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'.