to Water Works Park, just south of Gray's. I reached a fork in the road at which I have always run to the right. This time I veered left and rode toward the Great Western Trail. Robert Frost would have been proud.

The Great Western Trail, I discovered, is absolutely beautiful. It is indeed the road less traveled, and I was the only one around for long stretches of path. I rode several miles, taking in the countryside and trying to figure out where I was in relation to the parts of Des Moines with which I am familiar. I turned around just before reaching Cumming, a small town to the south. I ended up with about a 22 mile ride; the same distance I had planned on running today, but with different muscles worked, a new experience, and three deer sightings.

I no longer feel guilty about missing my long run today. I got some great exercise and have given my foot a chance to rest. With race day only five weeks away, I am feeling both excited and apprehensive. It was tempting to sit on the couch and pout today, but I made a different choice. And it made the lemonade beer I had after my bike ride that much more enjoyable.

Thank you for reading!

Drake

When did life become so busy? Between work, training, and trying to get adequate rest, I feel as though there is time for little else these days. As a result, I feel terribly behind in other areas of my life, including writing. Alas, so goes the ebb and flow of life, and I can only hope that things will soon slow down again.

On the bright side, I ran two races last week, and both were a success. In spite of my recent feelings of sloth, heaviness, and generally being "off", I experienced- enjoyed, even- my first Drake Relays "On the Roads" series, which included running the Grand Blue Mile and the Drake Relays Half Marathon. Both events were uniquely tough, but I feel good about my performance in each and the added confidence those races have given me as I enter my final month of training.

When I was in high school, the mile was an event reserved for the "distance runners" of the track team. My, how that is relative. I have run a mile race twice since graduating high school in 1997, including the Grand Blue Mile last Tuesday. Each of those times, running a single mile has felt like nothing short of a sprint. A "road mile" is quite different from a "track mile", but it does not hurt any less. The Grand Blue Mile was open to anyone who wanted to enter, and included a championship race for elite athletes who are preparing to compete in London later this summer. I entered the women's competitive division, which was recommended for women who anticipated completing the race in eight minutes or fewer.

I toed the starting line knowing that I was in for about six minutes of agony. As I looked around, I was brought back to high school for a moment, surrounded by intimidation. Only this time, I was a thirty-two-year-old woman in the midst of a bunch of fourteen-year-olds who I could tell were fast just by looking at them. I suppose some things never change.

When the starting gun went off, my competitors and I took off down the road. Within the first quarter of a mile, I couldn't tell which were burning more- my legs or my lungs. I reached the half mile mark in 3:02- a pretty quick clip for me, and I knew there was a slim chance of being able to keep it up. I made the two turns of the race and headed toward the finish line. I crossed in 6:22... a good chunk behind my goal of a sub-6:00 mile, but not a horrible time, considering I have been training to run more than sixty times the distance. And, as my mother never fails to point out, I'm "not eighteen anymore".

I had four days to recover from the slight shock my body experienced in having to produce speed (a relative term, of course, particularly in comparison to the aforementioned fourteen-year-olds who finished the same race more than a full minute ahead of me) before I toed my next starting line on Saturday morning at the Drake Relays Half Marathon. The weather was crummy, I hadn't slept well the previous two nights, and I had doubts about even coming near my goal of a sub-1:45 half marathon, so I decided to see what the day would bring. I felt fortunate to have a good friend and training partner out on the course with me, as well as two good friends who had come down from Minneapolis to cheer. Thanks, ladies!

Saturday's half marathon turned out to be one of the more difficult races I have ever run- the course was fairly rolling and had numerous twists and turns, which made running the tangents awfully difficult. While I didn't quite reach my goal, I came damn close, finishing in 1:45:19- a pace of 8:03 per mile, and a personal record by more than four minutes. I was ecstatic!

Ironically, I missed my goal in both races last week by about twenty seconds. Hmmm... quite telling, I think, of which race is a better fit for me.

I am now down to the final three weeks of hard training before I begin my taper. It is hard to believe that five months have gone by since I started training for this ultramarathon, and while I still do not feel ready, I have a renewed sense of confidence following last week's events. I still carry the extra pounds that seem to have materialized out of nowhere, and my feet feel like hamburger more often than not these days, but clearly I have been doing something right during this time. My goals for the next five weeks are to stay healthy, keep my focus, get a few more long, exhausting, "empty"-inducing runs in, and rest as much as I can. Thirty-one days days remain until June 2nd. I can do this!

Thank you for reading!

Reset

I need a reset button. "Six months to 100K" have very quickly become six weeks to... who knows what. And I am not ready. At. All.

I feel unfit, heavy, sluggish, and lazy. I know on an intellectual level that that is almost absurd, because I have actually been training for this race and my training has actually been going fairly well. But when it comes down to what actually matters (to me) - how I feel - I'm not feeling much like an ultramarathoner these days. I've been burning the candle at both ends, between a busy work schedule, training for this race, and general life changes (great ones... but changes nonetheless), and it's definitely catching up with me. I haven't been eating as well as I should, running as consistently as I could, and resting as much as I need to. Even my blog posts have come more sporadic. All of that is about to change, because I'm going to press reset. Now.

It is difficult to steer myself away from the path of panic, yet my mind keeps wandering in that direction involuntarily. Oh my... I am so not ready for this... I didn't do a long-long run last weekend; just a short-long run... is that another Baker cyst developing behind my knee?... and for the love of Pete, how is it that I have gained twelve pounds in the last month? 

I feel utterly overwhelmed at the moment, and despite efforts to bring myself back down, the stress has been building for some time, and I am beginning to wonder if it is manifesting itself in extra pounds. Because they have to be coming from somewhere, right? I mean, they can't all be from Dutch letters, can they? I really haven't eaten that many, and I don't feel that my diet has gotten any better or worse than it normally is. But if someone could please explain to me how it's possible to run 40 miles in one weekend and stand on the scale to be greeted by a number I have not seen since I subsisted on bread and peanuts in the Peace Corps, I would be most appreciative. Clearly, my skills as a Mathlete are failing me in this regard, because I can't figure it out.

My only (relatively) educated guess on the matter is that my cardiovascular system has become so efficient that running barely raises my heart rate anymore... unless I am gutting it out in Anaerobia, that is... which I am most certainly not during my long runs. My long runs feel steady, but not difficult. My thoughts meander as much as my legs do, and I often don't even think about my pace or breathing anymore. I thought that was a sign of something good and natural, but perhaps not.

During my most recent long run, in fact, I was so unfocused that I managed to turn my left ankle on a section of uneven ground, and, in a failed attempt to keep myself from falling, slipped on a patch of wet grass and wiped out on Grand Avenue in front of the medical school at Des Moines University. I fell on my left arm arm and hip, and while it hurt, it could have been much worse. I suppose that if I am going to take a spill of that magnitude, on the medical school lawn would be the place to do it. Though my ego was more bruised than my body, I am feeling stiff and sore from that fall, even two days later.

With time running out as June 2nd draws ever nearer, I am taking the opportunity to reset my mind and body. I am making a commitment to myself to eat better, rest more, and work on building my confidence. My body can do this, I am certain. Even with twelve extra pounds on my frame (OK, so maybe it's only seven), I know I have the base training for the ultramarathon. The next six weeks will be an exercise in mind over matter.

Reset.

Thank you for reading!

Athlete

I've never seen myself as an athlete. When I was a kid, gym was my least favorite subject in school. I felt intimidated by my peers who played sports, and so completely out of my element. In grade school, I was often among the last picked for team sports in gym class, and it was no secret that my hand-eye coordination was less than desirable. Athletic? Definitely not me... not with my fear of objects in motion and the three gold bangles that adorned my right wrist every minute of every day from age seven to thirteen. Those bracelets drove my teachers nuts, because we weren't supposed to wear jewelry in gym class. I hated explaining that they were typical of Egyptian culture and that they had become a permanent fixture on my arm as my wrist grew over the years.

By eighth grade, the bangles had become tight enough that my mother finally decided it was time to have them cut off. Even then, I was no athlete. Athletes were popular, confident, and tall. Most importantly, athletes could catch- a skill that I pathetically lacked and didn't much care to develop. If an activity involved a ball, puck, birdie, frisbee, or anything of the sort, I was out. I buried my bespectacled face in my books and actually enjoyed school for the academics. I was a Mathlete, not an athlete.

Even when I joined the cross country, swim, and track teams in high school, I never felt like an athlete. It was no coincidence that these activities did not require me to catch, kick, throw, hit, [insert-verb-of-choice] a ball, and though I viewed my teammates as athletes, I somehow did not fit the bill. At least not in my own eyes. Thinking of those days, I am reminded of how differently we see ourselves when we look in the mirror compared to how others may view us. I was captain of my high school spring track team my senior year... the same year during which I was voted MVP. I had earned enough pins nearly to cover my letter, but still, I was no athlete.

When I competed in meets, I scoped out the competition to see just how intimidated I could feel before toeing the starting line. Seeing the other girls in their Nikes worried me that perhaps my Sauconys weren't up to par. If the competition's Nikes had spikes, I felt even more anxious. I had neither spikes nor racing flats, and my feet were too wide for Nikes, because I had inherited the joys of a long line of protruding bunions. I'd watch the other girls warm up before our races. Some of them did jumping jacks; others did crunches. I always jogged two easy miles and then did a series of strides... was that good enough? It didn't help that Fairfax County, Virginia produced some of the country's fastest high school distance runners. The regional meet was the furthest I ever made it in high school, and that was just fine with me. I was thrilled when my 5:45 mile in the district meet my sophomore year was good enough for sixth place. But it still didn't make me an athlete.

In college, the label bestowed upon me when I joined the cross country team was "student athlete". Even though I attended a small liberal arts university and competed at the NCAA Division III level, "student athletes" like me received pretty special treatment. We had our own locker room, university-issued clothing for training and competition, and even laundry service for said clothing. We got to travel to our meets with our expenses paid, and we were excused from afternoon classes if they conflicted with our competitions. It was cool to be a "student athlete"... that is, if you were one, and I most certainly was not. It was a label that, even after all those years, and even while serving as co-captain of the team my junior year, never quite fit my own self-image. Runner? Maybe. Athlete? No way. And I still couldn't catch a ball to save my life.

Athletes are outgoing and self-assured; I am not. Athletes have hot bodies and six-pack abs; I do not. Athletes have all the right clothing and gear; I do not. Athletes are at the top of their game; I am not. Athletes are everybody else in a race but me.

I am not the best in my field, and I don't aspire to be. I cannot catch a ball, and I don't feel the need to. I don't have a GPS watch, and I don't want one. I simply run. Usually in just a T-shirt and shorts, I run, and sometimes, those clothes are even made of cotton. I don't exude confidence and I hardly feel popular. I am comfortable in my discomfort among "real" athletes.

I wonder why it's so difficult to consider myself an athlete. Perhaps it is because running is not a hobby or a game for me; it's not a sport or something I do "for fun", and it's certainly not something I do for glory. It's a part of me... it's my way of life and something that defines me as a human being. It's not a phase, and it's not exercise. Running makes me who I am, and that's a label good enough for me.

Thank you for reading!

Green

After about four days of nearly constant and much-needed rain last week, the city of Des Moines has popped with color. Rich patches of deep green, blossoming trees, and daffodils seem to have appeared out of nowhere. The days are longer, the birds are chirping, and people have materialized on the streets, their hibernation period officially over. Spring has arrived and despite the unusually mild winter, I am glad to see it. Back are the days when I can open my windows, ride my bike to work, and feel beads of sweat drip into my eyes as I run. The arrival of spring means escaping from behind my desk for a walk in the sunshine during the work day and spending evenings sitting on my balcony, watching the world go by, listening to music, and wrapped in a blanket when the air is just cool enough to warrant it.

Spring also means that my race is drawing ever nearer and I am approaching my peak training weeks. Since discovering my "empty" a couple of weeks ago, I have felt my motivation waver. Fatigue has settled in, as has some of the negative self-talk that is inherent in trying to wrap my mind around running sixty-two miles in twelve hours. Draining days at work have resulted in wanting to come home and simply sit, when I really should get out for a second run of the day to increase my overall weekly mileage. Most of all, I have noticed a staggering increase in my appetite which does not wane on my easy running days. A salad for lunch just doesn't cut it anymore, especially now that I have added some swimming and strength training to my running. Foods like avocados, cheese, and bread- oh my, so much bread- have sounded exponentially more appealing to me lately.

My love of the famed Dutch letter and growing obsession with trying to replicate this quintessential central Iowan pastry in my own kitchen has not helped the situation. I have eaten more almond paste than I care to admit in the last two weeks during my culinary experiments and, coupled with the feeling of not wanting to run as much as I should, I have felt heavy, lethargic and generally unfit as a result. In a recent conversation with one of my closest friends, I was describing exactly all of this- whining about it, really, and she said, "Those are called ugly days". Yes... ugly days indeed. I have had several of those in the last two weeks. I haven't felt like myself, even though I have been trying to keep up my workouts and mileage. Phases like these are inevitable during such a long training cycle, and as much as I've tried to go with the flow of it, I have felt frustrated and defeated.

I have gotten a bit of my running mojo back this weekend following a wonderful long run of nearly twenty miles yesterday and a shorter yet equally exhilarating run this morning. I ran about half of my long run in the company of good friends and the other half solo, with the sounds of spring to keep me company. Not having my iPod along allowed me to take in the scenery and enjoy the purity of my sport without distraction. I became acutely aware of the stiffness in my legs, the hotness in my feet, and general "when can I stop running?" feeling during the latter miles of my run. I spent the last mile trying to visualize running more than three times this distance in about four times the length of time. Not something I need to think about at this time, I told myself, and resolved to revel in my success for the day. I completed my run feeling strong, albeit stiff and sore.

After two successful runs this weekend, I am centered with a renewed balanced that I haven't felt in two weeks. I feel back on track, fit and strong, and even lighter. I noticed as I looked in the mirror that my cheeks have been kissed by the sun. I've had pretty days this weekend rather than ugly ones. Everything in the world seems right again, only now brighter and greener.

Thank you for reading!

Empty

My body is tired. Actually, to say that my body is tired would be an understatement. My body is exhausted, spent, wasted.... In the last 26 hours, I have run 32.2 miles and muscled through (literally) a strength training workout. I wonder how it's possible that my legs can simultaneously feel like spaghetti and lead posts, yet that's exactly what they feel like. My joints are stiff and achy and my metatarsals crackly and sore. The balls of my feet feel a bit like mashed hamburger, and as I bend over to paint my toenails in a halfhearted attempt to mitigate the toll my training has taken on my feet lately, I feel the sharp pinch of sciatica shoot down from my lower back to my hamstrings. It's a pain in my ass, quite literally. My body feels broken down, worn out, and completely depleted. And I absolutely love it.

I feel victorious in my fatigue, though you wouldn't know it from watching me hobble around my apartment. I ran 13.6 miles yesterday morning and stopped at the YMCA afterwards to lift, as I have finally concluded, after eighteen years of running, that regular strength training really does make a difference. I struggled through my exercises, my arms shaking through my last set of bench presses, confounded at how tired my upper body was from my run. I then went home, ran some errands, took a brief nap and convinced myself to lace up my running shoes again in the early evening for 6.5 more miles. This morning I reluctantly got out of bed and hit the pavement again for 12.1 more miles. I feel a sense of deep satisfaction in my training this weekend, knowing that it came from a source of intrinsic motivation and self-discipline. I did have the good fortune, however, of running with two great friends for a good portion of my Saturday morning run, for which I am very grateful.

There is something about pushing the limits of my body that empowers me. I have learned from my limited experience with ultramarathon running that the training has nothing to do with building speed and everything to do with teaching my body to keep going long after I've reached the point of wanting to lie down on the running path and sleep. It's much more an exercise in mental fortitude than physical ability, and in conditioning the mind to stay in the game. Of course, I say this within reason, as there are certainly times when we must throw in the towel to preserve our health, often at the expense of our egos. As my good friend and fellow runner and blogger put it in one of her recent blog posts, we runners walk a fine line between tough and stupid, and sometimes the real strength comes in admitting when our bodies have had too much.

Thankfully, I did not have to make any such decisions this weekend, although my body certainly wouldn't have rebelled if I had shaved a few miles off of my runs. The last two days have been tough yet productive and have helped me build confidence in my running as I prepare for my big event, which is now fewer than three months away. My goal for the weekend was to run myself ragged and then keep going. I'd say I did a fair job of accomplishing that goal, as I have spent more time training this weekend than I have sleeping, primarily because I chose to forego rest in favor of the company of good friendship... a worthwhile decision, as it turns out, because I not only got to spend quality time with a dear friend; I also had yet another opportunity to train through fatigue and test my discipline and endurance.

Running on empty, besides being a good Jackson Browne song, takes a certain determination that I am still learning. I am not sure that I have it entirely, but I began this journey in large part to find out. As I continue to experience the ups and downs of pushing my body, negotiating proper nutrition and rest, getting sick, and wondering if this is all completely absurd and unrealistic (because you and I both know that it absolutely straddles the line between tough and stupid... not to mention crazy and masochistic), I remind myself that part of my goal in training for this twelve-hour run is to take in each moment, for better or for worse, and use those moments to learn about myself and become a stronger, better person. Running on empty will eventually lead to living on full. Or so I hope.

In the meantime, I could really use a massage, a nap, and some good food.

Thank you for reading!