Confessions of an Average Runner

How to Survive Your Worst Race

2011-12-16T10:58:00.002-05:00

I was 8 miles into the Niagara Falls Marathon and I was in deep trouble. Exhaustion had me in its grip. I'm not talking about the "I'm tired and achy" feeling that you get when you are pushing a little too hard, I'm referring to the bone-wrenching "I can't take another step" weariness that slams into you after you have gone past the point of no return. Yup, I was in trouble. I slowed to a walk to assess the situation.

I had started out the morning optimistic and excited. I was hoping to set a new PR that day (anything below a 3:50 finishing time - 8:50/per mile pace) and though a bit tired, I was confident that I could. I had run a lot of shorter distances and fast miles, many times working out twice a day. Race morning had dawned with perfect weather: cold at the start but warming up to about 50 by the finish. The course was flat and beautiful and everything was in my favor. This was going to be the day! Only it wasn't.

As I assessed my condition at 8 miles, I thought about quitting. I really wanted to. My PR was out the window. My optimism had been beaten out of me by the dismal thought that I still had 18 miles left to run and if I felt this bad now, how would I feel then? But I had never quit a marathon before and that thought brought me to a slow run. I kept thinking; "Maybe this will pass, maybe I will start to feel better, maybe my legs and body will loosen up." I plugged on until 11 miles when the leg cramps started. Usually this is something that happens between 18-22 miles into a marathon yet here I was not even half done and struggling mightily with cramps.

As I walked to keep the tightness at bay, I really had no idea how I was going to finish this race. My legs would only let me run 200 yards at a time before threatening to seize up with paralyzing cramps. Then I would have to walk. With every step, I wanted to lie down, every footfall brought despair and frustration. As multitudes of people passed me, I fell further and further into depression. I had lost the physical battle. The mental battle was just beginning.

Everyone has bad races. It's a given. How you handle a bad race tells you a lot about yourself. You can come out of the experience stronger or give up. So, how do you make sure that you fall in the former category instead of the latter? Here are some tips that I have found for handling a bad race:

1. Redefine your goals.
When your body can't handle a particular pace, or you aren't achieving to the level that you thought you should be able to, you have to redefine your goals. The quicker you do that, the better off you will be. This keeps your mind from fighting your body and will help to keep you loose and calm. When I found that my PR goal was not possible, my new goal was to do the best that I could. When my legs started to cramp, my goal was further refined to just finishing the next mile.

2. Find something to take your mind off things.
The more you focus on the pain, the frustration, the more insurmountable the problem becomes. Find something to take your mind off it. Find a fellow runner to talk to, count your steps, sing a song, recite the Gettysburg Address in your head or out loud. Whatever it takes to keep your mind from getting entangled in the endless loop of pain and anguish.

3. Celebrate the victory.
So you didn't set a new world record, you also didn't quit. Celebrate your victory. Revel in the fact that with every step the voice within you wanted to throw in the towel and you told it to sit down and shut up.

4. Learn from your mistakes and move forward.
Figure out what went wrong. Make a plan to correct it. Then move on. Get up the next morning and go for a run on your favorite route. Breathe deeply. Feel the wind blow by you and enjoy the journey.

I was walking and running short spurts when I noticed a woman that seemed to be matching my pace. I would pass her and have to walk, then she would pass me. Finally, I struck up a conversation. She was having stomach issues and I couldn't run more than a few yards at a time, so we made a great pair. We worked through the miles together, passing the halfway point, walking when we needed to and talking about life, jobs and running. The camaraderie was a salve to my aching muscles and bruised ego. We made it to about 18 miles and then she had to stop to stretch. She told me to go on and so I did, but the miles were much harder. I later found out that she did not finish.

I pressed on with a bone-deep ache in my body. I looked longingly at each park bench thinking that a 10 minute nap would be like heaven. I ran stiffly and painfully when I could. Every step was a small victory. Every mile was forever. Finally though, the finish loomed in my sight and I stumbled forward crossing it on cramped legs. Never have I been so happy to see that line. Never have I felt so proud of such a slow time. And never have I battled myself for so many miles and won.

Dealing with Setbacks

2011-10-14T09:53:00.001-04:00

You know that moment when everything changes? That moment when you wish with all your heart to be able to rewind the clock, but the time is irretrievable? When the plans that you made and the goals that you had become very much in doubt? You slow. You stop. And the only eloquence that your mind can squeeze out in that tortured moment is one word: "Crap!"

I was in the midst of a 50 yard sprint when that moment seized me; or rather seized my left hamstring. I felt the clench of the muscle and hobbled the rest of the sprint but knew that I had been damaged. I wasn't sure how severe it was at that point; was it a muscle pull? Did I tear the muscle? Was it just a cramp — or was that just wishful thinking? I had felt the same type of pain before, but in the other leg. It would be fine in a few days. In a week, I would be back to normal. Unfortunately, I only had two days.

I am supposed to run a marathon in two days. This is supposed to be a PR for me! I had imagined myself countless times crossing the finish line, flushed with success at having broke a 2 year slump. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go! (Insert the 5 stages of grief here as I raged, denied and finally came to acceptance.) I guess it doesn't matter how things were supposed to go, this is where I found myself: hurt, with a marathon looming in 2 days. Now the question was; "How do I deal with this?"

I saw my choice as simple: run the race potentially injured and give up my dream of a PR, or don't run. But as I thought more about it, I realized there were more choices than that. I remembered reading that the marathon that I was running would defer my entry to the next year if I wanted. I thought: "I could defer my race, so that I didn't lose my entry fee if I don't run." That led to another open door. I looked on http://www.marathonguide.com/ and found that the Niagara Falls Marathon was the weekend after and looked beautiful. This complicated my choices, but also gave me hope that I wasn't facing an all or nothing situation. I could either run this weekend, or defer my entry and run the Niagara Falls Marathon the weekend after.

So many times in training and racing, we face setbacks. At that point we have a choice. We can deal with what is and move forward, or we can allow that setback to be the impenetrable wall that becomes our sticking place. Whether it's hurt or weather, hills or mindset, always remember you have a choice. In fact you may have more than one. How you move forward from a setback is up to you. In my case, I still haven't decided what I want to do, but I feel good about my choices. I guess I will just have to see what the next few days hold and hope for the best.

Perfect Pacing, a Prickly Problem!

2011-10-12T10:57:00.001-04:00

It is mile 22. My legs cramp with every stuttered, walking step. I can barely breathe and I feel like every ounce of my body is infused with lead. Sweat has dried and formed white rivulets on my battle-worn corpse. I want to quit. Or to die. And with the way I feel, I'm not really all that choosy which. I still have 4.2 miles to go. My mind can't process how far that is. I'm done.

I have run between 20 and 25 marathons (I'm not sure of the exact number), and this was the scene in all but one. I finished all of them, but it definitely wasn't pretty! Either my legs cramp up, my body bonks, my mind fuzzes out or all three at once. I couldn't figure out what the problem was. At first I thought it was that I wasn't training hard enough, so I trained harder. That didn't work. Then I thought it was dehydration and electrolyte depletion, so I worked on that. That had limited effectiveness. I just was never able to solve the problem of why my body tanked so bad in every marathon. Then I realized that I might have been too narrow in my approach.

I was looking for one problem, but it was actually three. I was overtraining, I wasn't taking in enough electrolytes, and my pace was too aggressive. With this last training cycle, I have dialed in the other issues and now it's time to focus on pace. The latest studies seem to be saying that muscle cramping may not occur because of electrolyte depletion, but because of trying to hold a pace that your body isn't ready for. That describes me to a "T."

I get excited when I start the race and blast out for the first few miles. My old game plan was to talk myself into a pace that was 30 seconds to a full minute faster than most of my runs. My long runs would be 9-9:30 pace with my shorter runs not much faster and I would try to run an 8:00 pace. Crazy, right? Well, the results were as expected: I would do fine until about 13 miles, then I would start to struggle and my body would naturally slow down. I would come to the place where I felt like I was running through cement and then my body would just shut down. I went over the edge and couldn't recover. As I thought about it, I came to realize that I really hadn't listened when my body tried to tell me to slow down and so a crash was inevitable. So, for the upcoming Grand Rapids Marathon, I am determined to solve this problem.

My training regime has consisted of a lot of pace work with about 30-40% of it between 7:45-8:00 per mile. The easy miles that I log tend to be about 8:35. As I chose a pace and race plan, I tried not to be to aggressive since that is my tendency, but to achieve what I am capable of. So here it is:

For the first 13 miles, I am going to keep it easy. (This has to be paramount in my mind.) I have no pace goals other than to not go any faster than 8:24 a mile. If I run 8:45's, I need to be ok with that. I will do frequent body checks to make sure that I am not pushing too hard.
From mile 13-20, I will let it out a little bit depending on how my body feels. The pace here could be 8:15-8:30. I need to focus on fueling correctly during this time as well.
From mile 20-26.2 my goal will be to go as fast as I can and not to walk.

If I have a great day, and all the stars align, I could run a 3:39. My secondary goal if that isn't possible is to run a Personal Best which would be anything under 3:50. Believe me, I am not at all sure about my pacing plan and have been second guessing myself constantly, but I at this point only time will tell if it worked. Check back next week to see the results. In the meantime, tell me; what are your pacing secrets?

Welcome to Tapertown. Population boring!

2011-10-06T21:41:00.001-04:00

So, I'm supposed to be tapering for the Grand Rapids Marathon on October 16th and I suck at it! Rest has always been my achilles heel. I feel like I should be doing something. I sit on the couch and I could swear that I can feel my body getting weaker and fatter. Yet I know I need to rest. I know that in order to perform my best, my body needs the time to recover from the sprints, two-a-days, long runs, fartleks, and tempo runs. My joints need to regain their cushioning. My muscles need to recover their elasticity. Even understanding this, I find myself asking "Why is it so difficult?"

The two weeks before a marathon are confusing. Your body is used to an intense schedule, but your muscles and joints are right on the verge of breaking down. You need the rest, but you feel lazy. You get nervous because your runs feel sluggish as your body repairs itself and find yourself wondering "What if I can't hold pace?" or "What if it feels this bad on race day?" You start to think that the pace you have chosen is too fast or too slow. Your mind begins to play tricks on you. As if that wasn't enough, you imagine all sorts of aches and pains. I could swear that some obscure illness is threatening to ravage my body.

None of these fears and thoughts are true though. Your body and mind are trying to psych you out. The taper is imperative if you want to run well on marathon day. You need to put the fears aside and be confident in your training. Remind yourself that the work is done. Anything else you do won't help, it will actually hinder you in the race. Think about your race plan. Picture yourself gliding along at race pace. Rehearse your mantras for the times when the going gets tough. Imagine what it will feel like to cross the finish line. Practice your victory dance. But most of all, enjoy the rest.

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On October 16th, I will be aiming for a new PR. My previous best was 3:50:11 set in 2009. I have been stuck there for two years. It's time to find out if the changes to my training methods are working. I'm a little intimidated. Wish me luck. And if you are running the Grand Rapids Marathon and see me, make sure to say "Hi."

New 1/2 Marathon PR

2011-09-24T21:13:00.001-04:00

The morning was perfect — 50 degrees and sunny. About a thousand of us took off on the Park2Park Half Marathon in Holland Michigan. I stood with the other runners at the starting line, feeling a bit disheveled but anxious to see what the day held. Part of my anxiety came from the fact that I got lost on my way to the start. I pushed down those feelings as the gun went off and started to run. I went through the first mile at 7:43 and settled into a rhythm.

I had no idea what my body would do. My tempo runs have been about 7:45-7:50, but have topped out at 8 miles. I have also been doing a lot of quicker, shorter runs with my son's cross country team and not very many longer miles, so what would happen in this race was anyone's guess. I found out quickly that my body wasn't able to hold a 7:45, so I dropped back to about an 8 min/mile pace and even that was on the edge of what I could do. I realized that I wasn't as recovered as I probably needed to be for this race knowing that just a couple days before, I had done 10 miles in two runs with speedwork. Dumb.

Instead of kicking myself, I tried to relax into the pace and be patient. Miles 1-8 went by without too much fuss, and I saw one of my friends several times as we leapfrogged back and forth. It started to get really difficult at 10 miles, my pace dropped to about 8:24 and stayed there for two miles. Then at 11 miles, I pulled out my secret weapon (not very secret anymore, I suppose) and started counting my steps. My legs were threatening to cramp up, my breathing was short, but for some reason when I started counting, my leg turnover improved and stride loosened up. My final two miles hovered at 8 minutes and I sprinted to the finish line dead on my feet.

1:46:01 read my watch. A new PR! My previous record for that distance was 1:54:08, but that was set several years ago and so I knew that unless elephants suddenly started doing algebra, I was pretty much guaranteed a new record today. I finished celebrating my PR, but still disappointed in my time. I felt that I should have been able to to run under 8 minutes a mile. I had run a 25K and averaged 7:54 a mile — I should have been faster than that, right? And knowing how difficult that pace felt for a 1/2 marathon was very disheartening as I consider that in three weeks I have to run twice as far almost as fast. On the other hand, I knew that I did the best that I could with what I had that day and I left it all on the course and so I found satisfaction in that. Some days that's all you can do.

Get the Stink Out!

2011-09-17T22:34:00.000-04:00

My clothes stink! You think that I am exaggerating, but I assure you that I am not. It smells like something died in my shirt. I find myself standing at a distance from others. They probably think that I'm stuck up — aloof, but in actuality, I am just thinking of their wellbeing. I can picture it in my my mind's eye as the wash of stench wafts over them, their nose starts to wrinkle and they stagger back unable to stand upright as their olfactory senses are overwhelmed. They run screaming from me as their eyes tear from the toxic vapors. You want to know the worst part? This is a clean shirt. It was just washed. I just put it on. It still stinks!

I love technical clothing. It wicks moisture away from your skin, keeps your body cool and keeps the chafing to a minimum. I have about 20 shirts from different marathons, multiple pairs of shorts and pants as well as jackets. The problem is that they all stink. As it was explained to me: Tech clothing can trap soap residue. That doesn't sound so bad, but unfortunately that soap residue also traps the stink. So, no matter how much you wash them, they still smell.

We have tried so many things to get our athletic clothes clean, from Sport Wash, to specially formulated detergent for athletes to obscure medicine-man rituals, but nothing has worked. I was at my wits end when a runner friend of mine suggested soaking my clothes in vinegar and water. "Oh great," I thought to myself, "now I'm going to smell like coleslaw!" But I was desperate and so, in the absence of any better ideas, my wife and I picked up some vinegar. We got a bucket, filled it with water, poured about a cup of vinegar in and soaked some recently worn clothes for a couple of hours. Then we washed them, dried them, and with trembling hands, raised them to our noses.

No undesirable stench! It just smelled clean! It didn't even smell like coleslaw! I couldn't believe it, for the first time in a couple of years, I had clean shirts. I wouldn't have to stand at a respectable distance anymore! I could talk to people without worrying about a breeze blowing odor in their faces! I was free! I could breathe through my nose again! Oh the joy! I excitedly put on my shirt, shorts and shoes, and went out to meet the gang to go for a run.

Cross Country Challenge

2011-09-13T11:56:00.000-04:00

My son runs Middle School cross country. He is becoming quite a good runner, as much as he would be loathe to admit it. His team has 47 kids on it. Yes, you heard me right; 47 kids and 1 coach. "Help!" The coach said, and I answered. This was something I could do. I could replace my afternoon workout with cross country practice. That would give me some time with my son and help the team. After pondering it for a moment and looking at the schedule, I figured I could run with the team once a week. After a couple of practices though, I changed my mind. I want to run with them as much as possible; mainly because of the pain in my legs.

The day after the first practice, my legs were more sore than after a marathon. My quads and hamstrings protested when I walked. I chalked it up to the fact that I ran 11 miles the day before, all of them under 8 minutes per mile. That could have been part of it, but I am now realizing that it was probably the drills. It was probably the skipping drills. It was probably the sprints. It was probably the 2.5 mile run at 5K pace. All of those new stresses on my body made my legs cry out plaintively with each step.

As a marathoner, I don't do a lot of speed work. Most of my miles are run at the top end of my aerobic range. Cross country practice forced me to go faster — challenged me with new stresses to my muscles, and left me with legs that felt like rubber. I loved it. Sports experts say that your body strengthens to the point of need — basically, it gets stronger to the level that you use it, and in order to continue to progress, new stressors are needed to push your body to a new level. In other words, you have to push your body harder in order to get stronger. And as much as I wish it didn't operate in this way, it does. Cross country definitely introduced some stressors — stressors like plyometric drills, sprints, fast workouts, hill climbs, bleacher runs and trying to keep up with a bunch of teenage runners as they tear through the grass.

This was just what I needed to kick my training up to the next level. I find myself looking at my running schedule and trying to figure out how to attend as many practices as possible. Something about the variety of workouts and the challenge to my muscles wakes my up competitive side. I can feel myself becoming a stronger runner. It will be interesting to see what the result of the new workouts are after the soreness subsides, because right now, I can barely do my morning runs due to my sore legs. All things considered though, I definitely recommend it. If your training program needs an extra jolt, find a local cross country team, talk to the coach and train with them. You never know, it could be just the kick your training needs.

Milestones

2011-09-10T23:03:00.000-04:00

Marathon training is arduous, exhausting and interminably long. It is not a contiguous journey of self-improvement, rather, it is a path of blind faith dotted with fits and starts of incredible joy alternating with blinding despair. Some days you feel great and are supremely confident that you can do it, others, it is a struggle to complete just one mile. You can go through weeks or even months with no seeming improvements. The more lofty your goal, the more difficult it is to stay the course, to keep faith that all your hard work will pay off and you will cross the finish line victorious.

About five months ago, I fully committed myself to becoming a faster marathon runner. My previous personal best was 3:51, which is an 8:50/mile average, but I knew that I was capable of finishing much faster. After researching how my body works, consulting experts and looking at my previous race times for shorter races, I came up with a game plan. It was simple: 1. Train much faster. 2. Give my body the rest in needs to get stronger. (If you want a more detailed outline of my plan, let me know, I'd be more than happy to share.) Sounds simple, right? It is simple. But it is also a long, hard journey.

Because I am basically remaking myself as a runner, in order to meet my new goal, which is to finish a marathon at a 7:45/mile average pace, I will have to train about 12 months. That's a long time. It's hard to believe that it will happen, that I will be able to do it. It's easy to get discouraged. I often find myself questioning my tactics, wallowing in self defeat and unsure of my goals.

So how do you stay focused? How do you keep the questions from overwhelming you? How do you release the doubt and give yourself to the long process of building?

Celebrate the milestones.

For the past two months, the farthest I have been able to to hold a 7:45/mile pace is 6.5 miles. I was only able to do that one time and for the most part only did three to four miles at pace. I felt stuck. I wasn't sure that I would ever be able to break past that mark. Then the other day I put my body and mind to running 8 miles at pace. And though my legs burned, I completed it. I had reached a new milestone! I broke through the barrier! Now I know I can run 8 miles at my new pace. I'm not stuck anymore!

My tendency is to move on to the next goal, but before I do, I know that I need to celebrate this milestone. It is this celebration, this remembrance that will cary me to my next goal. It will give me hope for the future. With this celebration, I will have to courage to believe for more. Without the celebration, my achievement will turn to ashes far too quickly, forgotten in the pain of lactic acid and the numbness of long training days.

So I will celebrate the milestones. I will celebrate the personal record that I am likely to achieve for an upcoming 1/2 marathon. I will be ecstatic at the new PR that I will probably set at the Grand Rapids Marathon. I will look forward to the day when I can achieve my ultimate goal of a 3:20 marathon. And until then, I will continue to work toward my next milestone.

What is your latest milestone?

Riding the Ragged Edge

2011-09-04T22:31:00.000-04:00

I am tired. My body is exhausted. I am reaching the peak of my training for the Grand Rapids Marathon. In the past month, I have increased my weekly milage by 66%, going from 30 to 48 miles in one week. On my hard training days, I average 10-12 miles. I can feel the lactic acid in my legs before I even start my daily run. My joints ache. My body is breaking down.

There comes a time in every marathon training plan that you reach this point. It is a fine line. You are pushing yourself farther and harder than you think you can go because if you don't, you won't reach your full potential. But just one step more and you wind up hurt with a torn muscle, or a stress fracture. I call this time riding the ragged edge because many times you feel like you're right on the edge of a precipice. Your mind screams at you to go forward, to push harder, but your body is telling you to stop, to rest. Making the right decision here is crucial because a wrong decision will deprive you of the joy of toeing the starting line, the ecstasy of finishing the race.

I have made the wrong decision and pushed too hard many times before. I have been sidelined by a pulled muscle or a respiratory virus. I have arrived at the starting line burned out and beaten up. I have failed in this delicate dance, so I am even more determined to succeed this time. I have learned though these experiences that the most important thing is to listen to your body, to stop comparing yourself to others or to the standard that you think you should achieve, and understand where you are in the moment. Look for the signs of overtraining: a washed-out feeling, tired, drained, lack of energy, mild leg soreness, pain in muscles and joints, moodiness and irritability, just to name a few. If you find them; rest. It doesn't matter if it takes 1 day or 5 days to recover, your body needs that time to make itself stronger. (As I am writing this, I am admonishing myself to follow the advice as well.)

The difficulty with the ragged edge is knowing how far you can go without falling off the cliff. I know that I am close. I see the symptoms. I have to be careful, because it's not worth it to push too hard right now. I need to shove my ambition back down and allow my body to recover — remind myself that it's during the rest times that my muscles actually get stronger. And maybe if I relax, if I lighten my running load this week, I will be able to ride the ragged edge successfully.

18 Mile Acid Test

2011-08-27T16:29:00.000-04:00

Fennesy Lake

My longest run in the past month and a half was 10 miles. As a runner who has completed over 20 marathons (I don't know the actual number) and regularly busted out 20+ mile training runs, this was very disconcerting. I have exactly 6 weeks until my next marathon and my longest run was just over 1/3rd of the distance that I will have to cover. As I said: disconcerting.

Make no mistake, I have been running. In the past two weeks my weekly milage has gone from 27 to 48, and I have been doing speed workouts, tempo runs, hill climbs and even two-a-days. But there was a nagging question in the back of my head. All of the material that I read said that when you do workouts close together (two-a-days), you reap the benefits of the total milage. For example, if I ran 8 miles in the morning and another 4 in the evening, it is as if I ran 12 all at once. Right? I kept telling myself that, but the question still hung in my mind like an annoying little elf. You know the question: "Will this really work, or is this just a bunch of hooey? How will my body really hold up on a long run?"

My running group was planning on doing 18 miles today and I figured now was as good a time as any to find out the answer. So I capriciously set out my running gear, 5 bottles of water, gels, electrolyte replacement, and went to bed, unsure but unworried about how the run would turn out.

The morning dawned, I met my group and we started out. We did a 4 mile out and back, and I fell in stride with Ken, an experienced (and much faster) runner from our group. We pushed the pace getting progressively faster with the last mile just under 8 minutes. That was a faster pace than I usually go on long runs, but I knew we were going to slow a bit for the next 14 miles around Fennesy lake.

We started out and I just relaxed into the pace. We turned the corner and my heart fell. I was familiar with the road that we were taking. It was all hills! I didn't bargain for this! "That's OK." I told myself, "Just do the best you can." So I loosened up and focused on running. The miles ticked by and before I knew it, we were passing 13 miles! I looked down at my watch and my last mile was an 8:08! My body was holding up remarkably well, so I filled up my water bottle, took a gel and pressed on. Things got difficult around 15 miles, but I shook out my muscles and kept running. I was feeling the fatigue and ache set in, but even so my last mile was 8:27! I felt exhilarated, exhausted and surprised as I crossed the finish line.

I now knew that I could do longer distances even though my training runs have been shorter. I had quieted the voice in my head. I had finished 18 miles on a hilly course with my per-mile average 12 seconds faster than my personal best. Take that, doubt! Unfortunately this run gave rise to another voice that said: "A marathon is eight more miles..." but I'll deal with him in due time as well.

Twice a Day is Twice as Nice

2011-08-26T15:56:00.000-04:00

For the past three weeks I have been training twice a day. It started because I was reading Runner's World and it talked about how you can make improvements much quicker by running two times in a day instead of once. That brought to mind the memory of much faster runners talking about their training techniques and how they did two-a-days. So, I decided that I should follow their pattern; after all, they are great runners and if it works for them, it should work for me, right?

Actually, desperation played a big part in my new training method as well. I have the Grand Rapids Marathon approaching mid-October and my long runs are less than 12 miles. I lowered my tempo training pace to 7:45/mi, but have been stuck at about 5-6 miles or less before I implode. And when I am running at pace, it feels like my lungs are going to burst from my chest and my legs are apt to fall off. Long story short, I am not ready for this marathon. I realized I needed to get serious if I was going to make the gargantuan strides forward in my marathon PR that I was aiming for, and this was the jolt I needed.

So, with much trepidation, I started running two times a day. The first week I split my long run into two, the ten mile morning run was very sluggish and difficult, and the four mile evening run was only slightly better. Total for the day was 14 miles — not great, but not bad. The next week I did two days of morning and evening, but it really wiped me out. I was only able to do three miles the rest of the week. Last week I really hit my stride, running two-a-days on Monday and Wednesday and three other days as well. My plan is to work up to the point where I am doing between two and three two-a-days and a long run each week. That plus two recovery runs per week will fill out my training.

So what do I think of two-a-days? I am coming to love them. At first, they just made me exhausted, but then I began to see several advantages. For example, I am noticing a difference in how my body recovers and how it handles speed even after running several miles. The other day, I ran 8 miles in the morning and 4 miles in the evening. The first mile of the second run was 6:40! I had to double-check my watch, I was so flabbergasted! I went on to to finish the rest of the four miles averaging 7:52 a mile while walking three times! I also love the flexibility. If I have planned to run far and fast in the morning, but it is too overwhelming when I start out, I switch it up and do that in the afternoon. I try to vary it so that I do speedwork or tempo pace one of the workouts and "easy" running the other. This method is allowing me to get in many more miles at a faster pace than simply running once a day.

In fact, that is one of the main reasons for running twice a day: it allows you to run more miles at a faster pace. Instead of a hard day being 8 miles with 4 miles at pace, a hard day is now 12-14 miles with 6-8 at pace. I like what Ryan Hall had to say in his blog: "I try to make the hard days very long and hard and the easy days short and very light." Now what the result will be remains to be seen, but I am enjoying the journey so far.

Terrific Teammates vs. Thunderstoms & The FRED

2011-08-19T10:44:00.001-04:00

I was sitting in Burger King with one person I knew and seven strangers. I had a feeling that I would get to know them very well over the next couple of months though as we were discussing the logistics of running the 200 mile Fred Meijer White Pine Trail Relay inaugural race (better known as the FRED for obvious reasons). I was excited about the possibility because I had never had the opportunity to run in a relay before, but had heard stories of the craziness of lack of sleep, camaraderie and physical exhaustion. I couldn't wait to get in the mix!

The months went quickly by and the Monday before the race I was training. I had just introduced two-a-days into my routine, and my body was trying to adjust. My morning run felt sluggish and my body just shut down the rest of the day. I stupidly decided to run my afternoon run anyway. As if that wasn't dumb enough, I scheduled 400m repeats for my workout. It was as if I on my hands and knees begging for disaster. Well, I got what I asked for. As I rounded the corner on my first 400, a pain shot through my hamstring. Game over.

My first thought was "How in the world am I going to run my 20 miles this weekend in the relay?" We had named our team "Trained Wreaks" and it looked like I was living up to the name. I informed my teammates, who supportingly said not to worry about time but to take care of myself. I rested during the week, taking a short, ginger run on Wendesday but that was about it. That run made me even more apprehensive about my chances of finishing my relay legs without serious injury, so I got a compression sleeve for my hamstring.

The race day arrived and our team gathered at the start for last minute instructions and preparations. We had 12 people on our team and were in two vehicles. There was a house that we could use as a waystation at about the halfway point and so we were going to take the race in shifts with one van going for about 6 hours and then resting while the other van raced. I was excited and apprehensive as I pulled on my compression sleeve and joined the 3 other runners at the starting line.

I'm the runner on the right.

After a rousing speech and train whistle (the theme of the race was trains because the trail follows an old railroad spur), we were off! The first mile glided by under 8 minutes per mile which I knew was too fast for me, so I slowed down. By the second mile I was really struggling. The compression sleeve on my right leg wasn't allowing my muscles to move naturally and my quads were knotting up. I could feel the impending cramps and knew that there was no way that I could finish the next four miles like that, let alone 16! I had a choice to make: leave the compression sleeve on and protect my hamstring, or take it off and take my chances. I slid the sleeve off my leg and took a couple of tentative steps forward. My leg started to loosen up! I was still very careful, but my stride felt better and more natural with every step.

By the end of my 6.5 mile leg, I was running well with just twinges from my hamstring to remind me to keep it conservative. I handed off to our next runner and went to get cleaned up. I happily found that I was only 15 seconds slower per mile than what I had estimated, but I knew that we had a long way to go.

We went to the next exchange point and each person in our van ran well. We joked and laughed with each other as tooled down the road. We finally handed off the baton to the other van and travelled to find some food and get some rest. After a nap, it was time for us to get moving again. We headed off as the evening approached.

I had the first leg, a 7.1 mile loop and was nervous about it because I didn't know how my leg would hold up, so another member of our team rode her bike along with me. Thanks to her, my time for this leg was even better than my time for the first one. The other five members of our vehicle ran as the darkness deepened and we finished about 12am at the halfway point of the race. Rain was just beginning to fall.

We hit McDonalds and fell into our sleeping bags. Unbeknownst to me because I was sleeping, around 3am, there was a fierce lighting storm. The race directors pulled everyone from the course and so our other van had about an hour and a half to sleep.

I woke up at 5am, dragged myself out of bed to get ready for my next leg. Just then the phone rang. It was the other van informing us that the race directors had just called off the race because of the storm that was continuing to rage. I had wildly mixed emotions as I was excited that I didn't have to run again and devastated that we wouldn't be able to finish the race. We had finished about 140 miles of the 205. It seemed like such an anti-climactic end to such a great time. We met the other team for breakfast and then headed home where I slept most of the day.

Our team leader asked the question: "Would you do the race again?" And my answer is a resounding: "Yes!" I met many new friends through this experience, and the idea of working as a team was so liberating! The laughter and jokes were great as we all supported one another. And yes, the running was fun too. But one of the biggest reasons I want to run the FRED again is very simple. I want to finish!

Body Whispers

2011-08-14T21:01:00.000-04:00

The signals that my body sends me are very quiet. Or maybe I am just really deaf. It was Monday and I had started running two-a-days the previous week. The idea was that by running twice in the same day with a rest period between workouts, I would be able to put in more quality miles at a faster pace. I put in three days of two runs per day and was feeling pretty confident. My body however was trying to tell me a different story.

Monday my plan was to run a relatively easy 6 mile morning run with hills and some trails. Then, in the evening, I would do some 400m sprints. Sounds reasonable, right? Well, as I embarked on my morning run, my body felt sluggish. My breathing was heavy. Even an easy pace felt difficult. I chalked it up to tiredness from running twice a day and soldiered on. I finished the run and went on to the rest of my day feeling unusually lethargic, but fine otherwise. I took a nap after lunch and then later in the afternoon prepared to go out for my evening run.

There was a Jiminy Cricket-like voice in my head telling me that I shouldn't do my evening run. I felt fine though! Well, actually I was pretty tired, but isn't that what running is all about, beating your body into submission and pushing ahead when you want to lie down and sleep? I ignored the little voice and went anyway. I took off at race pace (not the best idea for a warm up) and made it to the track. I prepped for my first 400 and fired the imaginary gun in my head. I sprinted around the first corner until pain shot through my hamstring like a bullet. I immediately quit, not knowing if I had strained the muscle or torn it and not wanting to injure myself further, I stretched a little bit and walked home dejectedly. The worst part was that I was part of a team running a 200 mile relay that weekend and I didn't know if my injury would keep me from competing! (But that's another story, stay tuned.) I found myself on my couch with an icepack on my leg and my immediate running future looking dismal indeed.

I am learning that my body doesn't give me much warning before it breaks down completely. I would expect that the signals would be stronger—there should be a big flashing light and a siren, but alas, it is more like a whisper. I will be more tired than usual, and if I give myself a few days of rest, I will recover and run strong. If I don't listen, I end up with an injury that sidelines me for weeks. There is no gradual degradation of strength or quickness. It is just an poorly marked cliff that I suddenly step off. Unfortunately my track record for listening to my body's whispers is not very good. But I need to get better at it, because I find the same holds true when I am racing. It's like I step off a cliff and just cannot perform anymore. I can't even come close to holding a pace. My body just gives up and says "Enough of this." Now honestly, there are whispers as I come closer to the edge, but because I am waiting for a big flashing light and siren, I don't slow down until I've already fallen into the abyss from which there is no coming back.

I would do much better if I didn't step off the cliff in my runs and slowed down a bit when my body whispered. I would be a stronger runner if I could hear my body's quiet cries and rest so that I didn't get injured. I would see growth in strength and stamina if I could just quiet my brain and listen to the small sighs. Because for some reason, no matter what I expect, my body does not speak in lights and sirens, it speaks in whispers.

Running in the Now

2011-08-10T00:42:00.000-04:00

It was time for my long run and I was exhausted. My mind was cluttered with detritus from a busy week, it was hot and humid, my body just did not want to run and I had 17 miles to go. I told myself to take it easy, I told myself I could go slow if I wanted, nothing helped. It felt as if all of my muscles were on time-delay. My mind would tell them to move but it took a few seconds while they argued about the merits of complying before taking another stuttering step forward. My breathing came in gulps as I struggled fish-like to suck the humid air into my lungs.

"I'm in trouble," I thought. "I am only on my second mile and already I feel like I should have quit before I started!" My desire to walk was a palpable taste in my mouth. "No," I told myself, "whatever you do, don't walk! You can shuffle along like an arthritic monk if you want, just don't walk." The steps ticked by with agonizing slowness. And the third mile was complete.

"I still have 14 miles left to run..." This thought pounded through my head. "14 miles..." My breathing started to get frantic and I could feel the tension squeeze my shoulders. "NO!" I told myself, "I will not think about how far I have to go! How do I feel now?" I did a body check and found that while I was struggling, I was ok. I told myself to concentrate on what was happening at that moment. I shook out my tense upper body, calmed my breathing, and looked at my surroundings. Much better.

"Yeah, but what about the hill coming up..." My brain interrupted my moment of placidness. "It doesn't matter." I shot back, "I will tackle it when I come to it. Right now, I feel ok." I plodded on and another mile ticked by. "13 miles..." Several times in the next couple of miles my mind would begin to think about the miles or obstacles ahead and I would start to tense up and come dangerously close to quitting. Each time, I had to fight to bring it back to the present, do a body check and ask myself the question: "How do I feel right now?" And each time the answer was "I am surviving. I can run a little bit more."

This battle went on for six miles, then something strange happened. Everything got easier. It was like my body finally gave up the fight, like it understood that no matter what, I wasn't going to stop and so it might as well just cooperate. I finished 10 miles that morning, deciding to split the run into two rather than risking getting hurt. But at the end of that 10 miles, I knew that I had won the battle that morning. When things were tough, and I wanted to quit, I didn't. By concentrating on the present, I was able to push past a very long rough patch and do far more than I thought I could or even wanted to.

As a planner, my mind strategically looks at my runs. It analyzes the terrain, my physical state and the distance remaining and sends me signals based on what it finds. This is a good thing, but sometimes it keeps me from doing my best. This is especially true during difficult times in a race, I will freak myself out because I am so focused on how bad I feel and how much longer I still have to run. At times like that, it helps me to ask "How do I feel right now?" and "Can I run to the next light pole?" Questions like these keep me concentrating on what is happening now and stop me from fixating on how difficult it will be in the future. Focusing on the present is what allows me to finish an especially hard run and sometimes when I am truly in the moment, running will just flow by. Running isn't just about splits and how many miles are left or when you're going to get there or how good or bad the weather is, sometimes running is about how you feel right now and that's enough.

Sir Sweats-a-lot Strikes Again

2011-08-05T11:45:00.000-04:00

64 oz is a lot of fluid!

*My apologies to those of you with a highly developed sense of propriety, this may gross you out.

A while ago, in my blog post Sweat Rant, I bemoaned the fact that I was a heavy sweater. Many of you commented with good advice including the admonition to embrace it. And while I haven't gotten to the point where I have fully embraced the torrents of sweat that seem to explode from my body, I have at least decided that it's time to stop "running" from it and at least find out what I was dealing with — was my intense sweat rate just in my mind, or was it a physiological issue that if addressed could help my running?

So I bit the bullet and did a "sweat test." This consisted of weighing myself sans-clothes before my workout, then running an hour, and finally weighing myself after the run. I did not ingest any water during the run or after before the weigh in. The temperature was moderate, but humid: 73 degrees and 81% humidity. My before-run weight was 173.5. I completed the run in about an hour and seven minutes. I came in, weighed myself and my jaw dropped! 169.5 pounds! I had lost four pounds of sweat in an hour. That's 64 oz of water! I had literally sweated out a Double Big Gulp (though I wouldn't recommend drinking it!)

As I considered the ramifications of this revelations, some of the anomalies in my running began to make sense. I had always wondered why my marathon time was so much slower than what I was capable for a half-marathon: Since any water over 2% of your body weight affects your running by elevating core temperature, decreasing sweat rate, increasing muscle fatigue and straining the cardiovascular system, I would have to drink 256oz of water in the heat to offset dehydration effects. Obviously I wasn't drinking nearly that much and the result was that I was slowing down considerably late in the race. Another anomaly that began to make sense was why my legs would cramp almost every race. Well, that one's easy: lots of sweat = lots of lost electrolytes. Electrolyte imbalance = cramps. I am beginning to understand how much my sweat rate has and will continue to affect my running.

So what's the solution? Carry a big vat of water in a wagon behind me? Wear an ice-packed cooling suit on hot runs? Only run short races? Control the weather? None of those answers seem overly plausible to me at this point, so I will continue to search, but for now I am satisfied to at least know the question.

Running and Singing

2011-08-01T22:55:00.001-04:00

This is not me for those that wondered.

For the past couple of months, I have played a lead role in a musical called Thoroughly Modern Millie and tried to maintain marathon training. It has been a great experience and I have realized the importance of training flexibility and learned some interesting things about hydration.

This was a full-fledged musical in which I had to sing a couple of solos, dance and act almost every night. For the most part that didn't affect my training until performance week. The week of performance is known as hell week in the theater, and for good reason. You practice every day, many times not stopping until late at night. It is physically and mentally exhausting! I found that I couldn't run extreme efforts and then expect to be at my best for practice or performance. My mental acuity just wasn't there. I would drop lines, forget notes and struggle through dances. So I backed off the intensity for the week and focused on more runs of shorter distance.

The most interesting lesson was about hydration though. I had been training relatively hard in hot, humid weather, and so needed to hydrate well after each effort. The problem was that when I was finally well hydrated,my voice sounded reedy and thin. I tried drinking less and that helped some, but I was dehydrated. What to do? Well, our vocal director solved the problem. It seems when you drink a lot of water as I was doing to make up for my loss of hydration, it dries out the natural coating on your vocal chords, making your voice sound reedy and putting you at risk for hurting your voice. There are two fruits that will aid in hydration without drying out your throat: apples and grapes. I tried it; problem solved. Who knew? (Probably those of you that are serious vocalists, but it was news to me.)

So, armed with the change to my running schedule and a bit of knowledge, I was able to make it through hell (week), while increasing my fitness and without the risk of becoming run down to the point of sickness. And while I am looking forward to returning to training with full intensity next week, I will probably be singing the songs from the show on runs for a long time.

Dealing with the Unexpected

2011-07-28T10:05:00.001-04:00

Muddy trails = awesome!

"Crap!" I said. I had just slipped on thick mud and fallen into a puddle. My nice white shoes were now coated with dirt along with my legs and the lower half of my torso. I had started out that morning with the intention to do a short, easy four mile run. As I ran through a park near my house one of the trails beaconed me and I veered onto it. It had rained heavily the night before, the air was moist and the trail was wet. "Oh well" I thought a moment later and began to relax into the run, dodging other puddles and pushing aside pricker bushes.

Running, by it's very nature is adversarial. We expect it to be hard. We know that at times our muscles will hurt and we will be panting for breath. But have you noticed that sometimes it is hard in ways you don't expect? Our fastest times would probably occur on a straight flat course with a rubberized track surface in 50 degree weather and a competitive field of other runners. Unfortunately, those conditions almost never happen. Like this morning, we slip in the mud, or we deal with sweltering heat, numbing cold, snow, ice, monsoons, bugs, cars, and other people not to mention our own doubts, fears and frustrations.

How do you deal with unexpected adversity? When it's cold out, do you run on a treadmill? When you round a corner and find yourself staring at a steep uphill when you are most tired does it grind you to a walk? Do you run through the water over the path or do you turn around and find another route? When your legs cramp up, do you stretch them and continue or drop out of the race?

Our ability to deal with the unexpected has a direct correlation to our ability to finish a race well. So what do I do? I train for adversity. When I am tired, I put fast intervals into my run. When it is the hottest part of the day, I run. If there's a hill, I sprint to the top. I train on trails at times to help my nimbleness, even run barefoot occasionally. This helps me be better prepared when the unexpected comes my way. Sometimes, even with all the preparation though, a run will surprise you: Today for example, after slipping in the mud, the rest of the run was going really well. I was relaxed and felt peaceful as I ran through meadows, past ponds and under trees. Then out of nowhere, a bug flew into my eye! "Are you kidding?" I thought. Not only did this bug divebomb me, it felt like the stupid thing had rolled around in dirt before it did so. I had to laugh as I continued to run, trying vainly to pick the pieces of bug out of my eye!

Thought for the day: When the day is perfect, the sun is shining, the miles are flying by and you are feeling good, relax your body, breathe deeply, smile and enjoy the run. When the heat is blistering, your legs are cramped, the air is humid and you want to quit, relax your body, breathe deeply, smile and enjoy the run.

Becoming a Mental Rambo

2011-07-25T12:00:00.001-04:00

Out of all the muscles in my body, my mind is the weakest. I wish my mind was a mental commando that would will my body to ever more incredible feats, but truth be told, my mind is a wimp. There have been studies that show that your brain and not your muscles are the factor that slow you down as the miles begin to pile on. It seems that your mind, in order to stave off impending disaster sends signals to your muscles to slow down. I figured that if I could become a mental "Rambo," someone who is able to kill and conquer any negative thought that entered my head, I would become a much stronger runner. Alas, I am not there yet.

It seems like all it takes is a stray thought on a long run and I swerve into a tailspin of fatigue and despair. Sometimes I can pull out of it, but sometimes it is the final straw and I give up. I have found my mind is the limiting factor many times in my running. In my effort to become faster at all distances, especially the marathon, I am having to run faster which increases the mental stress. In order to continue to improve, I have had to find ways to deal with it. This is by no means an exhaustive list as entire books have been written to help athletes become mentally tougher, but these area few of my mental toughness secrets, maybe they will work for you.

1. Relax and smile.
Every couple of minutes I will do a body check. I mentally go through all the muscles of my body looking for tenseness or strain. Then I relax those muscles. It is important to run loose. I found that if I let tenseness continue, it grows, eventually causing me to stop. Smiling for some reason loosens up your entire body. Your stride lengthens and your body relaxes. So when the going gets tough, smile.

2. Count.
When my breathing gets heavy and I can feel the mental anguish start to build, when doubts start to form in my mind, I count out loud. I count my footsteps from 1-100, then I start over. It helps me maintain rhythm and somehow that mundane, repetitive action takes my mind off the pain and helps me flow better. I have had to count for several miles before, but it always helps.

3. Focus on now.
I am a planner. I am goal oriented. So I think about the end of the race. I think about the upcoming miles. Unfortunately when it is a struggle, that is detrimental. During those times, I focus on the now. "How do I feel now?" "Am I relaxed?" "Look at that beautiful sunrise!" anything to take my mind off how far or difficult the upcoming miles will be.

4. Power words and mantras.
Many people use power words when things get tough like "tenacious" or "strong." I will sometimes use a phrase that I repeat out loud. One of my favorites is from the book "Dune" changed somewhat to fit my needs:
"Pain is the mind-killer.
Pain is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my pain.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the pain has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain."

Sweat Rant

2011-07-22T10:38:00.000-04:00

I sweat way too much for a normal human being. There must be something wrong with my body. Maybe I'm some kind of sweat mutant or something. Of course that's a horrible superpower to have, but there has to be some way to explain the copious amounts of moisture that bead and drip from my face. In the middle of winter at 20 degrees below zero, I can wear running pants, a long-sleeved tech shirt and a wind breaker and I still sweat. In the heat of the summer, I can wring out my shirt and reclaim enough water to hydrate an entire village in the Serengeti. I'm sorry if I'm making you feel queasy.

I'm sure that's how passersby feel when they come across me running down the street. Men give me a wide berth and women and children run screaming. (That's an exaggeration, but I can easily imagine it in my mind.) I wish I didn't sweat so much. I get jealous every time I see the Ethiopian elite runners finish a marathon in 90 degree heat with one bead of sweat on their forehead. Why can't I be like that? Instead, I run two miles and look like someone dropped me in a dunk tank. Embarrassing!

The approach that I have taken to managing my sweat rate is to ignore it. That's the best way, right? If you cover your eyes it will go away. Right... My plan so far has netted me heat exhaustion, dehydration, over-hydration and abysmally slow times as my blood thickens from lack of water. Suffice to say it hasn't worked.

I know that sweat is the body's way of cooling itself and that it is a sign of a healthy body when you sweat. Blah, blah, blah. I just don't want to sweat so much! I have tried acclimating to the heat and humidity by sitting in the sun for hours and working out in the hottest times of the day. That has helped me maintain a reasonable running pace, but alas, no reduction in the amount of sweat. Am I destined to be a heavy sweater (not the article of clothing) evermore?

Maybe I should just quit ignoring my sweat rate, quit being embarrassed about it and embrace it. Maybe I should do a sweat test and actually measure how much I sweat so that I can hydrate properly and run faster. Maybe sweating a lot could be a badge of pride...instead of aiming for the top 10% in a race, I could aim for the top 10% of sweaters. No, that last is probably going too far.

The truth of the matter is that for whatever reason, I sweat a lot. It's time to stop denying it, ignoring it. It's time to stop being chagrined about it and deal with it. I guess this week I will be doing a sweat test. Or find a race in Antarctica.

Naked Feet and Running Shoes

2011-07-20T14:04:00.000-04:00

Two years ago I was plagued with injuries. Well, plagued is a strong word, but it seemed like something was always breaking down. IT band injuries, soleus muscle tears, and various other hurts nipped at my heels like an annoying little dog. Then one day I read the book "Born to Run" and it got me thinking about my feet and form. The illustration Chris McDougall used that really got my attention was comparing shoes to casts. In the same way your arm muscles atrophy when they are in a cast, your foot muscles do the same when they aren't made to work by being in shoes. This creates weaknesses in your feet and legs which increase the chance of injury. Interesting thought. I decided to test it out.

My first foray with barefoot running was 2.5 miles and ended badly with sore, bleeding feet and several blisters. I did a little more research and realized that I was stupid. I had incredibly weak feet and despite 40 mile weeks, the stabilizing muscles in my legs were just as wimpy. Moreover, the soles of my feet had no protection. In short, I had to start from scratch.

So I began a long journey of strengthening my feet and legs. I walked around my house barefoot or in socks (for warmth). I got a pair of Vibram Five Fingers and wore those on very short runs or around town. (When I started, I could only wear them for a couple of hours at a time — my legs would get so tired.) When my wife and I would go for a walk, I would go barefoot to build up the callouses on the soles of my feet. And I started to step down the supportiveness of my running shoes. Each time I bought new shoes, I got a lighter, more flexible, less supportive model. My goal wasn't to be a barefoot runner (not that there is anything wrong with that), but to stop getting hurt and to be a stronger runner all the way around.

It took about a year to make the transition, but I no longer run on my heels. I don't even strike the ground midfoot, but I have become a forefoot runner. My stride has smoothed out and I have been injury free (other than an overuse injury that I idiotically tried to train through) for almost a year. I use racing flats for almost all my training miles now. I can run several miles barefoot or in Vibram Five Fingers, and my pace has quickened as well. For years, I felt like a lumbering giant when I ran, but lately a fellow runner said that I look like a gazelle - light on my feet and floating over the ground. Progress!

Changing my form and going barefoot has definitely helped me. I can see the difference in my training run times and shorter races and look forward to seeing it pay off in a marathon. I'm not saying that barefoot running is for everyone, but paying attention to your body and form is. And who knows, you may grow to love the feel of naked feet!

Torture Partners

2011-07-18T09:51:00.000-04:00

Long distance running is usually solitary. When you are out there in the middle of nowhere, struggling through mile 7 or 19, there is no one but your own mental toughness to pull you through. The torture and battle during tough runs is tremendous, and when you are training by yourself, sometimes the siren song of giving up, cutting it short and quitting is just too strong.

That is where having a "torture" partner is helpful. While there are times when you need the solitude of running by yourself, other times, someone else being there is an encouragement, motivator, challenger. I found that out last Saturday. I had capriciously scheduled a 20 mile slow run. I knew it would be tough, but I didn't realize how ridiculous it actually was.

We had been in Korea (with a 13 hour time difference) and returned just a week ago. The days following were a blur of paying bills, jet lag, trying to catch up with work, and striving to learn lines and music for an upcoming play that I am part of. Play practice had gone late every night and I found myself awake at 1:30am all week for some odd reason. (I mean with the 13 hour time difference, I could understand not being able to go to sleep or waking up late, but why in the world did my body think that waking up at 2:30 in the afternoon was a good idea?!) I reached maximum overload on Thursday and my mind wouldn't shut off. Nevertheless, I fell asleep, only to find myself wide awake two hours later. I read for a couple hours and fell back to sleep for another two hours!

Friday morning arose hot and humid with me feeling sick to my stomach and completely out of it. I had planned to run 8 miles, meet my friend Jodee for 7 miles, and then run with my son Caleb for about 4 miles. With the play in distances, it would equal out to 20 miles. I woke up late, drug myself downstairs and out the door with only 40 minutes before I was supposed to run with Jodee. I got to our meeting place and started running hills. I felt absolutely terrible. It was as if all of my muscles were made of marble. I slogged through about 2 miles and walked. Everything inside of me wanted to go back to bed. I still had some time, so I ran another miserable mile, the whole time dreading the distance that lay before me.

Jodee showed up and we started out. I started loosening up and the run, while still a struggle was enjoyable. I was very ready to be done at the end, but I still had one more run to do. Caleb and I knocked out his milage and I was spent but happy. I ended up with 14 miles instead of 20, but even that was something to be celebrated. I was happy I didn't quit. If I wouldn't have had commitments to training partners that day, I would have bagged it after two miles. But Jodee kept me running at a quick clip—certainly faster than I would have gone without her, and Caleb helped me get in a few more miles. Training that I would have missed without them. They helped me to be better that day.

Because that's what good "torture" partners do: bring out the best in you. They challenge you. You give a little extra effort when you run with others. You put on a burst of speed when you want to lie down and sleep. You do the extra interval because they do. Yes, there are times when internal motivation is all that you have, but when you are training, sometimes a "torture" partner can be the motivation that you need to get the most out of your workouts. So, my advice? When you don't feel like running, call someone to run with you. When you don't think you can do a workout, ask someone to do it with you. When you want to get faster, run with someone better than you.

Stress and Rest

2011-07-14T07:56:00.000-04:00

"Don't sweat the small stuff." I'm sure you have heard that advice at one time or another. Unfortunately, the small stuff can kill you in marathon training. Ignore that shooting pain in your heel and you can end up with Plantar Faciitis. Miss a drink when you need it and cramp up from dehydration. Train to much or too little and you end up undertrained or burned out. It seems like training is fraught with little decisions that can cripple your chances in a race. Two pitfalls that I have consistently failed to treat with the proper respect are stress and rest.

Training for a marathon pushes your body toward its limit. The more physical stress that your muscles, tendons and cardiovascular system can withstand, the better prepared you will be. Ultimately though, these hard workouts need to be offset with proper rest and recovery in order to stay healthy. Stress keeps your body in a tense, agitated state and stops it from recovering the way that it needs to. Combine stress and intense workouts over time and you have a recipe for an emotional and physical meltdown.

Take this week for example: I had just returned from a two week vacation to Korea. I was struggling through a 13 hour time difference, trying to catch up with work, keep my kids from killing each other, and learn music and lines for a musical in which I am performing. I couldn't sleep more than 2-3 hours at a time, my mind was racing and I had a knot in the pit of my stomach. Yet I had scheduled a hard workout of race pace miles in the midst of all that. Good idea? Of course not! I was headed for disaster.

As runners, we track all sorts of data. We count miles, keep track of hydration and calories and countless other pieces of minutiae. We use these metrics to help us become better runners. Stress should be another factor that we consider in our training. It should help guide our schedule. Stress is our bodies natural reaction to intense situations, it's not bad, it is the natural fight or flight tendencies that we as humans have. But it is also a very real indicator of our preparedness for a workout. When your body is sending you a signal, try to work with it instead of against it. For example, some types of runs reduce our stress, others tax our bodies and increase our stress. Find out which does which and use them accordingly.

This week I reduced my miles and started out slower. I picked up the pace as I felt able and was surprised that I was able to hold race pace for several miles. I didn't try for more miles though. I rested, recovered and am gearing up for a long, slow distance run this weekend.

Stress in an inevitable part of life. It should not be ignored, but it also should not rule our lives. It comes and goes in waves. How do you deal with it? Each runner is unique and your solution may help others, sound off in the comments. My advice? Take a deep breath. Let it out. Again. Relax your shoulders. Find a beautiful place. And run.

Pushing Past the Plateaus

2011-07-11T15:24:00.000-04:00

Most marathons tout the flatness of their courses. The conventional wisdom is that the flatter the course, the faster it is. I don't like flat courses though. I much prefer rolling hills. Hills make me work harder to get to the top. It forces my body to alter the amount of effort that I am exerting. There is an exhilaration in reaching the peak and a natural rest as you flow down the hill. On a flat course, nothing prods you to go faster, to put forth more effort. There is no variance — just monotonous mile after monotonous mile. To me, there is nothing worse than an unending, boring plateau.

Yet that is where I am in my training — plateaued. Let me explain: As we train, we would love our bodies to respond with a steady increase in fitness; we put in a hard workout, the next workout we can run faster. Unfortunately, that's not the way our bodies work. Instead of a steady climb in fitness, our strength and endurance increase in peaks and plateaus. Simply put, we put in several hard workouts or sometimes weeks and don't see much change (plateau), then all of a sudden, our fitness shoots up to the next level (peak). The peaks are exhilarating, heady times. The plateaus are not.

I hit a plateau today. I had just come off a wonderful two weeks of running in Korea (though because of the hilly terrain, I had done no miles at race pace) and had a good 10 mile run on Saturday, then Sunday, just for fun, I ran three miles on trails. Today, I wanted to do 8 miles at race pace. I should have known better. Whether it was jet lag from being on a plane for 20 hours, the fast run on Saturday or Sunday, or the fact that I only got 4 hours of sleep, my body just did not respond today. I felt like I was running through jello. And then a though entered my mind: "Why in the world are you doing this? You aren't improving. You will be stuck at this speed — this plateau forever." I felt hopeless. My exhausted legs slowed as these thoughts sped around my mind, eventually grinding to a walk.

Logically, I know that the negative thoughts I had aren't true. I know that there are a multitude of reasons that today's run was so intensely difficult. I know that there is another peak of fitness coming, but that doesn't help that sense of hopelessness, that feeling of being stuck. How do I break out of it? Do I try to rest more? Do I push harder? Do I tell myself that it will get better? Do I give up?

If you have run for any period of time, you have probably faced this same dilemma. How did you deal with it? Ryan Hall, one of the fastest American marathoners in history says that "short term memory loss" is important to runners because it allows us to "forget" the hard times, the failures, and I agree. Without short term memory loss, we would not be able to get past the plateaus. We would give up as things got difficult. Paramount to improvement is the runner's ability to face each new day with excitement as a new opportunity — unburdened by the past.

I know this, but I still struggle. I'm still stuck on this mental plateau. I still feel like I'm not making any progress and frustrated with the length of time the journey seems to be taking. Any advice you can give me on how to move on would be appreciated, but in the meantime, I am left with my thoughts. How am I going to get past this? Move on? How will I change my thoughts? I'm not really sure. I don't have any pat answers. There is only one thing that I know for certain. Tomorrow I'm going to get up, put on my shoes and go for a run.

I Found my Love

2011-07-06T18:49:00.000-04:00

Some of the stairs that I ran in Busan, Korea.

For the past two weeks I have been in Korea on vacation. My running took a relaxed form, too. I ran up to incredible vistas with breathtaking scenery, I ran in rain that poured down in sheets. I met new people and ran with them. I was giddy with the experience. I hopped over streams and ran in small villages where the older men and women would wave and smile at me. I sprinted up hills and ran along mountain streams. Each run was like falling in love for the first time; the breathless anticipation, the rush of life. I tackled hundreds of stairs ran on the beach. I saw the city at night as I ran past the twinkling lights of the buildings and boiled in the heat and humidity of the day. I loved every minute of it!

Each of my running experiences was like a cool, refreshing breeze. They tired me out, but at the same time they gave me energy. These were some of my favorite conditions to run. I love running in the rain. I love running with new people. There is nothing better than exploring a new mountain trail on foot. Running at night through the city is pure bliss for me. Each experience was so unique that it made a special imprint on my heart and mind. These runs were a break from the monotony of dragging myself out of bed and trying to make myself hold race pace for far longer than I want to. Next week I will get back to my schedule and am excited about seeing how my body responded to the change of environment, but my vacation workouts are why I am energized. They reminded me why I love running.

I think that reminding yourself why you love running is so important. I don't know about you, but I get so ground down in my everyday life that I can find myself dreading my run as just one more thing that I have to pack into an already over-bloated day. That's not how running should be. Running should reinvigorate you. Running should be a time of peace — of respite. Running should remind you that you are alive. I understand that you can't have that experience every day, but having it every once in a while — as often as possible; will make you a stronger runner and person. I highly recommend it. So sometime this week, try throwing out your regularly scheduled hamster run and do a run you love. It may be on the beach, it may be in the woods, up a hill, at night, early morning, long or short; it doesn't matter. Remind yourself that you're alive. Remind yourself why you love running.

Hills, Hills, Hills

2011-06-30T09:46:00.001-04:00

Namsan Tower on a sunny day.

Michigan is pretty flat. At least it is where I live. There are some hills, but the most you will usually find is an ascent of a couple hundred feet. This is the reason that for much of my running career, I have dreaded hills. I'm not sure when, but I realized yesterday that somewhere along the way that has changed.

A few of us from the Korea tour group that I am part of had decided to meet together for a morning run. We had been told about a great path heading toward Namsan tower in Seoul and were anxious to explore it. Korea is in the middle of monsoon season though, and the morning arrived with a deluge of rain. Still, we set off. We arrived at the base of the hill and started up the stairs, water pouring down them in such large torrents, it looked like we were climbing a waterfall. At the top of the stairs, we came to the running/biking path. The rain sheeted down and we began to run. Up. The path steadily climbed to the constant drum of rain and we passed rivers that had grown from streams rich with mud. My breath pushed in and out as we continued to climb. Up and down the road went, with the ascents always more than the descents. Finally, we found more stairs and began to climb them.

We reached the top after several thousand feet of climbing panting with exhilaration. The low-hanging clouds shrouded everything with mist and lent an air of magic to that moment. At the summit was a pagoda or temple. Several people sat in silence looking out into the morning and as we entered the area, a silence descended on us as well. After an instant of complete peace, we started the journey back down. As we were running up a hill about halfway, I realized that I liked hills. I felt strong. My stride felt good. I felt like I had more to give. I liked the feeling that I could conquer a hill. That I could make it my servant, that I would not bow to it, it would bow to me.

Dean Karnazes described how he used to tackle hills in his book Ultramarathon Man — that he looked forward to them, that he looked at them as something to be beaten into submission and somewhere along the way that rubbed off on me. There is not a hill that I cannot conquer. It may mean that I have to slow to a walk, or even crawl along on my hands and knees to get to the top, but I will get there. And once I have arrived, I will have made that mountain mine. It will remember my name, and I will know that it cannot defeat me. Once I have reached the top, I will realize that all the hard work is worth it. Because after all, the top is where the best view is.