Five years ago, I would not have thought I was capable of uttering such words, but I have done it. I still, officially, have not run a marathon, but I have a 50k under my belt. Despite the pain I am experiencing today, there are multiple silver linings beyond simply finishing a 50k. Since I burned at least 8000 calories yesterday, I don't feel guilty about a few extra indulgences today. I made my "world famous" homemade chocolate chip cookies this weekend, so I have eaten some cookie dough as well as the finished product. They have never tasted better.
I felt good yesterday morning. My legs felt rested, and I had more than enough fuel to carry. I had a solid fuel plan, and I was ready to give it everything but pace myself according to the 33 miles ahead of me. Paralleling the many accounts I have read of people running ultras (usually longer ones, but, hey, I am new at this) I experienced multiple highs and multiple lows. Of those, many were extreme highs and extreme lows. I felt awesome by the first aid station at about 12.5 miles, after a seven mile climb followed by a shorter climb to the 4000+ foot summit, where good friend Hugh Bouchelle was waiting to snap a few pictures, and others were waiting to help me stuff my face with all manner of ultra-staple goodies. What lay ahead was a seven mile descent, and it kicked my butt. From past experience trail racing and training, I know that downhills can be much harder on the legs, and additionally beat up the rest of one's body. Well, this was the longest continuous period of downhill I had ever experienced. Before I rolled into the next aid station, about 19.5 miles, I was ready to quit, not right there, but I was ready to take the safety net. One of the reasons I chose this race was the "party route," a cut off after the final aid station (at about 24.5 miles) that shaves about seven miles off the race. I was looking at that as a serious option. Besides, I was hurting, and aid station two is not quite two-thirds of the way through.
Before I hit aid station two, I experienced all sorts of emotions, some of my lowest lows were among them. I thought about Leah Marie, waiting at home, wondering how I was doing and being constantly attacked by three crazy little boys. I wanted to get home as soon as I could, so that contributed to my decision a little later on to take that safety net party route. Fortunately, I also had the pleasure of running with some wonderful people, Helen, Carol, Bob, and Sarah. They all pushed, encouraged, and supported me in so many ways, especially in the ways I needed it the most, mentally and emotionally. Helen dropped out at this aid station. The amazing woman is eight weeks postpartum, and she was using a breast pump to keep herself comfortable for the run. Sadly, it broke before aid station two, and she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She left me with a few aids in the form of salt pills and ibuprofen. Huge helps.
A couple miles out from aid station two, I just couldn't keep up with my running companions, and then the lowest of lows soon followed. I seriously nearly found myself in tears. What a long strange trip it had been, just to that point. I decided I would push myself and run to the final aid station as if I was going to take the party route, which I almost completely convinced myself to do. When I reached the aid station, two wonderful people were there to meet my every need: prep food, pour me drinks, restock my drink supply, etc. Most importantly, they were there to give me encouragement, to push me to continue, to make me want to finish the whole race. I loaded up on some high fructose corn syrup (that you Coca Cola), grabbed a couple fun size candy bars, and loaded my hat up with ice. Then I took a deep breath and forced myself to begin the grueling four mile climb that began the final eight miles of the whole race.
Mostly, the emotional lows had disappeared. I felt great after the final aid station; I felt great for a while, even the fact that most of the four mile climb was almost straight up did not drown my high spirits. However, after a while, I started to worry. I had been climbing for a while, and I knew the final big climb (there were still some shorter ones ahead) ended with a turn. With a minimally marked course (a volunteer had lain out the occasional arrow made of flour), I wondered whether I had missed a turn. Fortunately, I had not, and my spirits soared when I started the long, mostly downhill four-mile homestretch. I found myself flying at times, but then I hit a few rocky points that slowed me way down and a handful of climbs that really started to piss me off because they seemed to last forever. Will this ever end? "Bloody hell," I yelled more than I can count.
When I made the final turn and could hear a small group conversing and then saw the cars in the parking area, I took off and finished fast, with my head high, and my spirits higher than ever, aided by Hugh Bouchelle greeting me and a hefty amount of cheering and even more when Q, the race director, announced that it was my first ultra. He then made me feel better and even more part of the group by dumping a giant cooler of water over my head.
Long before the race ended, I had decided it would be a long time before I do anything like that again. Well, I learned a lot about myself yesterday. The most important thing I learned was just how tough I am. Bob had said at one point in the race that if I complete that loop, I could do any 50 miler he knew of. That's when I first realized I had picked a hellacious race for my first ultra. Well, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, and I am already looking forward to my next 50k, stronger, wiser, and faster. Although, it will probably be a while before I brave a 50 miler.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Sunday, August 2, 2015
An Increasingly Daunting Task
I am exhausted. I can hardly function. My legs are sore, and my ankles ache. I ran a measly 3.5 hours yesterday, and it was pretty slow (though I forced myself to pick up the pace for some of the miles and probably should not have done so) and it was on virtually flat terrain, mostly on the Chessie Nature Trail. Next Saturday I will run about 33 miles up and down mountains. The more achy and tired I feel, the tighter my muscles feel, the more I wonder whether I will survive, let alone finish. I have been tapering since my 6.5 hour run a little over a week ago, but I feel more exhausted than ever, more beat up than I did after that run. Doubt is the runner's worst enemy. If I don't mentally prepare well for this herculean effort, I fear I will bonk long before the final aid station. I wish I had been running more in training, working harder, doing more hill work outs, losing more weight (I am still caring 20 pounds more than when I was rocking triathlons a few years ago). Add to that stress job issues and a new semester just over three weeks away, and I am a wreck. Just breathe. Just. Breathe. Ya feel me?
Hm. I am not sure what this blog post intended to accomplish.
Hm. I am not sure what this blog post intended to accomplish.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Recovery and Exposition
Yesterday's six hour run turned into a 6:28 run because I thought I could negative split, which I am usually able to do. Apparently I should have paid closer attention to just how long one particular descent was. It nearly killed me on the way back. I seriously had a moment where my heart rate spiked, and I felt funny in the head. It scared me, but I knew, somehow, with certainty, that I just needed to sit down and breathe. After some meditative breathing techniques, and just a couple of minutes, everything felt normal. On the next steep climb, I had to take a couple minutes again. After the last climb, I decided to sit for a couple more minutes. Phew!
The day after, I feel great, relatively speaking. I have some inflammation in both ankles, but it is not as bad as it has been in the past after shorter runs. My form is improving as my body gets stronger. My legs are sore, but again, nothing beyond what I have experienced in the past. I am pleased with the results. Admittedly, at a few points yesterday, I questioned my sanity, wondered why I thought running an ultra marathon was such a good idea. I mean, I have never even run a marathon. And I only ran 22 miles yesterday. Yes, I know, so freakin' slow. But, you know, climbing mountains (literally climbing at times), single-track, technical terrain. Of course, an elite trail runner could have covered that distance in half the time.
Still, it feels good to have finally come this far. A little over a year ago, after I completed the Conquer the Cove 25k in Roanoke, I could hardly walk for days. In fact, my right foot, on top just below the middle three toes, remained dreadfully swollen for weeks. I thought nothing of it; well, I thought little of it. I just needed to rest a week and slowly start back into running. That is what I did, ignoring the lingering pain, but even more troubling, the swelling continued. What happened?
I had trouble deciding on shoes to wear during the 25k. I had turned into a heavy advocate for barefoot and minimalist shoes. I was trying to decide between my thick, cushy Altras, which I had purchased to assist in my recovery of the severely inflamed tendon (see earlier posts) and my Merrell Trail Gloves, the most comfortable shoes I had ever owned and run in. Well, the Altras I had purchased were not trail shoes, so I decided on the Trail Gloves, very minimalist, more accurately barefoot, shoes. For about 11-12 miles of the race, I felt great. I knew I had made the right decision. My feet and legs felt great. Then the trail made a dramatic plunge for two to three miles, and it was rocky, littered with exposed tree roots, and steep in many places. My feet took a pounding. Immediately after the race, things didn't feel right. The next day, things felt even worse. I still don't know what happened to my foot. My best guess is that I had fractured it or had done major soft tissue damage (I also stubbed my toes, hard, multiple times), but I pressed on, looking ahead to the next race, a trail half marathon in September. I had wanted to run a 40 miler that day (same course as the half marathon), but I at least decided I couldn't be ready in time with the way my recovery from the 25k began.
I had new trail shoes for the half marathon, and my feet did feel better after that race. I felt like I was in the clear. The next week, I ran 10 easy miles on a flat course, and the next day, my foot hurt more than after the previous week's race. I decided to shut it down. My ultra dreams once gain put on hold for an injury. What made it so frustrating was that I had just spent so long recovering from the other injury. The funny part of this entire process through to today? My right foot is still "injured." But that exposition is yet to come.
The day after, I feel great, relatively speaking. I have some inflammation in both ankles, but it is not as bad as it has been in the past after shorter runs. My form is improving as my body gets stronger. My legs are sore, but again, nothing beyond what I have experienced in the past. I am pleased with the results. Admittedly, at a few points yesterday, I questioned my sanity, wondered why I thought running an ultra marathon was such a good idea. I mean, I have never even run a marathon. And I only ran 22 miles yesterday. Yes, I know, so freakin' slow. But, you know, climbing mountains (literally climbing at times), single-track, technical terrain. Of course, an elite trail runner could have covered that distance in half the time.
Still, it feels good to have finally come this far. A little over a year ago, after I completed the Conquer the Cove 25k in Roanoke, I could hardly walk for days. In fact, my right foot, on top just below the middle three toes, remained dreadfully swollen for weeks. I thought nothing of it; well, I thought little of it. I just needed to rest a week and slowly start back into running. That is what I did, ignoring the lingering pain, but even more troubling, the swelling continued. What happened?
I had trouble deciding on shoes to wear during the 25k. I had turned into a heavy advocate for barefoot and minimalist shoes. I was trying to decide between my thick, cushy Altras, which I had purchased to assist in my recovery of the severely inflamed tendon (see earlier posts) and my Merrell Trail Gloves, the most comfortable shoes I had ever owned and run in. Well, the Altras I had purchased were not trail shoes, so I decided on the Trail Gloves, very minimalist, more accurately barefoot, shoes. For about 11-12 miles of the race, I felt great. I knew I had made the right decision. My feet and legs felt great. Then the trail made a dramatic plunge for two to three miles, and it was rocky, littered with exposed tree roots, and steep in many places. My feet took a pounding. Immediately after the race, things didn't feel right. The next day, things felt even worse. I still don't know what happened to my foot. My best guess is that I had fractured it or had done major soft tissue damage (I also stubbed my toes, hard, multiple times), but I pressed on, looking ahead to the next race, a trail half marathon in September. I had wanted to run a 40 miler that day (same course as the half marathon), but I at least decided I couldn't be ready in time with the way my recovery from the 25k began.
I had new trail shoes for the half marathon, and my feet did feel better after that race. I felt like I was in the clear. The next week, I ran 10 easy miles on a flat course, and the next day, my foot hurt more than after the previous week's race. I decided to shut it down. My ultra dreams once gain put on hold for an injury. What made it so frustrating was that I had just spent so long recovering from the other injury. The funny part of this entire process through to today? My right foot is still "injured." But that exposition is yet to come.
Friday, July 24, 2015
The Evolution Leaps Forward (Hopefully)
Sleep. That is what I think about the most in my life, probably. This week has not been terrible, relatively speaking. The three Things that usually like to wake up at five a.m. have chosen to wake up between 6:15 and 6:30 this week. While this development excited me, it could not last. Often, the night before the night before a big run or race is the most important opportunity to get sleep because nerves can often play talk sleep for a long run and leave one wide-eyed. Of course, last night, I mistakenly stayed up a little too late, and Thing 3 decides to revert to his five a.m. rising regimen. Does he not care about his daddy's sleep?
Well, that is what caffeine is for, and I have plenty of it for tomorrow morning, which will come for me at three a.m. I have never run for six hours. I took a hike one time when I was eighteen or nineteen, and the ascent took well over three hours. The descent (after an hour or two of rest) was much faster, but still, a total of over five hours of hiking. The difference? I may have covered six or seven miles, but I did weigh over 400 pounds. Tomorrow's run will cross into the 20+ mile range, depending on how I feel. It sounds slow (and it really is), but don't forget that I am running single-track mountain trails. I lot of unforgiving climbs and joint pounding descents. It does more than take one's breath away; it sucks your soul.
Today, I planned to spend as much time off my feet as possible. I did well for most of the day, but the inevitability of duties to home and family made the last few hours leg-fatiguing. I hope that what sleep I do get tonight remedies that.
Tomorrow is a big test, and if all goes well, it will represent an evolutionary leap for my running. The problem is, no matter how I feel during and after the run tomorrow, the real test comes in the days following. How well will I recover? I will just wait for evolution to run its course.
Well, that is what caffeine is for, and I have plenty of it for tomorrow morning, which will come for me at three a.m. I have never run for six hours. I took a hike one time when I was eighteen or nineteen, and the ascent took well over three hours. The descent (after an hour or two of rest) was much faster, but still, a total of over five hours of hiking. The difference? I may have covered six or seven miles, but I did weigh over 400 pounds. Tomorrow's run will cross into the 20+ mile range, depending on how I feel. It sounds slow (and it really is), but don't forget that I am running single-track mountain trails. I lot of unforgiving climbs and joint pounding descents. It does more than take one's breath away; it sucks your soul.
Today, I planned to spend as much time off my feet as possible. I did well for most of the day, but the inevitability of duties to home and family made the last few hours leg-fatiguing. I hope that what sleep I do get tonight remedies that.
Tomorrow is a big test, and if all goes well, it will represent an evolutionary leap for my running. The problem is, no matter how I feel during and after the run tomorrow, the real test comes in the days following. How well will I recover? I will just wait for evolution to run its course.
Monday, July 20, 2015
In Medias Res
Cross training today. Over an hour on the bicycle, and some hills nearly halted me several times. Wow, I am out of bicycling shape. Of course, I am also very tired. When you have three little boys, who like to wake up around five a.m. everyday, sleep turns into a rare commodity, especially recuperative sleep. I mean, I have been biking consistently for last few months.
The real question that I am sure many of you are asking (I flatter myself that people actually read this blog) is, "Where have you been?" There is really no easy answer to that question, but I will answer quickly, taking the time to explain over the next string of blog posts (I am not sure how many that will be). The simple answer is that I have been injured. The complicated explanation is far more in depth. I'll just say this for now, that 25k in Roanoke I referred to in my previous blog post? It destroyed my right foot. More on that later. The good news? After a long, slow recovery, and a lot of patience, I am registered for my first ultra marathon, a 50k on 8 August. As for training? I have had my ups and downs. The big test is a six hour run this coming weekend. Yes, I said six hours. How does one prepare for such a thing? Well, it starts with sleep. Good night!
The real question that I am sure many of you are asking (I flatter myself that people actually read this blog) is, "Where have you been?" There is really no easy answer to that question, but I will answer quickly, taking the time to explain over the next string of blog posts (I am not sure how many that will be). The simple answer is that I have been injured. The complicated explanation is far more in depth. I'll just say this for now, that 25k in Roanoke I referred to in my previous blog post? It destroyed my right foot. More on that later. The good news? After a long, slow recovery, and a lot of patience, I am registered for my first ultra marathon, a 50k on 8 August. As for training? I have had my ups and downs. The big test is a six hour run this coming weekend. Yes, I said six hours. How does one prepare for such a thing? Well, it starts with sleep. Good night!
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Time to Shut It Down Again?
My long runs the past two weeks: 12 miles and 14 miles. The latter proved especially successful, finishing with a 10:09 pace. Everything felt in order then and the next day when I did my recovery run. Unfortunately, later that day and on into the next morning, my foot started to hurt, that same twinge of pain that eventually led me to shutting it down three months ago. This time I have been more careful, but something I did in the last two or three runs has left me concerned that my running days are over, perhaps for the season. That would mean no training and no racing for the next several months. I cannot in words express how devastating that would be, the depths of depression to which I would fall would drain my soul. Over dramatic? Probably, but running has done something for me that nothing else can. I need it in my life. I need to get lost doing it; lost in thought, especially. I have a race this coming weekend, a 25k in Roanoke. Will that be the last one for a long while? I hope not. I will keep you up-to-date.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Still Running Forward
Friday, 9 May, in accordance with the 50k training plan I started, I set out to do a 10 mile run, by far the longest distance since I shut it down over two months ago. Imagine my fear (well, if you can). If my tendons wouldn't hold, that would put a huge dent in my progress toward the ultra I am running in September (40 miler). I still have a lot of base to build up for that. Of course, there will always be an ultra somewhere, so most important, for me, the ability to run, period. I long for that day I can lace on some shoes and bust out the door for a double-digit or multi-hour long run without hesitation, without concern for the overuse injury that has plagued me for the past few months.
Running the 5k a couple weeks ago was a big deal, but this 10 miler was huge. It meant everything in moving to the next stage in my recovery process. I had already rung three days last week, the most I had run in a week in over two months, and they were three days in a row. Thursday was a scheduled recovery day, and I had the choice of taking it completely off, which I did. Saturday was a scheduled hour long medium run, which I would make a decision about after Friday's run. Is the suspense killing you yet? Well, here's a hint, I chose not to run Saturday, at all. Fret not, however, because the 10-mile run was a huge success. Yes, my tendons gave me some pause during the first mile or two, but once they loosened up, I experienced smooth sailing most of the rest of the run. In fact, there was little to no swelling afterwards or the next day; however, I need to be careful, and I felt like after such an intense run (though not my fastest and still walking for one minute after every five) I should give my ankle an extra day to recover before I start the weekly training cycle all over again tomorrow.
The particulars of my 10-mile run surprised me. I had expected a 12-minute-per-mile pace. Mile one = 13:02. Ugh! But I quickly made my peace with it. One must not rush recovery. These things take time when done right. Mile two = 12:42. Better, but I wasn't burning up the road, which was a beautiful place to run. River Road, just south of Buena Vista, VA. It winds along the river among small mountains and cliffs, delightful. Mile three = 11:54. Now that's what I'm talking about! That felt good, and I loved that I still had the negative split chops; although, it's not hard to negative split after such slow miles. Mile four = 10:56. Whoa, I'm out of my mind! I didn't even consider sub 11:00 possible, despite the 5k performance. This was 10 miles. Was I pushing too hard? Would I run out of gas? Yet I pushed on. Mile five = 9:55!!! What the heck was I thinking? That can't lead to any good. At this point, I turned around, of course, and eased back, partly because I was starting to feel fatigued, but I was also worried about, once again, doing too much too soon. I sucked down a Clif gel. Mile six = 11:02. That felt more manageable, though I felt disappointed. Naturally, as is my way, I picked the pace up a bit. Mile seven = 10:12. Well, how 'bout that? After seven miles, I was putting in a solid pace. Mile eight = 9:39. Yes, I know, I put in an 8:40 mile during the 5k, but this was mile eight of a 10 mile run. How was my body doing this? Also, this was a training run. When I race, I shave oodles (you like that word?) of time off my pace. Mile nine (a lot of uphill climbing) = 10:03. I was spent after the climb, but when I saw the time, I felt awesome, and all the discomfort disappeared. Mile 10 = 9:44. Come on, now, is that not impressive? I am not bragging here. Why would I? For many runners that pace is slower than the molasses in January, but for me, wow! I pulled that off in the 10th mile of my longest run in over two months and still in the middle of recovering from an injury. Overall, I ran the 10 miles in 1:49:10 with a 10:54 pace. Happy? You bet, but reservedly so. I do not want to assume that I am back, fully recovered. I think that is still months away, but this was a giant leap forward. That is why I took Saturday off. I did not want to risk losing all that progress. Not that I thought I was still that close to majorly inflaming those tendons again, but I certainly didn't want to find out. So two days of rest, and Monday is an easy 45-60 minutes to start it all over again, with a 12 miler on Friday.
With that success, I registered for what will essentially be my first half marathon, but because it's me, a simple half marathon isn't enough. On 1 June, I will run a trail 25k (15.5 miles) in Roanoke. The is the next goal in this process. Of course, I will make sure to keep myself from overdoing it, but it will be so hard when I hit that trail, adrenaline pumping, and the mountain air nurturing the soul.
Running the 5k a couple weeks ago was a big deal, but this 10 miler was huge. It meant everything in moving to the next stage in my recovery process. I had already rung three days last week, the most I had run in a week in over two months, and they were three days in a row. Thursday was a scheduled recovery day, and I had the choice of taking it completely off, which I did. Saturday was a scheduled hour long medium run, which I would make a decision about after Friday's run. Is the suspense killing you yet? Well, here's a hint, I chose not to run Saturday, at all. Fret not, however, because the 10-mile run was a huge success. Yes, my tendons gave me some pause during the first mile or two, but once they loosened up, I experienced smooth sailing most of the rest of the run. In fact, there was little to no swelling afterwards or the next day; however, I need to be careful, and I felt like after such an intense run (though not my fastest and still walking for one minute after every five) I should give my ankle an extra day to recover before I start the weekly training cycle all over again tomorrow.
The particulars of my 10-mile run surprised me. I had expected a 12-minute-per-mile pace. Mile one = 13:02. Ugh! But I quickly made my peace with it. One must not rush recovery. These things take time when done right. Mile two = 12:42. Better, but I wasn't burning up the road, which was a beautiful place to run. River Road, just south of Buena Vista, VA. It winds along the river among small mountains and cliffs, delightful. Mile three = 11:54. Now that's what I'm talking about! That felt good, and I loved that I still had the negative split chops; although, it's not hard to negative split after such slow miles. Mile four = 10:56. Whoa, I'm out of my mind! I didn't even consider sub 11:00 possible, despite the 5k performance. This was 10 miles. Was I pushing too hard? Would I run out of gas? Yet I pushed on. Mile five = 9:55!!! What the heck was I thinking? That can't lead to any good. At this point, I turned around, of course, and eased back, partly because I was starting to feel fatigued, but I was also worried about, once again, doing too much too soon. I sucked down a Clif gel. Mile six = 11:02. That felt more manageable, though I felt disappointed. Naturally, as is my way, I picked the pace up a bit. Mile seven = 10:12. Well, how 'bout that? After seven miles, I was putting in a solid pace. Mile eight = 9:39. Yes, I know, I put in an 8:40 mile during the 5k, but this was mile eight of a 10 mile run. How was my body doing this? Also, this was a training run. When I race, I shave oodles (you like that word?) of time off my pace. Mile nine (a lot of uphill climbing) = 10:03. I was spent after the climb, but when I saw the time, I felt awesome, and all the discomfort disappeared. Mile 10 = 9:44. Come on, now, is that not impressive? I am not bragging here. Why would I? For many runners that pace is slower than the molasses in January, but for me, wow! I pulled that off in the 10th mile of my longest run in over two months and still in the middle of recovering from an injury. Overall, I ran the 10 miles in 1:49:10 with a 10:54 pace. Happy? You bet, but reservedly so. I do not want to assume that I am back, fully recovered. I think that is still months away, but this was a giant leap forward. That is why I took Saturday off. I did not want to risk losing all that progress. Not that I thought I was still that close to majorly inflaming those tendons again, but I certainly didn't want to find out. So two days of rest, and Monday is an easy 45-60 minutes to start it all over again, with a 12 miler on Friday.
With that success, I registered for what will essentially be my first half marathon, but because it's me, a simple half marathon isn't enough. On 1 June, I will run a trail 25k (15.5 miles) in Roanoke. The is the next goal in this process. Of course, I will make sure to keep myself from overdoing it, but it will be so hard when I hit that trail, adrenaline pumping, and the mountain air nurturing the soul.
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