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'.