The Not O.K. Corral

So one of the many things that is giving me agita about the marathon is this newfangled “seeded corrals” situation that the organizers are implementing for (I think) the first time this year.  I had never heard of a seeded corral before and the concept was so ludicrous to me that I had to read the info multiple times to make sure that I really understood.

At most races, participants generally queue at the start line based on their expected finishing time.  At our race, they are reserving the front for people who have run a marathon in the past year, based on the time they finished ranked A through E.  If you haven’t run a marathon recently (like me), then you’re relegated to the “Open Corral” behind all the seeded corrals.

 

I wouldn’t have an issue with this if it weren’t for the unlimited finishing times and high corral capacities.  This means that faster runners who didn’t do a marathon in 2013 are stuck behind a lot of much slower runners who did.  To give you an indication, Corral E will hold 2,000 people who took over 5 hours to complete their last marathon.  As it stands, A and I hope to finish in front of the C, D, and E groups, which essentially means we need to negotiate past at least 5,500 slower runners the moment we start the race.  This is assuming we score a good position in the Open Corral.

I fear that the start line will be so crowded that we won’t be able to run our pace until the second mile or so.  The fact that we now need to squeeze past so many people further hurts our chances to make our goal time and that, in a word, sucks. 

Hopefully my utter abhorrence of this system will work to my advantage and I’ll be pleasantly surprised at how great it worked.  Since I could not hate it any more than I do, anything is possible.

Crappy Diem

I have never been good about living in the moment.  I am constantly looking ahead to brace myself for problems that the worrier in me is wired to expect.  It’s obviously not the most Zen state of mind, but I justify my pessimism by feeling that if the issues I anticipate never materialize, than whatever relief I feel is bonus good energy I wouldn’t otherwise have had.  It’s a lame trade-off but one that’s worked for me, more or less.

My long runs have become a microcosm of my anxious approach to life.  I find myself anticipating – actually fixating – on landmarks ahead on the course.  Once I pass them, I allow myself a brief moment of relief before moving on to the next one.  I find this keeps me fairly motivated and breaks up an otherwise brutal slog, although it is a double-edged sword.  Sometimes my landmark is so far out that the thought of how long it’ll take to reach can make giving up way too tempting.

Another issue is that I fear I’m robbing myself of an experience by constantly living in the future and ignoring the present.  A keeps reminding me that we love running, we should be happy while we’re running.  I think this is code to not obsess about what’s ahead but revel in the journey your own now, a concept I obviously do not embrace.  When I’ve tried practicing mindfulness and taking anatomical inventory (“checking in” with my body, so to speak), I’ve found it only makes me lose motivation and become negative.  So for me the challenge is how to stay grounded in the moment but still focused on the goal.

When we embarked on our marathon training, I foolishly thought the point was to get my body strong and ready for race day.  More and more I’m realizing that physical strength is linear, mechanical, and will be a natural byproduct of dedication and diligence.  It’s building mental strength that has been elusive and frustratingly nonlinear.  I hope that in these last few weeks leading up to the race I find the right alchemy to create the mental fortitude I need to help me reach my goal.

Milestoned

Yesterday marked the official home stretch: only one month to go before the marathon.  The day before yesterday marked our penultimate long run before the marathon: 21 miles.  And the day before that marked the opening ceremony for the 22nd Winter Olympic Games, which has nothing to do with our marathon training other than to provide a bit of context and inspiration.

Inspiration has been much needed as of late.  I was feeling really burnt out after four months of earnest training.  And then we suddenly found ourselves off-schedule when we both got sidelined by illness.  A fell first and I followed shortly after.  All told, we lost about ten training days, which meant that by last Saturday I hadn’t run long in over two weeks and A was going on almost three.

Starting off Saturday morning, I knew the 21-miler was a Must Do.  We’re both still trying to expel that last little bit of pulmonary phlegm, so we decided to be kind to ourselves and slow down.  Our philosophy was it’s more important to get the mileage in than to keep the pace.

Even with the slower speed, I still lost my resolve around the 10th mile.  I sent A ahead solo, although he stayed in my sightline for a good few miles after that.  I put music on and tried to find that place where imagination doesn’t exist.

Still nagged by negative feedback, I was ready to pack it in after 15.  I took an honest inventory of my body and told myself there was no real reason to quit.  I told myself that walking would hurt more than running and take longer to boot.  I reminded myself that this run was a Must Do, which meant that if I didn’t get ‘er done today, I’d have to do it later this week and all of today’s miles would be for naught.  I threw down a chew and FIDO-ed on.

Talking with a friend about the run afterward, I realized how long 21 miles actually is.  We came across a lot of whacky things on our run: spray-tanning body builders prepping for a competition at the civic center; a clean-up crew along the creek that were either volunteers, convicts, or both; an entire block that reeked of what was either fresh skunk roadkill or fresh skunk weed.

Towards the end of the run, I had moments were I thought I was really jamming.  Then I’d look down at my pace watch and realize, No, no I’m not.  Disappointed, I managed to take heart in the fact that at least I felt alright.  In the end, I ran much slower than I need to come race day, but A reminded me that that was our goal for this run.  He didn’t finish at pace either but was nonplussed.

These next two weeks will be focused on both recovery and getting up to speed, preparing ourselves for our last long run before the race.

Nail in the Coffin

My toenail has been trying to emancipate itself from the second toe of my right foot for a few months now.  I have been fighting its exodus valiantly, babying the nail with scented lotions and trimming it delicately to stave off further damage.  I’ve even foregone my beloved self-painted pedicures (and thereby open-toed shoes) so I could best monitor the situation.

The bruised area was slowly regaining life, and the small part that had lifted from the nail bed was almost past the quick.  I thought my efforts would be victorious.  This weekend, sadly, a lack of good judgment led to a likely insurmountable setback.

As it was, the nail had not taken too kindly to my new shoes.  After my 20-miler, I worried that another bruise was developing lower down the nail.  This in and of itself was still a salvageable situation, but on Saturday I unwisely decided to hit a few shots on the paddle tennis court.  One wayward pivot, and my poor toenail was done for with one quick rip.  I hobbled off the court and inspected the damage.

The center of the nail has fully risen off the nail bed.  The sides are still attached, but probably won’t be for long since everything else is white and ridged.  Now begins the process of cutting away the dead nail and teasing away the parts that are still connected to the skin so the new nail underneath can grow out.  It’s sort of like a baby tooth falling away to make room for a brand new incisor, except instead of a cute, mischievous Jack O’Lantern smile, I have a gnarly toe with a crusty yellow nail on the veiny foot of a middle-aged runner.

Something tells me that sandal season is going to come really late this year.

Spare Me

Yesterday, I vindicated myself after Saturday’s aborted 20-miler.  Ignoring fears of overtraining and insufficient recovery time, I decided it was more important to build confidence in order to build mileage.  A and I have a 21-miler on our training schedule in two weekends, and to me it felt crucial to first succeed at 20 before attempting 21.

Since A finished his 20, yesterday’s outing was all by my lonesome.  I’ve never run that far by myself, and I had some trepidation.  But I was also excited to try out a few things I couldn’t otherwise do running with a partner, like change the course on a whim, listen to music, or follow my progress on the running watch.  A wore our watch in long runs past, and if I we didn’t stay together, I wouldn’t know what pace I ended up running or the mileage I did if I veered off course.

I planned a route that consisted of two 6-mile loops followed by two 4-mile loops, with pit stops at my car in between.  I was dismayed to find that my feet started to hurt really early on.  It felt like there was nothing separating my feet from the cement but a thin sheet of cardboard.  I was slapping the ground so hard I might as well have been barefoot.  I sought out patches of dirt for a softer impact, even if for just a few steps.  That’s when I decided it was time to break out the new pair of shoes I had in my car.

Many months ago, I had a stroke of genius.  Because A opted to go with a more minimal shoe that had a lifespan of about 300 miles, I suggested he buy two pairs so that he’d have a relatively fresh pair for the marathon.  Likewise, the shoe that I wear was being phased out for a newer version, so I too decided to buy another identical pair of my current style while I had a chance.  Thus both of us had auxiliary pairs of our running shoes in the closet, waiting at the ready.

After a run a few weeks ago that left him with sore knees, A decided it was time to pull his spare out of reserve.  His next run was great, proof that he was right to retire the old pair.  One would think that I would take a cue from his example and realize my problem on previous long runs was that I too needed new shoes.  And if that wasn’t enough, the fact that my feet were sore and felt unshielded from the concrete should have been another clue.  Even though it was my brilliant idea to buy extra pairs in the first place, my genius was limited by the fact that I’m a cheapskate and wanted to keep my new pair new for as long as possible.

Returning to the car after my first loop, I promptly switched to the new pair.  It was a revelation.  I felt like a stubborn idiot having waited so long to make a switch.  I wonder how much I suffered needlessly on previous runs for lack of sufficient cushioning.  I am convinced that it was my over-worn shoes that felled my last attempt at 20.

Feeling renewed, I altered the course a little and did 8 miles before returning to my car.  That left only 6 miles, which I did with the aid of my iPod.  The music helped drown out the negative thoughts that pervaded the final miles of my previous long runs.  I felt like I was finally developing a race strategy that could work for me.

My last 6 miles were significantly slower than the first 14, and the even those weren’t fast enough to keep pace with A till the half, but I still felt good about what I accomplished.  The whole run was at a pace fast enough to make my goal (if you don’t count the pit stops).  I’m still anxious that I won’t get there come race time, but I am encouraged that at least I feel ready to face the 21-miler that’s coming up next.

Happiness Is a Warm Run

Last Sunday found A and I following a friend on Facebook who was running the Maui Oceanfront Marathon.  She posted a picture of herself giving the thumbs up at the halfway mark, and A shook his head, bemused.  “We are such different runners than M.”

It’s true, we would never burn precious minutes taking photos on the course, much less posting race updates in real time on Facebook.  I don’t even run with a phone because I don’t want to be weighed down.  But even though her time was slow and the weather was hot and humid, M seemed so happy to be running in a way that I haven’t been in a very long time.

During our long runs, A has taken to reminding me (and himself as well) that we are choosing to do this, that running is supposed to be something we enjoy.  I’ve forgotten that running isn’t work – it’s play.  So, on my next long run my focus will be on being playful and light.

Who knows, maybe I’ll stop to blog at the halfway point, just for the heck of it.

Doubting, Pouting, Figure it Outing

Saturday’s long run didn’t go so well for me.  The goal was to run 20 miles.  I had hoped to keep pace with A for the first 16 miles before slowing for the last 4.  It seemed doable since we’ve run 14 miles together not too long ago, and we finished under our target pace.

Sadly, I started to break down at the start of mile 11 and once I wasn’t feeling good, it was a precipitous fall.  Little maladies now became serious infirmities.  My jaw hurt because of a minor bout of TMJ, and while it doesn’t affect my running at all, it was reason enough to stop.  My legs felt weak and I blamed the fast 6-miler we did just 2 days before, which I now was convinced was a bad decision.  And I managed to diagnose myself as anemic.  I kept trying to focus on each step and quiet the negativity, but ultimately I did not succeed.

I was struggling.   A tried his best to be encouraging, but the fact that he didn’t seem to be having any problems at all only compounded my frustration.  I finally told him to run ahead.  I had decided to dissect a loop and cut my run short.  I told A I would wait for him back at the car. 

I have no idea how slowly I was going once we separated, but I did have sporadic boosts of energy at moments along the run.  When I finally reached the car, after stretching for a few minutes I realized I actually felt well enough to continue running.  But I wasn’t sure if I should since A was still on the road and expecting to see me when he finished.  Since I had the key, I couldn’t just up and leave him tired and waterless at his finish.  So I waited, deflated at my subpar performance.

I had about twenty minutes to ponder what went wrong.  It all seemed to boil down to me not being mentally tough.  After A came in (20 miles done all at his target pace), I was in a complete state of self-loathing.  A suggested I run to our neighborhood Trader Joe’s since I told him I might have a few more miles in me, so I did.  My legs weren’t as spry as I had hoped and the soles of my shoes felt paper thin, but I was glad to get that little bit in just to know that I could.  And we got our weekly grocery shop done a day early. 

After mapping my total mileage back home, I did 16 miles and then tacked on another 1.75 after about a thirty minute rest.

A friend of ours thought I might be overtraining.  I think really I’m just over training.  I’m over the long runs.  I’m over the austerity of watching my food intake, forcing down water, running during my lunch hour, avoiding wine on a Friday night.  I’m bummed we’ve stopped playing paddle tennis because the risk of injury is too high.  I’m bummed I don’t have as much time to swim.  I'm bummed that I'm gaining weight.  I’m really bummed we can’t go to Maui with friends the week before the marathon.  I’m frustrated at all the things I’ve had to give up these many months, and if I don’t make my time goal, I’ll have to ask myself if it was worth it.

Since I was unable to complete the long run, I now feel I’m at a deficit in our training.  I am trying to figure out if running a solo 20-miler on our off week would help or hinder me.  On the one hand, accomplishing it would give me confidence, but on the other, I’d run the risk of overtraining as my friend already suggested I might be doing.  I’ve decided to see how I feel towards the end of the week before I make up my mind.