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?