My fancy little countdown widget says there are 30 days and some-odd hours until Baystate. My body and mind say "are we there yet?"
When I train for Boston each year, "the ides of march" get me every time. That month before the marathon I find myself exhausted, irritable, insatiably hungry, and feeling a little twingy in the legs. My Baystate training has been going so swimmingly that I had kind of though I got a pass on this syndrome, until yesterday. My day got off to a rocky start, I had a stressful day at work, and I got home in near tears because I couldn't find my subway pass. It's a SUBWAY PASS, people. Not some family heirloom or expensive item. Nonetheless, you would have thought I misplaced the Holy Grail, and I could see the wheels turning in Noah's head, trying to count weeks and figure out why I was behaving so strangely.
I'm almost there, though. I have a 15-miler this weekend, my 22-miler next weekend, then TAPER. Granted, taper brings out a whole new beast in me--the endorphin junkie who so desperately needs a fix--but I'm at a point where I'm so looking forward to race day, that I'm hoping taper won't kill me like it did before Boston. And I'm planning to bike and swim more in those two weeks to keep up the rush, rather than just resting on days that I'm not running or running really lightly.
The race is a month from tomorrow. It's almost go time!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Longest 13.1 Miles Ever
It just recently occurred to me that I have a 26.2 mile race in 5 weeks. How the heck did it get here so fast? I guess one of the perks to fall marathon training is that you're so busy enjoying summer that training is a nuisance, rather than your sole focus during miserable cold winter months.
All is well, though. I've been running consistently all summer and though I don't feel like I'm breaking any land speeds, I'm injury-free and pretty relaxed about this whole race. My plan is to show up on Oct. 17 and see what happens.
This past weekend was my first 20-miler, and I decided to sign up for a relay team at the Pumpkinman Triathlon half-ironman and do it as a "catered training run," as my friend Woody likes to joke about races. The plan was to run 7 miles while my biker was out on the course, then take the chip and do my 13.1 at long run pace. It worked out well because I tricked my brain/body into thinking I was only doing 13.1, but oh man was it the longest 13.1 I've ever done. Because it was actually 20.
Noah was doing the full race that day, so we were up at 4 as usual and checked in by 6. He took off with his wave and I waited to watch my swimmer start, along with the runner on another Boston Triathlon Team relay team. Then we had 3.5 hours to kill, so we cheered for the other athletes, played "name that tune" with the race announcer/DJ (I won really fuzzy socks for knowing that James Brown was the artist of one song, and then dancing like him. My mom would be so proud...), and I got in my 7 miles.
The day before the race I was out on a friend's boat where I ate and drank with reckless abandon, so let's be polite and say my stomach wasn't too happy with me. Oh heck, let's be crass - I pooped 4 times between arriving at the race and starting my relay. Luckily, the other relay runner hooked me up with some Immodium and I was good to go - or NOT go, rather (wokka wokka!).
Jay, my biker, cruised in at a respectable time, I grabbed the chip and was off running. It was pretty cool being in a relay with such awesome athletes because our swim and bike time put me near the front of the pack not too far behind the elites and faster age-groupers. It was a race view I've never had before, and one I'll probably never have again. Noah and a few other BTT folks passed me in the other direction (they were ahead of me), and it was fun and motivating getting to encourage each other and slap hands as we passed each time.
I was holding steady at my long run pace and about 7 miles in my stomach started to complain again from all the Gu and water I was guzzling. I tried to put it out of my mind, but by mile 9 I had to pull off and use a port-a-john. My first time ever having to stop mid-race like that, and of course when I got in there the seat was spring-loaded in the "up" position. I'd put it down, it would spring back up, I'd put it back down, it would spring up. Then when I'd lean forward to get the TP it would spring up behind me and I'd almost fall in. I swear, I must have been on Candid Camera or something, and I probably lost a good extra minute fighting with that stupid thing. But nonetheless, I bolted out afterwards feeling like a new woman and tackled my last 4 miles.
With a mile to go, my legs were screaming, my body was heavy, and there was a big guy behind me panting and groaning so loudly, it sounded like he was having a "When Harry Met Sally" moment. It felt like the last half mile was entirely uphill, but then I crested the last one at the top of the finish chute and sprinted like my life depended on it. After all, I'd been holding steady 9's for 20 miles - I was dying to throw down some speed. We came in 5th place in the relay category, and I had nailed my training run. Then it was time for a post-race turkey dinner and a visit to the beer tent, where the BTT folks and I closed it out.
The last thing that happened yesterday at the race was kind of cool and special and touching. As we watched the volunteers break down the beer tent around us, we were joking around with them, and one of the coordinators eventually came over and asked if we'd do him a favor. You see, there was one guy still out on the course, but no spectators. We of course jumped at the chance to cheer him through the finish, and the RD even had some of the volunteers hold up the finish tape for him to break. We all high-fived him and cheered as he finished what was clearly a very long day, and later, we learned that even the football player volunteers were a little misty-eyed, caught in the moment. It's always amazing to watch someone overcome an obstacle, and I think as athletes, we all could relate to struggling through a race but seeing it through to completion.
Now's the part where I send huge warm fuzzies to the race director Kat and everyone who helped organize/run Pumpkinman. The course was well-managed, well-marked, well fueled/hydrated, the volunteers were incredibly friendly, and giving the last finisher the same fanfare that the first received was incredibly classy and sweet.
When Noah and I finally got home after a very long day, we had ice cream as an appetizer and breakfast for dinner, then we each took turns putting on our bathing suits and taking an ice bath, while the other chatted idly to distract from the misery of the icy water. I was going to post a picture of Noah in the tub wearing a hooded sweatshirt and tri shorts, but he politely declined posing for the photo. Oh and I forgot to mention that he took 7 minutes off his half-iron PR, only a few weeks after setting it. The man is a robot, I swear.
Only a few weeks left of training, then it's onto taper and race day. I'd love to tell you I'm nervous, but I'm not. I'm just ready to see what race day brings.
All is well, though. I've been running consistently all summer and though I don't feel like I'm breaking any land speeds, I'm injury-free and pretty relaxed about this whole race. My plan is to show up on Oct. 17 and see what happens.
This past weekend was my first 20-miler, and I decided to sign up for a relay team at the Pumpkinman Triathlon half-ironman and do it as a "catered training run," as my friend Woody likes to joke about races. The plan was to run 7 miles while my biker was out on the course, then take the chip and do my 13.1 at long run pace. It worked out well because I tricked my brain/body into thinking I was only doing 13.1, but oh man was it the longest 13.1 I've ever done. Because it was actually 20.
Noah was doing the full race that day, so we were up at 4 as usual and checked in by 6. He took off with his wave and I waited to watch my swimmer start, along with the runner on another Boston Triathlon Team relay team. Then we had 3.5 hours to kill, so we cheered for the other athletes, played "name that tune" with the race announcer/DJ (I won really fuzzy socks for knowing that James Brown was the artist of one song, and then dancing like him. My mom would be so proud...), and I got in my 7 miles.
The day before the race I was out on a friend's boat where I ate and drank with reckless abandon, so let's be polite and say my stomach wasn't too happy with me. Oh heck, let's be crass - I pooped 4 times between arriving at the race and starting my relay. Luckily, the other relay runner hooked me up with some Immodium and I was good to go - or NOT go, rather (wokka wokka!).
Jay, my biker, cruised in at a respectable time, I grabbed the chip and was off running. It was pretty cool being in a relay with such awesome athletes because our swim and bike time put me near the front of the pack not too far behind the elites and faster age-groupers. It was a race view I've never had before, and one I'll probably never have again. Noah and a few other BTT folks passed me in the other direction (they were ahead of me), and it was fun and motivating getting to encourage each other and slap hands as we passed each time.
I was holding steady at my long run pace and about 7 miles in my stomach started to complain again from all the Gu and water I was guzzling. I tried to put it out of my mind, but by mile 9 I had to pull off and use a port-a-john. My first time ever having to stop mid-race like that, and of course when I got in there the seat was spring-loaded in the "up" position. I'd put it down, it would spring back up, I'd put it back down, it would spring up. Then when I'd lean forward to get the TP it would spring up behind me and I'd almost fall in. I swear, I must have been on Candid Camera or something, and I probably lost a good extra minute fighting with that stupid thing. But nonetheless, I bolted out afterwards feeling like a new woman and tackled my last 4 miles.
With a mile to go, my legs were screaming, my body was heavy, and there was a big guy behind me panting and groaning so loudly, it sounded like he was having a "When Harry Met Sally" moment. It felt like the last half mile was entirely uphill, but then I crested the last one at the top of the finish chute and sprinted like my life depended on it. After all, I'd been holding steady 9's for 20 miles - I was dying to throw down some speed. We came in 5th place in the relay category, and I had nailed my training run. Then it was time for a post-race turkey dinner and a visit to the beer tent, where the BTT folks and I closed it out.
The last thing that happened yesterday at the race was kind of cool and special and touching. As we watched the volunteers break down the beer tent around us, we were joking around with them, and one of the coordinators eventually came over and asked if we'd do him a favor. You see, there was one guy still out on the course, but no spectators. We of course jumped at the chance to cheer him through the finish, and the RD even had some of the volunteers hold up the finish tape for him to break. We all high-fived him and cheered as he finished what was clearly a very long day, and later, we learned that even the football player volunteers were a little misty-eyed, caught in the moment. It's always amazing to watch someone overcome an obstacle, and I think as athletes, we all could relate to struggling through a race but seeing it through to completion.
Now's the part where I send huge warm fuzzies to the race director Kat and everyone who helped organize/run Pumpkinman. The course was well-managed, well-marked, well fueled/hydrated, the volunteers were incredibly friendly, and giving the last finisher the same fanfare that the first received was incredibly classy and sweet.
When Noah and I finally got home after a very long day, we had ice cream as an appetizer and breakfast for dinner, then we each took turns putting on our bathing suits and taking an ice bath, while the other chatted idly to distract from the misery of the icy water. I was going to post a picture of Noah in the tub wearing a hooded sweatshirt and tri shorts, but he politely declined posing for the photo. Oh and I forgot to mention that he took 7 minutes off his half-iron PR, only a few weeks after setting it. The man is a robot, I swear.
Only a few weeks left of training, then it's onto taper and race day. I'd love to tell you I'm nervous, but I'm not. I'm just ready to see what race day brings.
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