You Know You're Tapering When . . .

I have entered my third week of marathon tapering, now six days from the race, and only seven miles of running left before the start line.  How can you tell I'm tapering?  Here's how.

• I'm super moody.  In fact, on Friday I started crying for no reason.  Although maybe it was PMS.  Who knows?
• I'm (overly?) concerned over every ache and pain that rears its ugly head and threatens to destroy my race.
• I'm exhausted.  Recently every day has consisted of me spending as much time as humanly possible lounging in bed.  Wait.  Maybe that's what I normally do.
• I am forever checking and modifying my race list.  My list (like all of my travel lists) consists of the following categories:  "to do," "to buy," and "to pack."  Since I'm not planning on checking bags for my flight, I also had to add a fourth category, "to buy while there."  
• I'm obsessed with weather tracking for race day.  As they're predicting temps hovering around the 80-degree mark, I'm continuously strategizing and re-strategizing on how to adapt for a warmer run than I anticipated.  I have, however, instituted a rule for myself that only allows me to check the weather once a day.  Otherwise, it'd be every two minutes.  Gold star for showing my neuroses who's boss.
• Despite being hungry almost all the time, I'm constantly vigilant about exactly what I'm eating.
• Speaking of which, I'm eagerly anticipating and simultaneously dreading the approaching carb-loading period.  Starchy carbs are my food vice of choice.  So I always have mixed feelings when it comes to the last days before a race when I get to indulge some.  It's a treat to allow myself to eat almost all carbs for 2-3 days, but it does make me a bit more sluggish and weighed down than usual.  And really gassy.  Fun for everyone.  (Oh yeah, add in an increased salt intake due to the expected heat, and it's gonna be a hot mess of bloating.)
• I'm becoming increasingly selfish.  At this point, every action, performed by myself or others, is evaluated on how it will affect my race.  I might be becoming a monster.  (Also, see moody.)  (Also, see PMS.)
• I am fantasizing about my post-race meal(s) like crazy.  On my potential to-eat list:  pizza, fancy gastropub burger, steak fries, thick vanilla milkshake, ice-cold hoppy beer, crabcake eggs Benedict, dense dreamy bread pudding.  Oh dear, I'm overwhelmed with this food porn daydream.

 

Taper Pains

Last night, I broke down and admitted to myself that I have a mild case of runner's knee.  It's a dull ache that I've had crop up a bit here and there just below my right kneecap.  One of those simple overuse injuries that normally just takes care of itself as one's body adjusts to its workout regimen.  It hasn't really bothered me much until recently.  It's a nagging pain that I feel particularly when going down stairs, running downhill, before I've fully warmed up on a run, or immediately after I've finished.  But now it's become sensitive when I'm not even running.  And seeing as I'm now only 10 days from race day, I've started to freak out.  No, let me correct that.  I've started to:  FREAK.  THE.  FUCK.  OUT.

And what do I do when I freak out?  Ridiculous amounts of internet research.  Self-diagnosis.  Obsessive worrying.  Nitpicking and modifying what little is left of my training plan.  Here's my revised course of action.

I gave up my four-mile run today to allow an extra day of rest before my last long(ish) run of eight miles on Saturday.  If I'm up for it, I might replace today's run with a two- to three-miler tomorrow just to see how it feels.  In the meantime, I'm upping the ice packs to several times a day.  I even took one to work and used it a few times today, which I felt warranted a nice pat on the back.  Unfortunately, I left the ice pack in the freezer at work, so maybe no pat deserved.  (Luckily, I still have two more ice packs in my home freezer.  We like to ice around here.)

I'm also taking regular doses of anti-inflammatories every so often as I remember.  And as of right now--right this very second--I've decided to wear no more heels until after the marathon.  This is heartbreaking for a heel-struttin' lady like myself, but I know it's good for me in general and even better for encouraging the proper alignment I'm sure my spine (and knee) is craving.

I believe I'll be feeling okay in time for my final few baby runs next week.  I just feel like, if anything, it's easier to destroy my training at this point by overdoing it rather than doing too little.  If push came to shove, I could theoretically do no more running until race day and still be okay.  I'd be a deranged nutjob by then but physically okay.

So really it's just a waiting game right now.  A total mindfuck, but a game of "wait and see" no less.

And you know what's an even bigger mindfuck?!  In all of my research, I've found that it's common for runners to get new and/or exaggerated aches and pains during marathon tapers.  And not only in the "I'm anxious and obsessed" hypochondriacal way.  It turns out that apparently taper is a time in which the body is doing tons of microscopic tissue repair, which in turn causes real pain as runners' bodies rehabilitate themselves.  Who knew?

Which means . . . maybe I'm not doomed by an ill-timed injury after all.  Perhaps this is just my body doing everything it's supposed to do:  exploiting its tiny little muscle elves for a tune-up right on time and badgering me to chill out and slow down in the meantime . . . and driving me fucking insane.

2 Weeks Out: Embarrassing Things

Today is exactly two weeks from race day.  I have completed my longest run (22 miles), tested all my attire, gear, pre-, mid-, and post-race nutrition, and my updated playlist.  I've run in sun, rain, snow, ice, and wind.  I've had great, mediocre, and crappy runs.  And now here I am at the end, patiently awaiting race day.  Or trying, at least.

In an attempt to keep my mood light, positive, and silly in the meantime (as opposed to focused on my fear of spraining an ankle or being hit by a bus right before the marathon), I've compiled a list of embarrassing things I do on my training runs.  I know I'm not alone on some of these.  And others . . . we'll see.  And please note:  this is by no means a comprehensive list.  I'm sure I engage in many more embarrassing activities, running or not.

• Snot rockets - Before I became the more "serious" runner that I am today, I was disgusted by snot rockets.  In theory and in practice.  But alas, fast forward a bit, and I am forever blowing snot rockets.  There's just something about running, especially running in cold and/or wind, that makes it a necessity.  I have, at times, carried tissues, but it's such a pain.  Searching for them in pockets or pulling them out of my sports bra just to find that they're sweaty, I found it wasn't worth it.  Plus, I'm not into holding snotty tissue for who-knows-how-long.  And I don't like to litter.  So snot rockets it is.  I embrace it.

• Song lip-sync - I lip-sync to my playlist songs.  Hard.  With face-contorting emotion.  And as often as this happens, I realized recently that I tend to forget that I do it at all until I'm actually running and notice it in the moment.  It's kind of like a recurring dream where you don't realize until the the third or fourth time that you've had it that it's happened before.  What's most embarrassing is that sometimes I'm so into it that I have to question if I'm only mouthing the words or if I've been singing out loud.  I'm pretty sure that it's just mouthing.  But who knows?  At any rate, it makes me feel like a contestant on RuPaul's Drag Race.  I'll just need to update some of my moves.

• Signing to myself - As a sign language interpreter, it's one of the hazards of the job.  In addition to talking to myself, I often find that I'm signing to myself without realizing it.  This happens even more so when I'm running for some reason.  I find myself interpreting the songs I'm listening to--or the podcasts.  Or just talking to myself in ASL.  So if you're ever out and about in the Portland area and see a runner hand-flapping with an intense and contorted face, odds are that it's yours truly.

• Nose picking - Well, kind of.  It's really more of a nose wipe, but with the extra girth of my fat-fingered gloves, tending to the nostril perimeter looks deceivingly like I'm trying to jam them up inside.  Add in the snot rocket situation, and there's a lot of nose "rubbing" that needs to be done.  I often wonder how many people think I'm digging for gold up there.  I feel like I can relate to Jerry Seinfeld on this one.

• Farts - It's a given.  Lots of farts.  Not much to say about it.  I only wonder if they're loud since I normally have my earbuds in.  At any rate, I can't hear them, and I'm running too fast to smell them.  So does it even really count?  If a runner farts in a forest and no one's around to smell it . . .

• Apparently peeing in public places - This is a somewhat new development.  Don't get me wrong.  I've had my share of peeing in public locations at times.  Hello, random Friday nights in my 20s.  And I've frequently stopped at an establishment to use a public restroom.  But only recently have I forgone modesty to pee on the side of the road during a run.  Last weekend it happened in my 14th mile when I squatted behind a bush at a park, and yesterday I went behind a lone semi in an empty parking lot at mile four.  I'm not sure exactly what this means, if anything.  Except maybe that my bladder's getting smaller?  Or maybe I'm just getting lazier about following the agreed upon rules of society.

Snow Makes Me Gross

Sure, I was more than pleased to have an impromptu four-day weekend.  I read, napped, snuggled, watched copious amounts of TV and Netflix.  And I ate like there was no tomorrow.  I'm blaming it on hibernation hormones because as unnecessary as the binging was, it felt like an unavoidable stipulation of being snowed in.  The City of Portland even texted me personally, no joke.  Well, it was a city-wide wireless alert that popped up on my phone:

See?  I was strongly urged.  After being strongly urged, I have no control over what goes into my mouth.  I even gained four pounds in four days.  Impressive, I'd say.  I'm guessing that a significant portion of this is water weight because . . . well, I need to think that.  That and the fact that as much as I consumed, I can't quite believe it would've added up to 14,000 calories (14,000 / 3,500 calories per pound = 4 "real" pounds of weight gain).  But who's to say, right?  Whatever goes on in a snowstorm-induced gluttonous haze should have no consequences anyway.

Regardless, today I got back to the real world and faced the sludgy streets for work and returned home for a much needed run this evening.  I felt bloated and sluggish for most of the day and was raring to go by the time I laced up my shoes.  After cutting down my mileage last week due to weather woes, and assuming a horizontal position for several days straight, I was aching to get moving again.  This was just the run I was looking for.  An easy pace, nothing crazy, but splendid.  It reminded me of a feel-good race following a well-managed taper.  God knows I had enough carbs stored in me to power the run.

It was a nice reminder that in the weeks to come, just around the corner really, I'll be on a taper once again.  But this time it will be massive--three weeks for the marathon compared to my usual one week for a half-thon.  Three weeks of decreased mileage, restlessness, and too much time to nitpick about dos and don'ts.  It's a troubling time for me generally.  But if today's run is any indication, I might come out of it well-rested with eager, ambitious muscles.  It might be just right.

Snowmageddon: Mostly Cons

Okay, Snowmageddon, you win.

I was supposed to run 12 miles this morning, but I cut it down to 10.  Actually, I almost shaved it down to five, but I got ballsy and went for a double-digit goal.  I was amazed at how a run, a city, a landscape could be simultaneously so magical and so miserable.  Magerable?  Misgical?

I did make it home without dying or twisting an ankle, and now that I'm home (in an overly heated apartment in a bikini and slouchy over-the-knee socks, no less), I'm ready to commence the whining about this misgical run.  I should've known that spotting more skiers out than runners meant something important, something like I should've brought my ass right back home.  That's 29 skiers to 8 runners, by the way.  And it's not like I live in the fucking mountains.  I live in a metropolitan area.  It's not even the suburbs.  Next time, I'll take the hint.

Alright, so here's the whine list:

• Just a general complaint to start off:  it sucks.  Every single step is a mind-boggling, soul-crushing effort.  I even contemplated taking a taxi back home.  As if taxis were even out in this mess.
• Apparently it's dangerous to inhale snowflakes through one's nose.
• Speaking of snowflakes, they are not soft.  At least not when they fly directly into my eye.  They're sharp and jabby.
• I didn't feel particularly badass to be out there, just crazy.  Or stupid.  I wanted to jump someone and steal her skis.
• I learned that after two hours of nonstop flurry-induced snot rockets, eventually it makes me pee myself each time . . . just a little.
• I felt like Lucille Ball in the episode where she gets locked in a freezer, frosty eyelashes and all.  Minus the crazy red '50s lipstick, though.  Maybe I'll save that for tomorrow.

 

Snow Runs: Pros & Cons

Okay, so Blizzard 2014 has officially hit Portland.  I was excited at first for some snow to change up the scenery, but after battling the storm in almost white-out conditions on the 2.5-hour drive home yesterday (only to go 12 miles), I was exhausted.  I knew I didn't have it in me to tackle the eight-mile run I had scheduled.  White-knuckling my steering wheel and squinting through my windshield had taken everything out of me.

Meanwhile, I'd been grumbling for the past several days about how tired I was.  Still apparently recovering from my 20-miler and working early and long hours had left me wiped.  So as bummed as I was to fall eight miles below my planned weekly mileage, I figured maybe it was the universe telling me to take it easy.  Couple this with the fact that I cancelled work for this morning and got to sleep in, I could easily consider this glass half full.

Today, I was booked for a 5-miler and made a very smart decision to head out before it started snowing again.  With the frigid run I had earlier this week and now the current inches of snow hiding all the curbs, I wasn't exactly excited to venture out.  But I'm so glad I did.

First, an admission:  it was hard.  Running in the snow requires a lot more work than I'm used to.  I've run in snow before, but that usually entailed it snowing while I was out and not many inches of it lining the sidewalks.  This was more like running in sand.  You've got to raise your knees higher to get your feet in and out of it, and it requires more balance not to slip and slide around.  It makes you breathe heavier to get enough oxygen.  And not to mention, you need more concentration to avoid the dreaded yellow snow and to figure out exactly where the curbs end.  It's hard not to be paranoid about face-planting into the street.

But the vibes were great.  It seemed like the whole city took the day off, and all the schools were closed, so everyone was out enjoying the fun.  I passed two different people skiing down the sidewalk, and whole neighborhoods were out sledding and innertubing down their hilly streets and at local parks.  The bars and breakfast places were already packed, and it gave me an urge to have myself a nice spiked eggnog upon returning home.  (Still contemplating that, though, since I haven't been brave enough to go outside again to buy said eggnog.)  At the end of the run, I even topped it all off with a traditional little snow angel.

Tomorrow is planned for a 12-mile run, and I'm a bit apprehensive since they're predicting ice.  More than anything, I'm terrified of the thought of being injured this close to race day.  Hey, waddya know?  I am now 30 days out from race day.  Now that's something to celebrate.  Might have to get that eggnog after all.

Wind Is Dumb

Sometimes when I talk to non-runners, I feel like I have to defend the act of running.  I'm often met with people commenting on how they could never run x miles, or how boring they find running, or how crazy it seems to run x times a week.  And mostly I don't care.  It's not my job to defend running.  The truth is most people can run x miles, and the fact that they don't want to or don't like to does not really interest me.  Everyone has his thing, and running just happens to be one of mine.  Whatever.

And yet, every so often, I have to defend the act of running to myself.  Portland is currently 27 degrees with gusts up to 41 mph (bringing it down to 11 degrees with wind chill, or 4 degrees, depending on which website you trust).  I was only out for an hour, but I immediately lost feeling in fingers and toes, and my face is so chapped it burns.  My knees hurt because I couldn't (didn't?) warm up properly beforehand.  And even tucked under a beanie, my ears were frosted and throbbing deep down to their itty bitty hairs.

I had to consciously remind myself that it's not running that I hate.  It's wind.  Stupid, stupid wind.  Because even through the misery of being blown to and fro, I still love running.  It's just my thing.

But wind?  Wind is dumb.

Permission to Say No

I'm not running today.  I'm tired.  I don't care.

Musings After The Big 2-0

Saturday, I found myself explaining to my husband why I had to wear a short-sleeved T-shirt and shorts in 38-degree weather.  It was my first of two marathon dress rehearsals.  At 20 miles, this--along with my 22-miler in two weeks--will be the closest I'll come to race distance before actually hitting the starting line.  I wanted to use it as a learning experience to figure out what was working and what needed to be tweaked.  Here's what I learned.

What Worked:

• The shorts I bought online.  Perfect.  Not as cute as a pair I'd buy for recreational use, but they were spot on for the run.
• My new shoes.  After about 400 miles in my prior pair, it was time for a replacement.  I'd planned on buying the exact same model to avoid changing things up this far into training, but the running store didn't have my size.  I allowed myself to be talked into a pair of "similar" shoes, just to find that they made my knees hurt after all of my short runs.  Finally trusting myself more, I did what I should've done in the first place:  I went to a different store and bought a new pair of the ones I already owned and loved.  They were cushy and lovely.  This pair is hot pink instead of my previous black, but beggars can't be choosers, so I let it go.
• New running shirt.  Since I now had a store credit from taking the crappy shoes back, I treated myself to a new shirt.  (To be fair, the shoes themselves were not inherently crappy; they just weren't right for my feet.)  I was in need of a short-sleeved shirt anyway for the race, and I found a silky smooth winner from Asics, the Lite-Show Favorite Short Sleeve.  They only had it in one color at the store, which I thoroughly detest.  It's an orangey-pink sherbet color, verging on neon, but it fit so well and felt so good that I bought it and told my ego to shut up.  (For the record, I hate neon.  I understand its uses for night running and all, but really, as an '80s kid, I've already had enough neon to last me a lifetime.)
• Nutrition.  Fueled with a couple of Gu packets, a couple of caffeinated Sport Beans packets (Jelly Belly's creation for athletes), and 16 ounces of coconut water, I was well taken care of.  My coconut water ran out toward the end, but I'll be taking advantage of water stations at the race in addition to my personal coconut water, so I'm not worried.
• Outfit aesthetics.  Rockin'!  With my turquoise visor, sherbet shirt, rainbow socks, and hot pink shoes, I was basically Rainbow Brite's black runner sidekick.  I couldn't help but notice the smiles of drivers and pedestrians alike when they passed me in my upbeat 'fit.  I looked silly but in the best way possible.  The kind of silly that makes me feel like I'm a badass bitch who can get shit done but who also clearly isn't taking herself too seriously.  An ideal combo.  It was also part of my plan to stand out a bit on race day to a) make myself smile and feel good, and b) to elicit a little extra cheering from the crowd when I need it.  Looks like a home run for that.

Not So Hot:

• Scratchy shirt tag.  With all the care manufacturers take to make their products runner-friendly with flat-stitched seams and soft, breathable fabric for chafe prevention, I'm amazed at how they carelessly decide to slap on a huge bulky tag with what feels like the scratchiest thread known to man.  It was like I had tucked a sleepy boar into my shirt and he nestled up next to me for the ride.  That shit's gotta come out for the next rehearsal.
• Sunblock.  I forgot to apply the sunblock before I left the house.  Normally, this is no big deal as there's little to no sun in the winter months, but I got lucky/unlucky with a bright, sunny Saturday.  Between the knee socks, short sleeves and gloves, it made for some crazy tan lines.  The tan lines will be unavoidable during the race, sunblock or no sunblock, as I tan within a minute of sun exposure.  But I plan to at least protect myself, so I'll need to test out my sunblock of choice on the second rehearsal run.
• Sun issue, part two.  My visor was great at protecting my eyes and most of my face from the sun, as I knew it would from our many miles together during California runs.  What I didn't expect was where the sun protection stopped.  Right under my nose apparently, which meant that I had a strange dark tan above my lip that looked suspiciously like a moustache for the rest of the day.  I was not a fan.  Not sure how to deal with that, though, as any sunblock I apply will surely immediately sweat off my face. And like I said, sunblock does not prevent tan lines for me anyway.  I'll have to give it some thought.  Or I suppose I can just suck it up and have a raging post-'thon moustache.  We'll see.

Neither Here nor There:

• As I near the race, I find myself spending more and more time reflecting on the past 13 weeks.  Now entering the peak of training, I'm struck by how intimidated I've always been by marathons and, considering my expectations, how comparatively easy it has been.  (Comparatively being the operative word.)  I've built up these long runs in my head--especially the 20-miler--to be these monsters that, in reality, have been remarkably achievable.  I've always heard that the hardest part of the marathon is the last 20-26 miles.  Oh, excuse me, I mean 20-26.2 miles.  (Don't forget the 0.2.)  That's where people hit the wall physically and/or mentally, and it's freaking scary.  And I'm not sure if the ease of my training so far is making it more or less scary to me.  The practical part of me says that I'm prepared as well as I can be, so how much worse can the race be than training?  But the paranoid part of me is saying, "Well, if it's been this good up until now, it's going to feel that much worse when you actually reach your breaking point."  I can't help but question if this relatively untroubled training is luring me into a sense of false security.  Has my training built up a sense of false confidence?

How to Make Long Runs Feel Shorter

As I ready myself for a first and epic 20-miler this weekend, I thought I'd compile some thoughts on how to make runs seem shorter than they are.  I feel like I've become quite good at it over the past 12 weeks, so here are just a few of my current strategies.

• Podcasts - Preferably hour-long podcasts with a variety of different stories.  (Articles?  Vignettes?  What do you call one section of a podcast?)  My personal faves are Snap Judgment, The Moth, This American Life, and Radiolab.  NPR geek much?  Over the past few years I have pretty much listened to the whole archive of each.  My listening hours have gone way up particularly over the past six months or so, so unfortunately I have to ration my podcast listening during weekday runs so I can save up the new episodes for Saturdays.  My sister also just suggested How Did This Get Made? in which comedians dish about "movies that are so bad that [they're] amazing."  Sounds promising.  Adding that to my playlist tonight.

• Music - An obvious choice, I know.  But my approach is very deliberate.  Unless I'm doing speedwork, which I can't really say this training plan includes much of, I save my music for when I really need it.  At the end of long runs when I need an energy boost, for instance.  That means podcasts first, then a transition to music.  Races are times for music, too--no podcasts.  I've listened strictly to music for the entire duration of all of my half marathons.  I know some people say music prevents them from tuning in to their surroundings or the sound of their own breathing or footsteps.  To that I say:  nothing.  I can't hear them anyway because I'm listening to my music!  But really, I agree with them in theory, yet I still prefer music.  It makes me run faster and enhances my mood.  (Sidenote:  I went to a party a few days ago, and a friend told me he often catches me running around my neighborhood with a "shit-eating grin on my face."  Yup, that's the music--and podcasts.  It's really hard to imagine smiling nearly as often during runs without that audio.)

• Add Mileage to the Start of the Route - My long runs generally follow the same basic route.  I prefer big loops to out-and-back routes, so as my Saturday runs get longer, I just stretch the loop so that it gets bigger and bigger.  I've discovered that when adding miles like this, it's better to stretch that loop more in the first half of the run than the second.  That means that when I'm coming up on the last few miles, my brain recognizes that I'm almost finished (and is thankful).  If I were to add miles to the end of the loop, my brain would recognize those familiar landmarks as the end of my run, but I'd still have to trudge through an additional two or three miles.  Not cool.

• Count Other Runners - Maybe this is a little obsessive of me.  I can't remember when I started doing this, but on every run, I count how many other runners I see.  As with some other parts of my life, this comes with strict rules.  To be counted, people must be "real" runners, those who have explicitly set out with the intention of going for a run.  Meaning the following don't count:  people running to cross the street or catch a bus; people playing soccer; kids playing tag at the park; people chasing their dogs; etc.  On occasion, I come across groups of people doing laps around the block, and I believe they're probably part of a fitness class or something, and I've struggled with whether to include them.  I've decided yes.  But I have to admit the trickiest people to figure out are those who run in strange clothes.  Not costume strange, more like cargo pants or jeans kind of strange.  Shoes are usually the tip-off, but sometimes they can be deceiving.  There are lots of Portlanders out there in capris and running shoes, and lemme tell ya:  they ain't out for a run.  It's always disappointing for me to include someone in my count only to find that she's just trying to catch up to a meter maid to avoid getting a ticket.  (By the way, do people still say meter maid?  It just seems so cumbersome to say parking enforcement officer.)  Lastly, and this is an important rule, I'm unable to count someone unless I myself have started my run.  So for the first few blocks when I'm warming up with a walk before I get to my starting location, I can't count anyone.  Sometimes this kills me, but rules are rules, right?  Even if they're completely arbitrary and fabricated by me.

• Judge Everyone - Yup, I said it.  As a self-proclaimed people-watcher, I admit it.  I judge people.  I've got to keep myself fascinated by the snippets of people's lives that I encounter.  If I saw you on my Saturday run, I probably judged you too.  This doesn't always need to be negative.  I've often passed a woman on the street and reflected upon how beautiful she was and proceeded to spend the next few minutes trying to dissect exactly what it was that made her so striking.  Or once I saw what looked to be a six-year-old taking his teeny tiny puppy for a walk.  And I marveled at how much cuteness could be packed into such small creatures.  But yes, it's also true that I judge negatively.  I wonder why that douchebag thinks he's so cool.  Or why that woman obviously spent so much money on such an ugly purse.  And I especially judge people who mock me with that fake running/arm-pumping movement.  You'd be amazed at how many people do this.  Most often it's good-natured, which I accept, sometimes a little grudgingly.  I understand that some people just are confused about how to cheer on strangers.  But every so often, it's clearly a petty and kind of bitter gesture.  Then I judge. Hard.  I know it would be better for my soul to be empathetic, recognize that something in their lives is going so badly that they need to be mean to strangers, but not during a run.  So I allow myself to judge everyone silently.  It's one time I permit myself to feel a little superior.  On any given Saturday, I'm running 10+ miles, so fuck it, I'm gonna be a little pompous and keep myself busy by judging all the peons.  And when I get home, I get to be sore and humble again.  It all works out.

The Shorts Dilemma

I've recently made the most important decision for my race:  calf attire.  Rainbow-striped knee-high compression socks.  They might be the raddest socks I've ever worn.  While running or not.  Actually, I wore them around the house all weekend because they're just so cute.  That's right, Saturday and Sunday.

The problem now lies in what the hell to wear with them.  Planning knee-highs means I'll have to wear shorts instead of my current winter full-length or capri pants.  Or a skort.  Whatever, same thing.  So I've resumed a search for the best running shorts.  My problem is a slightly frivolous one, that I want them to be short enough to be cute, combined with a real running concern, that they be long enough to prevent chafing.

And this is where I digress for a moment.  Notice that I talked about chafing but did not use the phrase, "chub rub."  I HATE that phrase.  With a passion.  And it seems to be ubiquitous these days.  If you want to use it, by all means, feel free.  But I hate that it's linked to the idea of women's legs chafing.  I'll tell you a secret.  Okay, it's not a secret.  The tops of my thighs touch.  That's not an imperfection.  I'm not ashamed or apologetic.  I've got awesome legs.  And it also just so happens that my thighs touch.  It's how I'm made, as are millions of others, and it's not because I'm chubby.

It's taken me 31 years to get this comfortable with my body, and I love it more every day.  This is not to say that I don't have bad days.  Or bad months for that matter.  Because that happens.  And I haven't really suffered from any serious body issues, just ya know, the usual.  But that's kind of the point too.  I know that with the ups and downs, it's still me in here, and the more I treat it well, the more it responds with strength, flexibility, and bad-assness.  Dude, it just let me run 18 miles this weekend!  And my thighs still touch.  So suck it.

Okay, mini-rant over.  I need some freaking shorts.  I'd say about 65% of running shorts are basically crotch-height boy shorts, which makes me angry.  I wouldn't mind this for a different type of activity.  Modesty has never been my problem.  But with 26 miles, that would mean some red, angry thighs.  No fun.  And another 25% are ugly knee-length nastiness that won't work either.  If I'm wearing long socks, I've gotta show a little leg.  Come on.  So I'm essentially looking for the Goldilocks marathon shorts.  Oh yeah, and no camel toe.  But that's another story altogether.  So I've ordered two options online that should arrive within the next week or so.

Here comes the next issue.  I'm of the opinion that, duh, you don't try out anything new on race day.  So for my upcoming 20- and 22-mile runs, I want to have as close to a dress rehearsal as possible.  Wear all the gear I plan to use for the race.  Head to toe, accessories included.  And since I'm doing the L.A. Marathon, the shorts situation will be perfect for race day.  But in the meantime, I live in the Pacific Northwest.  My runs are done in 35-degree foggy, rainy weather.  I want no part of shorts in that shit.

So I'm at a loss as to how to make this experiment happen.  I'm stumped for now.

Eat Sleep Run

After months of considering this, I finally experimented with the idea of waking up early to eat breakfast, going back to sleep to digest, and popping back up again for the run itself.  Since my schedule yesterday was packed with a 3.5-hour run and an afternoon conference, I tried this strategy really out of desperation and necessity, but I'm a new convert.  With all of my poop scares, I've been fed up with having to stop during runs and have been slowly realizing I just need to eat a lot earlier than I have been to allow more time for digestion before heading out.

I set my alarm for 5:45, ate my oatmeal, had some coffee, and got dressed.  Then I promptly got right back in bed for another hour (to hour and a half) of sleep.  I thought it might fill me with pre-dawn rage to have to get up any earlier than I needed to, but knowing that food and more sleep were in my immediate future, it really wasn't so bad.

I was also a bit concerned about my cup of coffee keeping me from falling back asleep, but the caffeine really didn't have enough time to be problematic.  And I wanted to make sure that I had a nice coating of it in my stomach to activate the poop flow while I was asleep.  And lo and behold, upon waking, I was a-ready for the poopin', handled my biz, slipped on my shoes, and was out the door.  No stomach troubles.  No pit stops.

Why has it taken me so long to do this?!  I'll now be using the eat-sleep-run strategy every Saturday until the race.  Or maybe that should be the eat-sleep-poop-run.  (ESPooR?  I'm into acronyms.)

Strong

There comes a point every so often during a training regimen when my body says, "Don't worry.  I got this."  It's easy to forget about those moments because they're almost always overshadowed by the millions of other runs during which my body says either:  "Another run?  Ugh, I guess . . ." or, "Sure, I suppose we can try . . ." or just flat out, "Screw you, this sucks."

On yesterday's 18-miler, however, I had the great fortune of cashing in on weeks of hard work with what felt like an easy run.  If you had asked me a year ago, or even a few months ago, if I would have ever characterized an 18-mile run as easy, I would've laughed.  And laughed.  And then maybe passed out from the laughter-induced lack of oxygen.  Nevertheless, it really happened.  It felt so easy, in fact, I was tempted to re-check my route since it seemed like I couldn't have possibly run that far.  Days like yesterday leave me feeling strong (and slightly superhero-y).

What's funny about running, though, is that that "easy" word presents a bit of trouble.  Easy didn't mean that it was without any pain.  There was no surprise as I ran through my classic checklist of aches, greeting each one by one as it appeared:  knees at 10 miles, hips at 12, ankles at 13, lower back at 15.  Hey there, howdy, nice to see you again!  But it was easy in that I felt like I could just keep going.  What I'm coming to understand with these longer distances is that "easy" for me means not that I'm not hurting but that I can sustain my level of discomfort.  That I can take it and even have enough balls to ask for more.

Holiday Trail Run . . . Belatedly

Browsing through my computer in an effort to avoid doing some work, I came across some photos I took over the holidays.  During the week of Christmas, I was fortunate enough to get a little nature fix.  We stayed at Odell Lake, which is about 3.5 hours southeast of Portland, and it's a gorgeous drive into the mountains--minus the dense fog and glaze of ice that made the highway lanes mere suggestions.

Sadly, a tiny cabin is often insufficient for eight adults, but that made it that much more motivating to go out and take advantage of a nice trail run.  My phone's GPS flipped out and had no idea where I was or how far I had run, but it didn't matter so much anyway because I stopped often to take quick photos or poke the frozen edges of the lake with sticks.  Yup, I'm nine years old.

Delirium

It's hard to explain to people who have never worked out for hours at a time how strange one's mind can become over the course of a long run.  Yesterday, for instance, my 17.8-mile run was almost three and a half hours long--including my pit stop in Whole Foods (who, by the way, has the best public restrooms ever).  

I was surprised at how long it took my body to start hurting:  first, my feet around mile 10, then my knees at 12, tight arms/shoulders at 13, and finally, my lower back ache at around 15.  And at one point, I remember asking myself why I was doing it.  Not because I felt the need to stop per se, but with 3+ hours to myself to think, in pouring rain no less, it starts to seem like a slightly silly endeavor.

There is a point in some (many?) long runs when I start to get delirious.  When the only reason I'm running is because I'm running.  Logic starts to lose meaning, and my mind gets loopy while my body's on autopilot.  To be clear, this is not the kind of delirium people speak of when talking about heat stroke or severe overexertion.  I understand that that's a serious medical condition, often characterized by confusion, along with a variety of other external symptoms.  That's more of an I-think-that-puddle-is-laughing-at-me-and-I'm-not-gonna-stand-for-it situation, whereas this is more like an I've-been-awake-for-30-hours-and-don't-you-think-birds'-feet-are-strange situation.  If that makes any sense.

In my long run delirium, thoughts seem to relate to each other in strange, nonlinear ways, and what's more, my emotions are all right at the surface.  Case in point:  At around mile 13 yesterday, I flipped off a driver who cut me off and proceeded to roll her eyes at me for her own inability to stop at a stop sign, but two minutes later I giggled aloud uncontrollably at a song on my playlist that I've heard literally hundreds of times before.  Minor annoyances, like struggling to retie my shoelaces to the exact, desired tautness, seem catastrophic and insurmountable.  And insignificant pleasures, like loosening my shoulders with an impromptu whole body shimmy, bring smiles so big, I feel like the Grinch "whose small heart grew three sizes" and like the corners of my mouth might bust right through the sides of my face.

It is these such experiences that lead me to wonder:  what does this delirium look like on marathon day?  With the added adrenaline, extra pressure, heightened excitement, additional 25,000 runners, supplemental 100,000 spectators?  Well, fuck if I know.  I'm exhausted just thinking about it but oh-so-curious.  

With only eight weeks left, I guess I'll find out soon.  Only eight weeks, ha, that's a good one.

Hydration Belt Triumph

Just as I predicted, my new Fitletic hydration belt kicked major ass on my run yesterday.  No sliding.  No slipping.  No bouncing.  No leaking.  I couldn't be happier.  And now with 16 ounces of coconut water to keep my insides dewy and filled to the brim with electrolytes, I am a force to be reckoned with.  (With which to be reckoned?)  So, for the record:  Fitletic, one; hyponatremia, zero.

Also, I got my belt in grey and black.  Shocker.  Enjoy the dorkiness below.

Water & Salt

A few weeks ago, I talked about a growing, nearing desperate hunger after my long run.  I've had some developments since.  For the rest of that weekend, I suffered through an intense hunger/nausea cycle that came in waves and only dissipated two days later.  I did some online investigating and consulted with a couple of other trusted runners and came to the conclusion that my water-salt balance had been thrown off.

Now to frame this properly, I should back up some.  The run itself was unremarkable.  At 14 miles, it was only a little longer than a half marathon, a distance with which I was completely comfortable.  And I'd brought my standard Gu packets (Espresso Love flavor, thank you very much) to keep my energy levels from plummeting.  Even right after the run, I felt fine, hydrated with lots of water and had a nice protein-y recovery meal.  No biggie.  It wasn't until a couple of hours later that the nausea, hunger, and lightheadedness started to take hold.

I realized that as long as I'd resisted, I'd have to buy a water belt for my long runs and fill them with something that could provide the necessary electrolytes during the run.  At these growing distances, waiting until afterward is now just a recipe for disaster.  And not just an uncomfortable disaster, but potentially a medically dangerous disaster.  (My sweat-replenishing nectar of choice, by the way, has become coconut water:  natural, low-calorie, hydrating, and with a nice amount of salt, potassium, sugar/carbs.)

So I surrendered and went on a search for the ultimate hydration system.  Again, I am not a fan of hydration belts in general, and in buying my wonderful FlipBelt, I naively thought I'd discovered some loophole and would never have to endure the dreaded hydration belt.  Nope.

On my quest, I first bought some individual, small-ish (10-ounce) bottles that I planned to stuff into my FlipBelt.  Those were hard to get in and out and uncomfortable around my waist.  The weight threw off the belt and made it slide down or bounce up.  Then I tried on a variety of water belts at the running store to find that they were just as I thought:  uncomfortable, unruly, and stupid.  Next, I bought a couple of hand-held bottles, thinking I could use them in the intended way (wrapped around the hand) or wrap them around my FlipBelt if they got annoying.  Well, they got annoying.  And attaching them to my belt made them no less so.  Fail again.

Enter my new favorite life-saver:  the Fitletic Hydration Belt.  Hells.  Yeah.  Upon personal recommendation (following a rant at work), I rush ordered it Tuesday, knowing I might not make it through another uncomfortable long run this Saturday without some miracle gear.  And miracle gear I've now got.  I came home to find it waiting at my front door today!  Unfortunately, Fitletic has no local distributors nearby, so online shopping and race expos are the only way to go.  And this bitch ain't got time to wait around for a race expo, so you're welcome, FedEx, for the income from my two-day delivery.

While I still love my FlipBelt for shorter runs, this puppy has stolen my heart.  Snug, hip-hugging, with silicone grippers on the inner fabric to make sure there's no bounce, it's lovely and fits like a charm.  I must admit that this "review" is a bit premature as I haven't yet run with my Fitletic.  But you know what they say about love at first sight.  (Actually, no, I don't know what they say about it either.  But . . . whatever, shut up.)  I have read several actual reviews, though, by people who've actually run in it, and while they are overwhelmingly positive, the bottles supposedly are a bit leaky.  But if push comes to shove, it seems like replacement bottles should be easy to come by as long as the belt itself lives up to its promises.  We'll see.  I'm certainly crossing my fingers because tomorrow I'm going for 17 miles.

Overcoming the Slump

After an almost three-week blog hiatus, I'm pleased to say that it's only been the writing that I shirked and not my training.  I have, however, had a raging case of training apathy, directly resulting in my lack of posts.  In fact, during the past few weeks, I often sat with my computer on my lap and wondered if it was worth it to type a post that consisted simply of:  "I ran.  So what?"

But I'm here to report that I have--at least for now--renewed excitement and motivation.  And I discovered the secret.  Wait for it.  Apparently all one needs to re-motivate herself is:  Jamaica.

That's right.  I just booked my post-marathon Jamaican vacay.  To be fair, it's really an anniversary trip and completely unrelated to the race, but I like to think of it as a double celebration.  At any rate, that, with my insatiable Virgo list/spreadsheet/research tendencies (now in use for both training and trip planning), has provided more than enough to obsess about to keep me driven toward that finish line.  Or if not driven, at least distracted enough by the fantasy of white sand, warm water, and double fists of rum punch and jerk chicken that I can ignore the doldrums for two more months if I have to.

So rock on.  Or perhaps better, cool runnin'.