Last week, during our vacation in Western Canada, I was able to put in a marathon training effort. I ran a cumulative total of 45 miles over seven days, a sum that ranks up with some of my longest training weeks at the peak of my marathon plans, and despite the fact that there is no race in my future. Remarkably, though, it felt wonderful, liberating, and mostly easy. After trudging through three months of sticky, searing hot weather in the Big Apple, the cool mountain air and sunny, crisp mornings were a welcome relief.
I was shocked to find that, outside of New York City and even at a much higher altitude, my pace per mile dropped a solid minute. Although I had to confirm it several times on mapmyrun.com to truly believe it, it gave me some hope that perhaps I haven’t permanently lost whatever speed I may once have had. Indeed, last night after work Zdenek and I ran almost five miles in 31 degree heat, and my pace was once again tortoise-like. I hadn’t fully recovered when we headed out for a ride this morning, and I spent the first two laps drafting off Zdenek 95% of the time. Yep, it helps to have a strong training partner who can carry the load.
I’ve always gravitated towards spring marathons because, frankly, I don’t see how anyone can train properly through the summer months. (I did run the NYC marathon in November 2008, but I cut my preparation from 17 weeks to five.) Looking ahead, I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to run a race this coming spring, though I’d sure love to try. As several people now know, Zdenek and I will be +1 come 2011, and this will impact my ability to train to a degree that I can’t quite yet comprehend. Fortunately, with eight marathons and several more halfs under my belt, I feel like I can finally enjoy running for running’s sake, rather than needing to prove anything to myself.
Perhaps this newfound contentment will relieve any pressure to meet a particular time goal when I do eventually pick my next race in 2011 (if anything, the number “9” in front of per-mile pace has started to feel strangely normal). Or perhaps I'll switch tactics altogether and combine my passions into one by training for my first triathlon. But as for the +1, he/she already has already completed one marathon -- a feat that took me almost 27 years to tackle. It turns out that, as in cycling, running is definitely easier when someone else carries you along.
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
One small goo later
This morning I was awake at 4:22 am -- about 20 minutes before our alarm went off. (A day trip to Washington DC necessitated that Zdenek was up and out the door by 5:20 am, which meant, of course, that I was also out of bed at this hour.) Despite the fact that the sunrise was still a long way off, I figured I might as well make the most of my extra morning time by heading out for a run. After gulping down my usual cup of coffee and my customary bowl of yogurt and cereal, I decided at the last minute to tuck a gel into my pocket before slipping out the door.
It was a cool 24 degrees Celsius this morning before 6 am (trust me, this is cool for New York in the summer), but the humidity hovered around 90%. The Park was surprisingly crowded at the pre-dawn hour, especially with large packs of fast-moving cyclists yelling drills and tips at each other. I plundered along, taking the odd water break, trying to forget about the stickiness through which I was running. I didn’t feel particularly energetic for most of my first loop. But then, after about six miles, a little emptiness in my tummy indicated that it might be a good time to rip open that gel.
Within about 20 minutes of having said gel, my energy levels began to climb. I decided, since it was still so early and I was feeling pretty good, to go for another five miles. And then a few miles into that, I opted to tack on an additional mile and confront Harlem Hill at the Park’s North end. Just after 7:30 am, I concluded a 12+ mile run feeling tired but satisfied knowing that I can, perhaps, skip my long run this weekend (which will definitely help, considering we’re flying out to Canada early on Saturday).
I don’t plan on getting up before 5 am again anytime soon, but nor did I regret it this morning. It was nice to have almost two hours of running all to myself long before the work day even got underway -- a rarity when I'm not training for a race. And I’m thinking that perhaps I should pack a gel on every mid-morning run. It was just the packet of goo to get me through.
It was a cool 24 degrees Celsius this morning before 6 am (trust me, this is cool for New York in the summer), but the humidity hovered around 90%. The Park was surprisingly crowded at the pre-dawn hour, especially with large packs of fast-moving cyclists yelling drills and tips at each other. I plundered along, taking the odd water break, trying to forget about the stickiness through which I was running. I didn’t feel particularly energetic for most of my first loop. But then, after about six miles, a little emptiness in my tummy indicated that it might be a good time to rip open that gel.
Within about 20 minutes of having said gel, my energy levels began to climb. I decided, since it was still so early and I was feeling pretty good, to go for another five miles. And then a few miles into that, I opted to tack on an additional mile and confront Harlem Hill at the Park’s North end. Just after 7:30 am, I concluded a 12+ mile run feeling tired but satisfied knowing that I can, perhaps, skip my long run this weekend (which will definitely help, considering we’re flying out to Canada early on Saturday).
I don’t plan on getting up before 5 am again anytime soon, but nor did I regret it this morning. It was nice to have almost two hours of running all to myself long before the work day even got underway -- a rarity when I'm not training for a race. And I’m thinking that perhaps I should pack a gel on every mid-morning run. It was just the packet of goo to get me through.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
If I can run here...
One morning last week, as I picked through the too-soft plums and under-ripe bananas in our fruit bowls at work, a colleague, who was also surveying the sub-standard fare, remarked, “I guess we’re not in California.” No, we are most certainly not in California. We are in the middle of an East Coast heat wave. New York is always a bit hot and sticky in the summer, but the weather over the last few days has been something altogether different. It is above 30 degrees Celsius when I wake up before 6 am, and it is above 30 when I go to bed at night. Today’s high is supposed to hit 38, and that’s before taking any humidity into account. I am trying very hard to leave my A/C off or set to no cooler than 76 degrees, lest I contribute to what might be an inevitable NYC blackout, but it’s tough being so kind to Mother Earth.
Miraculously, though, I’ve managed to cycle and/or run through every day of this heat wave. Zdenek and I rode over 30 miles on Saturday morning -- one for each degree, it seems. (On every other loop, I cut off a mile so that he could ride hard and we’d meet each other back at the start, which actually worked out pretty well for us.) On Sunday, despite having had very little sleep after attending a wedding the night prior, I rolled out of bed to run just over 7 miles in the searing heat. Yesterday I managed the same. Today, even though it was 32 degrees at 6:20 am, I actually opted for a third day of torturous running, after an email from Caitlin confirmed that she just couldn't stomach a ride with me in this weather.
Truthfully, though, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t love it, and I know that every run or ride in adverse conditions just makes me that much stronger. So long as I go slowly and make friends with every water fountain along the way, I usually manage just fine (of course, the humidity hasn’t been above 70% in the morning -- yet -- so this helps considerably). Indeed, there’s something about keeping active in the heat that actually makes it seem that much more tolerable. In fact, yesterday afternoon, having retreated inside my air conditioned apartment for several hours following my morning run, I headed to the gym for my second workout of the day; sitting outside on the patio was far too uncomfortable, but I refused to allow the heat to win. The boiling temperatures are forecast to stick around the next several days, so I hope I don't lose my fighting spirit by week's end.
So while we may not be in California, I’m going to do my best to avoid letting a little heat keep me grounded in New York City. As the song goes, if I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere. I am certain that applies to running, too.
Miraculously, though, I’ve managed to cycle and/or run through every day of this heat wave. Zdenek and I rode over 30 miles on Saturday morning -- one for each degree, it seems. (On every other loop, I cut off a mile so that he could ride hard and we’d meet each other back at the start, which actually worked out pretty well for us.) On Sunday, despite having had very little sleep after attending a wedding the night prior, I rolled out of bed to run just over 7 miles in the searing heat. Yesterday I managed the same. Today, even though it was 32 degrees at 6:20 am, I actually opted for a third day of torturous running, after an email from Caitlin confirmed that she just couldn't stomach a ride with me in this weather.
Truthfully, though, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t love it, and I know that every run or ride in adverse conditions just makes me that much stronger. So long as I go slowly and make friends with every water fountain along the way, I usually manage just fine (of course, the humidity hasn’t been above 70% in the morning -- yet -- so this helps considerably). Indeed, there’s something about keeping active in the heat that actually makes it seem that much more tolerable. In fact, yesterday afternoon, having retreated inside my air conditioned apartment for several hours following my morning run, I headed to the gym for my second workout of the day; sitting outside on the patio was far too uncomfortable, but I refused to allow the heat to win. The boiling temperatures are forecast to stick around the next several days, so I hope I don't lose my fighting spirit by week's end.
So while we may not be in California, I’m going to do my best to avoid letting a little heat keep me grounded in New York City. As the song goes, if I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere. I am certain that applies to running, too.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The price I pay
Yesterday in New York it rained long and hard. Though the drizzly weather tapered off sometime during the night, the roads were still wet and marked with puddles when Zdenek and I headed out for our ride this morning. We cycled our first two loops hard, making good time and then even better time. Zdenek took the lead for the majority, and the wet conditions caused his back wheel to kick up a lot of slimy dirt on my legs, arms, and face. No bother -- I kept my eyes glued to his tire and drafted as closely as I could to maintain the pace. On the third loop, we eased up a bit and rode side by side, and I mentioned to Zdenek that I had taken a lot of muck to the face on the previous two laps. He apologized -- as if there were something he could have done about it.
Fortunately, eating dirt wasn’t the most memorable part of this morning’s ride. That came near the end of our third loop as we rode together casually, and I, without a back wheel on which to concentrate, was able to look around at the Central Park runners making their morning miles. I noticed one woman in particular simply because her legs were outstanding -- long, muscled, and lean. She moved quickly, smoothly, along the bridle path. I looked again. It was Paula Radcliffe, the women’s marathon world record holder. No surprise there -- Paula is known to be in New York this week to take part in the Mini 10K race in Central Park on Saturday (which Zdenek, Caitlin, and I will definitely be cheering on). She’s also currently ~6 months pregnant (along with Kara Goucher, who is also running in Saturday’s 10K), and sure enough, her round belly protruded a bit under her white shirt. But with her impeccable posture and smooth stride, she made carrying the extra weight look effortless.
And as Zdenek and I rode on, rubbernecking, watching the world’s greatest female marathoner out for her morning warm-up, once again I felt so lucky to have the world’s greatest playground at my doorstep. Eating dirt is a small price to pay.
Fortunately, eating dirt wasn’t the most memorable part of this morning’s ride. That came near the end of our third loop as we rode together casually, and I, without a back wheel on which to concentrate, was able to look around at the Central Park runners making their morning miles. I noticed one woman in particular simply because her legs were outstanding -- long, muscled, and lean. She moved quickly, smoothly, along the bridle path. I looked again. It was Paula Radcliffe, the women’s marathon world record holder. No surprise there -- Paula is known to be in New York this week to take part in the Mini 10K race in Central Park on Saturday (which Zdenek, Caitlin, and I will definitely be cheering on). She’s also currently ~6 months pregnant (along with Kara Goucher, who is also running in Saturday’s 10K), and sure enough, her round belly protruded a bit under her white shirt. But with her impeccable posture and smooth stride, she made carrying the extra weight look effortless.
And as Zdenek and I rode on, rubbernecking, watching the world’s greatest female marathoner out for her morning warm-up, once again I felt so lucky to have the world’s greatest playground at my doorstep. Eating dirt is a small price to pay.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
A place to move
Once again, it’s been a while since I’ve had the motivation to post anything here. The fact is, apartment hunting seems to have sapped every last bit of energy from me (and sadly, it’s still not over). Any free time I might have between traipsing around the UWS looking at too-small, too-run-down apartments seems to be better spent outdoors on my patio than indoors on a laptop. Indeed, it won’t be much longer before I have to give up that treasured little piece of Manhattan real estate forever, and I’m already mourning the inevitable loss.
And frankly, my running and cycling have been sub-par of late. I’m still putting in the miles and getting out there six or seven times a week, but my paces have been slightly “off.” True, the 25oC+ weather and 75%+ humidity are not doing me any favors, but I’m used to demanding -- and usually getting -- so much more out of my body. When it comes right down to it, aside from my impromptu purchase of Lady Gaga tickets in the middle of my run last weekend (long story, but the most important point is that we now have tickets to the July 6 show at the Garden), there just hasn’t been much to say.
But yesterday, I slept in longer than usual and found myself running in the Park, sans Zdenek, at a slightly later hour. Despite it being my third consecutive day of running and fifth consecutive day of early morning action, I felt surprisingly decent. My stride seemed smooth, the warm weather didn’t feel too horrible under the shade of Central Park’s leafy canopies, and I easily fell into a groove. So much of a groove, in fact, that somewhere along the west side bridle path, I almost (literally) ran into Caitlin before I recognized her as the girl waving her arms in front of me and trying to get me to stop. At the last minute, I did, and she and I enjoyed an early morning catch-up session before heading off our separate ways (I ran through my several current apartment options with her, and, in typical Caitlin fashion, she formulated a logical evaluation on the spot). It was the perfect mid-run break, and it got me thinking that Caitlin and I should really schedule the occasional run together -- in the same direction, of course.
Today, I rolled out of bed as the sun was rising, tired and somewhat cranky from a very poor five or six hours of sleep. But Zdenek and I haven’t been on our bikes since Sunday, so we were long overdue for a spin. I wasn’t expecting much out of myself, and said to Zdenek as we were heading out the door, “If you want to cycle on your own, please feel free.” But I had spoken too soon because, once again, I surprised myself. We rode three laps today, each one faster than the last, and I managed a good portion of the ride without any assistance. In fact, for some of the time, I even lead the way. I returned home happy and satisfied, and so pleased that my cycling legs may have returned.
So while my pursuit of indoor space continues to frustrate, I can at least be thankful for the renewed sense of energy in my outdoor pursuits. Once again, I've realized that New York is best enjoyed when moving quickly. It is a very poor place, however, in which to move.
And frankly, my running and cycling have been sub-par of late. I’m still putting in the miles and getting out there six or seven times a week, but my paces have been slightly “off.” True, the 25oC+ weather and 75%+ humidity are not doing me any favors, but I’m used to demanding -- and usually getting -- so much more out of my body. When it comes right down to it, aside from my impromptu purchase of Lady Gaga tickets in the middle of my run last weekend (long story, but the most important point is that we now have tickets to the July 6 show at the Garden), there just hasn’t been much to say.
But yesterday, I slept in longer than usual and found myself running in the Park, sans Zdenek, at a slightly later hour. Despite it being my third consecutive day of running and fifth consecutive day of early morning action, I felt surprisingly decent. My stride seemed smooth, the warm weather didn’t feel too horrible under the shade of Central Park’s leafy canopies, and I easily fell into a groove. So much of a groove, in fact, that somewhere along the west side bridle path, I almost (literally) ran into Caitlin before I recognized her as the girl waving her arms in front of me and trying to get me to stop. At the last minute, I did, and she and I enjoyed an early morning catch-up session before heading off our separate ways (I ran through my several current apartment options with her, and, in typical Caitlin fashion, she formulated a logical evaluation on the spot). It was the perfect mid-run break, and it got me thinking that Caitlin and I should really schedule the occasional run together -- in the same direction, of course.
Today, I rolled out of bed as the sun was rising, tired and somewhat cranky from a very poor five or six hours of sleep. But Zdenek and I haven’t been on our bikes since Sunday, so we were long overdue for a spin. I wasn’t expecting much out of myself, and said to Zdenek as we were heading out the door, “If you want to cycle on your own, please feel free.” But I had spoken too soon because, once again, I surprised myself. We rode three laps today, each one faster than the last, and I managed a good portion of the ride without any assistance. In fact, for some of the time, I even lead the way. I returned home happy and satisfied, and so pleased that my cycling legs may have returned.
So while my pursuit of indoor space continues to frustrate, I can at least be thankful for the renewed sense of energy in my outdoor pursuits. Once again, I've realized that New York is best enjoyed when moving quickly. It is a very poor place, however, in which to move.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Chin up, head down
It's been some time since I've had the energy or interest in putting anything new up here, mostly because lately I feel like I'm in a bit of a rut. My weekends are no longer occupied with long, challenging runs, and I'm not motivated by having a big race to work towards. The only goal I have right now is one that requires a different kind of stamina: Zdenek and I are on the hunt for a new apartment.
As any New Yorker knows, finding a decent, habitable space at a reasonable price in this city is not a trivial task. Zdenek and I seem to have spent every weekend for the past three months (and several nights each week) apartment-hunting on the UWS. If only we could pony up $8K in monthly rent, we'd have signed a new lease a long time ago. But we're a long way from that rent band and, indeed, even further from the "fantastic, gorgeous, spacious" apartment on Central Park West that one broker called us about yesterday. (The price tag: $15,000 per month.)
As nice as it will be to finally move out of our adequate but too-small space and into something slightly more "grown-up," I'm starting to tire of the constant internet searching, emailing to non-responsive brokers, and visiting places that look nothing like the photos (one place we saw last weekend was literally coming apart at the seams and, I think, hadn't been lived in since 1955). I just don't have the energy for this anymore. In fact, I don't seem to have the energy for much at all these days. My running has been sluggish and hard, and my biking is nowhere near the level it was at last year. Zdenek, too, is a bit frustrated by my exhaustion, and spends most of our running or biking time looking back over his shoulder, wondering if or when I'm going to catch up (this morning he just opted to bike without me).
But I need to remember that it's still early days and my biking legs might yet return. I have to relish the freedom from training plans and the option to run only four or five miles, whenever the mood strikes me. I must savor the opportunities to be outdoors and in the late springtime warmth before the oppressive summer humidity moves in to stay. And I need to enjoy the little rewards running gives me along the way: last week I found $1 on my run back from the Park, and yesterday morning I picked up a $20 bill. It may not help the apartment hunt, but it's good motivation to keep my head down and stay moving.
As any New Yorker knows, finding a decent, habitable space at a reasonable price in this city is not a trivial task. Zdenek and I seem to have spent every weekend for the past three months (and several nights each week) apartment-hunting on the UWS. If only we could pony up $8K in monthly rent, we'd have signed a new lease a long time ago. But we're a long way from that rent band and, indeed, even further from the "fantastic, gorgeous, spacious" apartment on Central Park West that one broker called us about yesterday. (The price tag: $15,000 per month.)
As nice as it will be to finally move out of our adequate but too-small space and into something slightly more "grown-up," I'm starting to tire of the constant internet searching, emailing to non-responsive brokers, and visiting places that look nothing like the photos (one place we saw last weekend was literally coming apart at the seams and, I think, hadn't been lived in since 1955). I just don't have the energy for this anymore. In fact, I don't seem to have the energy for much at all these days. My running has been sluggish and hard, and my biking is nowhere near the level it was at last year. Zdenek, too, is a bit frustrated by my exhaustion, and spends most of our running or biking time looking back over his shoulder, wondering if or when I'm going to catch up (this morning he just opted to bike without me).
But I need to remember that it's still early days and my biking legs might yet return. I have to relish the freedom from training plans and the option to run only four or five miles, whenever the mood strikes me. I must savor the opportunities to be outdoors and in the late springtime warmth before the oppressive summer humidity moves in to stay. And I need to enjoy the little rewards running gives me along the way: last week I found $1 on my run back from the Park, and yesterday morning I picked up a $20 bill. It may not help the apartment hunt, but it's good motivation to keep my head down and stay moving.
Monday, May 3, 2010
No doubts
One of the things I most enjoy during marathons is the crowd support. A few funny antics or encouraging signs along the way can mean all the difference, especially after mile 20. Nothing quite rivals New York City for fans, but many of the marathons I’ve run have had their own memorable moments courtesy of the crowd. At the Cincinnati Flying Pig marathon in 2006, the entire course from mile 18 onwards was filled with silly quotes and banners to distract the runners from the burning pain in their legs. During the Virginia Beach Shamrock marathon a year later, I ran through army barracks, past men in uniform shouting, “Left, right, left, right…” And yesterday at the Providence marathon, I saw a few great signs that made me smile: One poster (held by a man ringing a cowbell and wearing a short, midriff-exposing sweater and what I hope was a wig) read, “Doubters can suck it.” Another said, “26.2 miles + 80 degrees + 2 kids = 1 hot mamma.”
I was also one hot mamma yesterday (minus the two kids). The weather in Providence was far from ideal for running. It was 90% humidity and hot by 6 am, and I knew I would need to scale back my expectations for setting anything even approaching a PR. About 500 m in, I waved to Zdenek to go ahead, and then I plugged into my iPod and spent the next 25.5 miles just trying to enjoy myself. I didn’t run hard. I walked to thank volunteers along the way. I removed my headphones on several occasions to encourage a few fellow runners who looked like they were struggling toward the end. At mile 23, I stopped, pulled out my iPod, found Lady Gaga, and put my iPod back in pocket. And then I grooved.
I ran the last few miles easy, with a smile on my face, taking time to wave back and say “thanks” to every spectator who shouted a word of encouragement. It almost felt like a victory lap of sorts. It was my eighth marathon -- what was I trying to prove? Even if I had run a Boston Qualifier, what would have been the point? I knew the conditions would never allow me to run a PR, so why hurt myself over 10 or 15 minutes? Yesterday’s race seemed like a celebration of the fact that I am a runner, and that I can treat a marathon just like another long run.
As for Zdenek, he ran over 20 minutes faster than me and finished in a phenomenal time considering the conditions and the fact that he’s really been running at my pace for 90% of our training over the last 17 weeks. I think he enjoyed himself, though I’m not sure. I found him at the finish line (literally one step behind the timing mat), teary-eyed, saying that he was so worried about me that he thought something must have happened (I’m flattered that my running anything over 3:40 is now cause for concern, but I think he was mostly delirious). He hasn’t yet said that he found it “fun,” and he’s made no mention of wanting to try another one. He did say, however, that it was the hardest thing he’s ever done in his entire life. There's some chance that Zdenek will go back to being my biggest supporter and waving to me from the sidelines, but I’m not so sure. I believe he’s got a 3:15 in him yet.
Doubters can suck it.
I was also one hot mamma yesterday (minus the two kids). The weather in Providence was far from ideal for running. It was 90% humidity and hot by 6 am, and I knew I would need to scale back my expectations for setting anything even approaching a PR. About 500 m in, I waved to Zdenek to go ahead, and then I plugged into my iPod and spent the next 25.5 miles just trying to enjoy myself. I didn’t run hard. I walked to thank volunteers along the way. I removed my headphones on several occasions to encourage a few fellow runners who looked like they were struggling toward the end. At mile 23, I stopped, pulled out my iPod, found Lady Gaga, and put my iPod back in pocket. And then I grooved.
I ran the last few miles easy, with a smile on my face, taking time to wave back and say “thanks” to every spectator who shouted a word of encouragement. It almost felt like a victory lap of sorts. It was my eighth marathon -- what was I trying to prove? Even if I had run a Boston Qualifier, what would have been the point? I knew the conditions would never allow me to run a PR, so why hurt myself over 10 or 15 minutes? Yesterday’s race seemed like a celebration of the fact that I am a runner, and that I can treat a marathon just like another long run.
As for Zdenek, he ran over 20 minutes faster than me and finished in a phenomenal time considering the conditions and the fact that he’s really been running at my pace for 90% of our training over the last 17 weeks. I think he enjoyed himself, though I’m not sure. I found him at the finish line (literally one step behind the timing mat), teary-eyed, saying that he was so worried about me that he thought something must have happened (I’m flattered that my running anything over 3:40 is now cause for concern, but I think he was mostly delirious). He hasn’t yet said that he found it “fun,” and he’s made no mention of wanting to try another one. He did say, however, that it was the hardest thing he’s ever done in his entire life. There's some chance that Zdenek will go back to being my biggest supporter and waving to me from the sidelines, but I’m not so sure. I believe he’s got a 3:15 in him yet.
Doubters can suck it.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Murky matters
Early yesterday evening, after seeing an IMAX film at the American Museum of Natural History on the Great Lakes, I was inspired to put on my swimsuit and head to the pool. Going into taper week, my schedule called for only a modest 35 minute cross-training session, so I figured I could use a nice, easy swim. My gym’s pool is always a bit of an adventure: flippers and snorkels abound, few swimmers know proper lane etiquette, and the water is much, much too warm. But such is life in Manhattan, where we take any 25 meter pool we can get.
I jumped in the “fast lane” (again, a sign that the pool is really for novices, since I’m anything but a fast swimmer) and was surprised to find the water moderately cool. So far, so good. My lane was shared by only two other relatively good swimmers, which was also a positive sign. Maybe the conditions were right for a solid workout? Unfortunately, when I pushed off the wall on my first lap, I found it next to impossible to see through the murky water. I asked my lane mate if it was my goggles or if he was also having visibility issues, and he confirmed that it was indeed cloudy water. Yuck.
I tried to ignore thinking about what was really in this water and continued my swim, taking it lap by lap. This seemed to work pretty well, except when the wall would suddenly come into focus without warning -- there were definitely a few awkward flip turn moments when I realized the end of the pool was only a few inches from my face. But I managed a one mile swim before heading home to make one of my favourite Jamie Oliver recipes.
Last night’s swimming experience is probably a sign of what’s to come on May 2. Just as I decided on a whim yesterday to go for a swim, I finally registered Zdenek and myself for the marathon today (registration closes tomorrow, and this is definitely the longest I’ve ever waited to register for any race). The conditions for my marathon are murky: Zdenek has been battling some sort of illness for the last few days, and just today I woke up feeling that a cold is imminent.
So I’m trying to decide whether I want to run hard and try for a solid marathon (if not a PB), or whether I should make having fun my top priority and run without any concern for time. I figure I’ll take it mile by mile and see how it goes. If I feel good, maybe I’ll lay it all on the line. If it seems more appropriate to just treat the day like a 26 mile long run, maybe I’ll do that.
I just hope I have time to see the wall and adjust accordingly before it smacks me in the face.
I jumped in the “fast lane” (again, a sign that the pool is really for novices, since I’m anything but a fast swimmer) and was surprised to find the water moderately cool. So far, so good. My lane was shared by only two other relatively good swimmers, which was also a positive sign. Maybe the conditions were right for a solid workout? Unfortunately, when I pushed off the wall on my first lap, I found it next to impossible to see through the murky water. I asked my lane mate if it was my goggles or if he was also having visibility issues, and he confirmed that it was indeed cloudy water. Yuck.
I tried to ignore thinking about what was really in this water and continued my swim, taking it lap by lap. This seemed to work pretty well, except when the wall would suddenly come into focus without warning -- there were definitely a few awkward flip turn moments when I realized the end of the pool was only a few inches from my face. But I managed a one mile swim before heading home to make one of my favourite Jamie Oliver recipes.
Last night’s swimming experience is probably a sign of what’s to come on May 2. Just as I decided on a whim yesterday to go for a swim, I finally registered Zdenek and myself for the marathon today (registration closes tomorrow, and this is definitely the longest I’ve ever waited to register for any race). The conditions for my marathon are murky: Zdenek has been battling some sort of illness for the last few days, and just today I woke up feeling that a cold is imminent.
So I’m trying to decide whether I want to run hard and try for a solid marathon (if not a PB), or whether I should make having fun my top priority and run without any concern for time. I figure I’ll take it mile by mile and see how it goes. If I feel good, maybe I’ll lay it all on the line. If it seems more appropriate to just treat the day like a 26 mile long run, maybe I’ll do that.
I just hope I have time to see the wall and adjust accordingly before it smacks me in the face.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Nine sleeps
A couple of years ago, Reebok came out with a series of ads telling people to just “run easy,” rather than “just do it.” At the time, the ads were mocked for encouraging people to strive for mediocrity, and I kind of agreed. Today, though, I seem to be looking at these ads a little differently and a bit longingly. Not necessarily a good sign when the race is only nine sleeps away.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
A different kind of endurance test
This morning’s schedule called for 1200 m repeats at about the fastest pace my short legs can carry me for any sustained amount of time. After a very hard 11 mile run on Tuesday night, and looking ahead to a whopping 23-miler scheduled for this Saturday, I figured that my legs and knees could use a change of surface, so I opted for the gym. Additionally, every gym trip helps to justify our stupidly-priced membership, and, because I had to get up just after 5 am to fit in this workout, it is comforting to be in close proximity to both water and bathrooms at that uncertain hour.
And so although it was a lovely, dry morning, I figured that the gym -- despite its still, hot air -- was the safer option. At the very least, in my sleepy state and with tired legs, I knew that I’d be forced to run my prescribed pace on the treadmill, while I couldn’t be so sure that I wouldn’t slow down considerably if it was just me versus the open road. And I was right. By the fourth repeat, my HR was climbing to strangely high territory. By the fifth 1200 m repeat my legs were beginning to burn, and I began counting down the remaining time by the second. By the sixth repeat, I could barely go quickly enough to prevent myself from flying off the back of the machine altogether. And when I finally started my cool-down, I kept the pace a tad higher than I should have because, I figured, the faster I finish this workout, the faster I get to go home, drink a cup of coffee, and eat my cereal (and by this time, Zdenek was already complaining on the treadmill next to me that he was hungry). In running, it seems, quickness helps not just when you’re working hard, but also when you want to stop working. Quickness is everything.
The same cannot be said of other sports -- in particular, golf. This past weekend, Zdenek and I flew to Canada to spend Easter with his parents. On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, we stayed up until (relatively) late, drinking, eating, and talking with my in-laws. It was good to be with family, and we seemed to cover every subject under the sun. It was exactly the way I would have designed the weekend. But when I am with my in-laws, I know that a golf game is always on the table. On past visits, I have run 18 miles while the rest of the family golfed 18 holes, but this weekend, we had only an easy 13 miles on our Saturday schedule. The weather was beautiful, and we had plenty of time for nine holes in the afternoon.
To be clear: I am most definitely not a golfer. Although I’m not very good at it, it doesn’t leave me frustrated or cursing on the green as it seems to do for those who truly love the sport (a perverted love indeed). It does, however, bore me. I find that on the first couple of holes, I’m relatively focused. I concentrate, take note of my stance, and practice my swing a few times. By about the sixth hole, however, I start to lose interest. I just want the game to be over as quickly as possible. I don’t return my club (one of only three that I use) to the bag between turns. I forgo practice swings in favor of connecting with the ball -- however poorly -- more quickly, which just leaves me chasing it down the fairway in ten foot increments, thus wasting even more time. Towards the end, I sometimes don’t even finish the hole at all, instead opting to take whatever score the scorekeeper decides I might be worth. I just grab my ball and head off to the next hole, ticking them off like miles in a marathon.
Something about golf just bores me and strikes me as a waste of time (and money and water and green space). I may not be quick enough to be a great runner, but I surely lack the necessary focus to ever become a great golfer. Golf just isn't challenging for me in an adrenaline-rushing, heart-pumping kind of way. I don’t grin from ear to ear like I sometimes do when riding my bike. I don’t enter a zone the way I can while running hard and long. It doesn’t even seem good for my body in the way yoga or swimming does. And it most certainly does not reward speed. To attempt to play quickly will certainly just backfire and end up prolonging the game. In golf, unlike running, to be quick is to suck, and I am definitely not cut out for the patience demanded over nine or 18 holes. Eighteen miles, on the other hand, is a different story.
My kind of golf
And so although it was a lovely, dry morning, I figured that the gym -- despite its still, hot air -- was the safer option. At the very least, in my sleepy state and with tired legs, I knew that I’d be forced to run my prescribed pace on the treadmill, while I couldn’t be so sure that I wouldn’t slow down considerably if it was just me versus the open road. And I was right. By the fourth repeat, my HR was climbing to strangely high territory. By the fifth 1200 m repeat my legs were beginning to burn, and I began counting down the remaining time by the second. By the sixth repeat, I could barely go quickly enough to prevent myself from flying off the back of the machine altogether. And when I finally started my cool-down, I kept the pace a tad higher than I should have because, I figured, the faster I finish this workout, the faster I get to go home, drink a cup of coffee, and eat my cereal (and by this time, Zdenek was already complaining on the treadmill next to me that he was hungry). In running, it seems, quickness helps not just when you’re working hard, but also when you want to stop working. Quickness is everything.
The same cannot be said of other sports -- in particular, golf. This past weekend, Zdenek and I flew to Canada to spend Easter with his parents. On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, we stayed up until (relatively) late, drinking, eating, and talking with my in-laws. It was good to be with family, and we seemed to cover every subject under the sun. It was exactly the way I would have designed the weekend. But when I am with my in-laws, I know that a golf game is always on the table. On past visits, I have run 18 miles while the rest of the family golfed 18 holes, but this weekend, we had only an easy 13 miles on our Saturday schedule. The weather was beautiful, and we had plenty of time for nine holes in the afternoon.
To be clear: I am most definitely not a golfer. Although I’m not very good at it, it doesn’t leave me frustrated or cursing on the green as it seems to do for those who truly love the sport (a perverted love indeed). It does, however, bore me. I find that on the first couple of holes, I’m relatively focused. I concentrate, take note of my stance, and practice my swing a few times. By about the sixth hole, however, I start to lose interest. I just want the game to be over as quickly as possible. I don’t return my club (one of only three that I use) to the bag between turns. I forgo practice swings in favor of connecting with the ball -- however poorly -- more quickly, which just leaves me chasing it down the fairway in ten foot increments, thus wasting even more time. Towards the end, I sometimes don’t even finish the hole at all, instead opting to take whatever score the scorekeeper decides I might be worth. I just grab my ball and head off to the next hole, ticking them off like miles in a marathon.
Something about golf just bores me and strikes me as a waste of time (and money and water and green space). I may not be quick enough to be a great runner, but I surely lack the necessary focus to ever become a great golfer. Golf just isn't challenging for me in an adrenaline-rushing, heart-pumping kind of way. I don’t grin from ear to ear like I sometimes do when riding my bike. I don’t enter a zone the way I can while running hard and long. It doesn’t even seem good for my body in the way yoga or swimming does. And it most certainly does not reward speed. To attempt to play quickly will certainly just backfire and end up prolonging the game. In golf, unlike running, to be quick is to suck, and I am definitely not cut out for the patience demanded over nine or 18 holes. Eighteen miles, on the other hand, is a different story.
My kind of golfTuesday, March 30, 2010
A confession
On Saturday, Zdenek and I ran what will hopefully be the most difficult run of our training plan: 22 miles at sub-8 min/mile. This took approximately three hours out of our weekend morning (going into the early afternoon), and constituted four loops of the Park. This (very) long run gave me opportunity to consider just how funny a running couple Zdenek and I have become: We don't listen to music, but yet we rarely make conversation. We just stick to our pace, watch the road ahead, and run side by side -- in silence.
Or at least, we're usually silent. One other thing I've noticed, and which I must confess, is that when I run with Zdenek day in and day out, I tend to complain during the run a lot. (I know that any one of my friends reading this is bound to say, “Jodi -- complain? Not our Jodi! She never complains about anything!”) But it's true. I confess. I complain that I'm tired. My legs hurt. It's hard to breathe. My feet hurt. It's too windy. It's too hot. It's too rainy. It's too sunny. There are too many people in the Park. The Park is too deserted. I'm tired!
In the past, I’ve always been on my own -- no one was along for the run to listen to me whine about my tired legs or to hear my heavy breathing. I felt like a champion for just getting out there and running 5 or 8 or 22 miles all by myself, and by the time I returned home, it was satisfying to just exclaim, “Boy, that was hard!” and leave it at that. But this year, despite the fact that my times are pretty consistent from one year ago, every run just feels so much harder.
I’m not sure why this is. Do I prefer to be a solitary runner? It’s possible, but I know I love the company on hill repeats and intervals. Can I not stand running with someone who’s just slightly out of my league on every single run? There could be some truth in this. Does running with Zdenek remind me too much that cycling season is just around the corner, and so I can’t concentrate on the task at hand? Definitely maybe. Do I just love the opportunity for a good whine session, whenever, wherever? Hmmmm.....
Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it too much longer. Zdenek says time and time again that we’re crazy for doing this and that he really just prefers a solid 7-10 miles a few times a week, though he seems to be enjoy the training if only to prove to himself he can do it. As for me, running must now compete for my affections with cycling and, lately, swimming. After the marathon, I don't imagine I'll be running too much. Indeed, come May 3, I’ll have to find something new to complain about. I'm sure I'll manage.
Or at least, we're usually silent. One other thing I've noticed, and which I must confess, is that when I run with Zdenek day in and day out, I tend to complain during the run a lot. (I know that any one of my friends reading this is bound to say, “Jodi -- complain? Not our Jodi! She never complains about anything!”) But it's true. I confess. I complain that I'm tired. My legs hurt. It's hard to breathe. My feet hurt. It's too windy. It's too hot. It's too rainy. It's too sunny. There are too many people in the Park. The Park is too deserted. I'm tired!
In the past, I’ve always been on my own -- no one was along for the run to listen to me whine about my tired legs or to hear my heavy breathing. I felt like a champion for just getting out there and running 5 or 8 or 22 miles all by myself, and by the time I returned home, it was satisfying to just exclaim, “Boy, that was hard!” and leave it at that. But this year, despite the fact that my times are pretty consistent from one year ago, every run just feels so much harder.
I’m not sure why this is. Do I prefer to be a solitary runner? It’s possible, but I know I love the company on hill repeats and intervals. Can I not stand running with someone who’s just slightly out of my league on every single run? There could be some truth in this. Does running with Zdenek remind me too much that cycling season is just around the corner, and so I can’t concentrate on the task at hand? Definitely maybe. Do I just love the opportunity for a good whine session, whenever, wherever? Hmmmm.....
Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it too much longer. Zdenek says time and time again that we’re crazy for doing this and that he really just prefers a solid 7-10 miles a few times a week, though he seems to be enjoy the training if only to prove to himself he can do it. As for me, running must now compete for my affections with cycling and, lately, swimming. After the marathon, I don't imagine I'll be running too much. Indeed, come May 3, I’ll have to find something new to complain about. I'm sure I'll manage.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Quick reminders
This week marks the beginning of interval repeats, which is probably my least favourite part of marathon training (tied with hill repeats, that is). I’m not very good at running quickly, and I feel awkward when even attempting a sprint. My body type surely is not cut out for fast-twitch muscle action. And intervals tend to just leave my legs and lungs burning without, it seems, having much impact on my overall performance. I don’t feel that I get much faster throughout the six weeks of interval training, and I certainly don’t improve very much from year to year. What, then, is the point?
Yesterday I received awful news about the health of someone I know quite well and like very much. It’s heart-wrenching news, really -- the kind that makes you shake your head and wonder about the unfairness of life, and why bad things seem to happen to good people. It’s the kind of news that makes you pause to think about how short and fragile life really is, and how we should all count our blessings on a daily basis. It’s the kind of news that makes you feel like any complaint or gripe you might have is undoubtedly minor and almost embarrassing to mention.
Heading home from work yesterday evening, I felt tired and sluggish. I wasn’t feeling particularly excited about running, let alone about the prospect of running 1200 m repeats. But any hesitation I had quickly gave way to the realization that I should just be thankful that I can run, and I should remember how good it feels to work my body hard. I feel wobbly but strangely refreshed after a hard workout. I enjoy my dinner and a glass of wine that much more. I sleep like a log. I know that I’ve done something good for my health and my body and my state of mind. I feel proud of my effort.
It is no lie that, as I ran back on forth on the relatively flat stretch of East Drive last night, I thought several times about how lucky I am to be running. The news I received yesterday provided ample motivation for me to keep going. To be sure, I wasn’t running for anybody or in tribute to anyone -- it doesn’t even make sense to me how my act of running could possibly be for anyone else. I recognize that running back and forth as quickly as I can (which is not very quickly) is a selfish (and some might say, pointless) activity. But I know that someday -- hopefully later rather than sooner -- I won’t be able to run. Maybe I’ll get injured or sick for an extended period of time. Maybe the other demands in my life won’t allow time for such a self-indulgent activity. Maybe I’ll eventually get old and running will hurt too much to be worth the effort. I’m not sure what will spell the end of my running days, but I know that it will come.
And so last night, in spite of the fact that I’m not very good at running intervals, I tried to enjoy the burning sensation in my legs and the labored breathing in my lungs, and all that they represent. It may be hard to believe, but I know that, someday, I’ll miss it.
Yesterday I received awful news about the health of someone I know quite well and like very much. It’s heart-wrenching news, really -- the kind that makes you shake your head and wonder about the unfairness of life, and why bad things seem to happen to good people. It’s the kind of news that makes you pause to think about how short and fragile life really is, and how we should all count our blessings on a daily basis. It’s the kind of news that makes you feel like any complaint or gripe you might have is undoubtedly minor and almost embarrassing to mention.
Heading home from work yesterday evening, I felt tired and sluggish. I wasn’t feeling particularly excited about running, let alone about the prospect of running 1200 m repeats. But any hesitation I had quickly gave way to the realization that I should just be thankful that I can run, and I should remember how good it feels to work my body hard. I feel wobbly but strangely refreshed after a hard workout. I enjoy my dinner and a glass of wine that much more. I sleep like a log. I know that I’ve done something good for my health and my body and my state of mind. I feel proud of my effort.
It is no lie that, as I ran back on forth on the relatively flat stretch of East Drive last night, I thought several times about how lucky I am to be running. The news I received yesterday provided ample motivation for me to keep going. To be sure, I wasn’t running for anybody or in tribute to anyone -- it doesn’t even make sense to me how my act of running could possibly be for anyone else. I recognize that running back and forth as quickly as I can (which is not very quickly) is a selfish (and some might say, pointless) activity. But I know that someday -- hopefully later rather than sooner -- I won’t be able to run. Maybe I’ll get injured or sick for an extended period of time. Maybe the other demands in my life won’t allow time for such a self-indulgent activity. Maybe I’ll eventually get old and running will hurt too much to be worth the effort. I’m not sure what will spell the end of my running days, but I know that it will come.
And so last night, in spite of the fact that I’m not very good at running intervals, I tried to enjoy the burning sensation in my legs and the labored breathing in my lungs, and all that they represent. It may be hard to believe, but I know that, someday, I’ll miss it.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
It's a date
This is not as exciting as planning a vacation, but it will have to do.
After weeks of training for a “May marathon,” I finally have one to look forward to. I originally wanted an early May date since this allows me to do the bulk of my training during the colder winter and spring months, and it wraps up my running season right around the time that I’m ready to get back on my bike again. In the past, I’ve run spring marathons in Ottawa, Cincinnati, Boston, Virginia Beach, and Mississauga (Toronto).
I seriously considered doing Cincinnati’s Flying Pig again this year -- it will always hold a special place in my heart as the site of my first BQ. But the flight to and from Cincinnati is a pain, and it makes for a busy weekend. I really should be running Boston this year but I failed to sign up and so missed the deadline. Mississauga was also tempting (especially since it allows a trip to the homeland and a potential visit with the in-laws), but again, the travel is a bit much for 36 hours. New Jersey seemed to be the most sane choice. It is nearby, around the right time, and mostly flat. But on the other hand, it’s two loops of the same course and it is, well, New Jersey.
And so, after poring over MarathonGuide.com today, I’ve selected my race: The Cox Sports Marathon in Providence, Rhode Island.
+ It’s within three hours by Amtrak.
+ I’ve never visited Providence.
+ The course is mostly flat and along the waterfront.
+ The rail station, Westin hotel, and start and finish are within a few short blocks of each other.
+ It’s May 2.
I am looking forward to it already, and I hope it will provide sufficient motivation to get me through the final and most difficult six weeks of marathon training. No offense (and I'm sure it's a great race), but New Jersey just wasn’t cutting it.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Back to basics
One of my good friends recently told me that she is interested in taking up running with a bit more regularity and seriousness. She asked what tips or advice I might dispense to a neophyte, and so I put together my best list of "dos" and "don'ts." Because it took me a bit of time to do this, and because this is a running-oriented blog, I thought I'd post a (slightly edited) copy of my email here. To the seasoned runner, this will be painfully obvious advice. But reflecting on the basics reminds me just how far I've come; I never thought, in a million years, that anyone, anywhere, would ever be asking me for advice on running.
-----------------
I am always happy when people take up running, but I totally understand that it is not for everybody. If you really enjoy schedules and group workouts, running is, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), an activity that often requires self-motivation to get out the door. Of course, you can always join a running group and/or find a few running partners, and having a race to train for is also a good motivator. But even then, running is simply not an enjoyable activity for a lot of people, and I totally understand that. But even if you don't like it, you have nothing to be afraid of in trying.
My advice would be to try to commit to it for 12 weeks. It will take at least that long for you to get comfortable and start seeing any improvements, and it will probably suck (if not hurt) a lot before that. I ran a bit around 1999-2002 -- mostly 5 to 10km but pretty slowly. I remember the first 10km I did in 2003 with a running group. After they finished ridiculing me for wearing cotton (see #6 below), I found myself at the back of the pack and barely able to keep up. When I got home, I had a shower and sat on my couch and could barely move. It was horrible. I thought I was going to die. And back when I first started running 20km+ on weekends, I'd have to sleep a couple of hours in the afternoon. I hardly (if ever) do that now, though I am pretty tired come 10 pm.
So, this is my basic running advice:
1. Start slowly. In the beginning (and the beginning might constitute months or even a year!), your focus should just be to stay on your feet and keep moving for a longer and longer period of time. Take walk breaks if you need to. Don't worry one bit about how fast you're going. When I first started, I probably could have walked faster than I was "running," but one of the things I love about running is that you see such tangible improvements if you stick at it. You'll get faster and stronger without even trying to. Only once you have been running 15 miles (~24 km) per week for a good six months will you then start to add things like intervals or pick-ups to try to get faster.
2. Don't bounce. Your running style should be more like a shuffle, because the less air you get, the less impact on your joints.
3. On anything longer than 30 minutes, bring water. Get a water belt if you need it. On runs longer than 90 minutes you'll need gels or a sports drink, but you have a way to go before you need to worry about that.
4. Increase your mileage by no more than 10% per week. Try not to run more than 4x per week -- the extra rest days are awesome (though feel free to do as much aerobic cross-training, i.e., swimming, biking, elliptical, etc., as you want on one or two of the other days). Eventually you should get your "long" run to about 60 minutes, which will be about 10 km.
5. Get good running shoes if you don't have them already. Go to a proper running store. Let them watch you run. If the shoes don't feel good, return them (all of the good stores take returns within 30 days). It probably took me a year or more of trying different models before I figured out what works for me. And even now, when they discontinue my shoe, it sometimes takes me a couple of tries before I find a suitable replacement.
6. Get good running clothes. No cotton. No chafing. I swear by BodyGlide.
7. If you feel an injury coming on, ice works magic. I cannot say that enough. Ten minutes at a time for two or three times a day cures everything from sore knees to shin splints.
Beyond that, there is not that much you need to initially learn. Running is awesome because it is one of the most accessible sports out there -- no fancy equipment like cycling, very little in the way of technique like swimming, etc. Sure, once you get more into it you can start to do different workouts, check your leg turnover, get a HR monitor, etc., but for the first six months, your goal should just be to stay on your feet and keep moving!
Again, you just have to try to stick with it before you can make a proper assessment of whether it's for you or not. When I ran my first hard 10 km in about October 2003, it felt next to impossible. In the spring of 2004 I ran my first 30 km race, and in October 2004 I ran my first marathon. And the rest is history.
Wishing you lots of luck!
-----------------
I am always happy when people take up running, but I totally understand that it is not for everybody. If you really enjoy schedules and group workouts, running is, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), an activity that often requires self-motivation to get out the door. Of course, you can always join a running group and/or find a few running partners, and having a race to train for is also a good motivator. But even then, running is simply not an enjoyable activity for a lot of people, and I totally understand that. But even if you don't like it, you have nothing to be afraid of in trying.
My advice would be to try to commit to it for 12 weeks. It will take at least that long for you to get comfortable and start seeing any improvements, and it will probably suck (if not hurt) a lot before that. I ran a bit around 1999-2002 -- mostly 5 to 10km but pretty slowly. I remember the first 10km I did in 2003 with a running group. After they finished ridiculing me for wearing cotton (see #6 below), I found myself at the back of the pack and barely able to keep up. When I got home, I had a shower and sat on my couch and could barely move. It was horrible. I thought I was going to die. And back when I first started running 20km+ on weekends, I'd have to sleep a couple of hours in the afternoon. I hardly (if ever) do that now, though I am pretty tired come 10 pm.
So, this is my basic running advice:
1. Start slowly. In the beginning (and the beginning might constitute months or even a year!), your focus should just be to stay on your feet and keep moving for a longer and longer period of time. Take walk breaks if you need to. Don't worry one bit about how fast you're going. When I first started, I probably could have walked faster than I was "running," but one of the things I love about running is that you see such tangible improvements if you stick at it. You'll get faster and stronger without even trying to. Only once you have been running 15 miles (~24 km) per week for a good six months will you then start to add things like intervals or pick-ups to try to get faster.
2. Don't bounce. Your running style should be more like a shuffle, because the less air you get, the less impact on your joints.
3. On anything longer than 30 minutes, bring water. Get a water belt if you need it. On runs longer than 90 minutes you'll need gels or a sports drink, but you have a way to go before you need to worry about that.
4. Increase your mileage by no more than 10% per week. Try not to run more than 4x per week -- the extra rest days are awesome (though feel free to do as much aerobic cross-training, i.e., swimming, biking, elliptical, etc., as you want on one or two of the other days). Eventually you should get your "long" run to about 60 minutes, which will be about 10 km.
5. Get good running shoes if you don't have them already. Go to a proper running store. Let them watch you run. If the shoes don't feel good, return them (all of the good stores take returns within 30 days). It probably took me a year or more of trying different models before I figured out what works for me. And even now, when they discontinue my shoe, it sometimes takes me a couple of tries before I find a suitable replacement.
6. Get good running clothes. No cotton. No chafing. I swear by BodyGlide.
7. If you feel an injury coming on, ice works magic. I cannot say that enough. Ten minutes at a time for two or three times a day cures everything from sore knees to shin splints.
Beyond that, there is not that much you need to initially learn. Running is awesome because it is one of the most accessible sports out there -- no fancy equipment like cycling, very little in the way of technique like swimming, etc. Sure, once you get more into it you can start to do different workouts, check your leg turnover, get a HR monitor, etc., but for the first six months, your goal should just be to stay on your feet and keep moving!
Again, you just have to try to stick with it before you can make a proper assessment of whether it's for you or not. When I ran my first hard 10 km in about October 2003, it felt next to impossible. In the spring of 2004 I ran my first 30 km race, and in October 2004 I ran my first marathon. And the rest is history.
Wishing you lots of luck!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Why we do it
As everyone is no doubt aware, New York was blanketed by snow yesterday. This followed several days of snowy weather in DC, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey and, in the opinion of one Canadian girl, a laughable inability in these areas to cope with a bit of the white stuff. As my brother appropriately asked me yesterday, “I heard that NY shut down cause of snow. What kind of snow do you guys get there? Are there three foot snowflakes that weigh 40 pounds each?”
To be fair, yesterday did bring a considerable dump of snow (with icy cold winds to boot) in only twelve hours. The snow began falling in Manhattan just before sunrise, right as Zdenek and I were getting ready to head out for our run. Because of the media build-up to this “severe winter storm,” we were amused to see only an inch of snow on the ground when we rolled out of bed. We almost decided to go ahead with our scheduled 10 mile tempo; only because we weren’t sure whether we’d have adequate time did we opt for a five mile run instead (reserving the 10 miler for today). And it’s probably a good thing we did.
By the time we got to the park 30 minutes later, it was almost impossible to run. The snow/ice/rain was coming down hard, and I could barely open my eyes facing into the wind. The roads were covered in icy slush, making it impossible to do anything more than a very easy run. (God bless the Central Park crew who were already out there, salting the roads and plowing the snow as fast as it was falling. It is no lie that Central Park is home to the most well maintained six miles of asphalt anywhere.) It was one of those mornings that made me ask myself, Why am I doing this again? I could be at home with a steaming cup of coffee right now or, better yet, still in bed. Passing one lone runner in a green sweatshirt on the West side, we asked him (rhetorically), “How are you enjoying this run?” “Great!” he replied, much too enthusiastically. “This is why we do it!”
This is why we do it? Really!? We run because of the snow and sleet and wind and rain? Perhaps we run in spite of those things, but definitely not because of them. I’ll admit, a tough run through terrible conditions is a sure way to make me feel like a hero, but I’ll take sunny days and calm winds any day over the satisfaction from triumphing over adverse conditions. What in the world was that man thinking? I can only conclude that the ice pellets hammering his head had left him in a temporary state of delirium.
This morning, we awoke at 5:30 am to the sound of our pre-programmed coffee machine (so “very suburban” of me, as one of my coworkers recently mocked) and soon made it to the door to face our ten mile tempo. Outside, the winds were absolutely howling on our little corner of the UWS, and I opened the door only a crack before quickly shutting it again. Zdenek muttered something about “going back to bed” and then commanded, “Just open the door! You’re psyching me out!” And off we went, onto our icy, uneven, ankle-twist-inducing sidewalk and through the empty streets in the pre-dawn light. It was slow-going.
But upon entering the park, we predictably found ourselves running in almost complete solitude on a (mostly) cleared road (the Central Park snow removal team are not miracle-workers, after all). The majestic elms of Central Park were covered down the lengths of their north-facing trunks in a full dusting of snow (one positive side effect of strong winds, I guess). The ground was blanketed in fluffy white. We saw snow-men, a snow-woman, and even a rather impressive snow-dog. Zdenek and I both commented to each other at least once, “This is so beautiful!” And under breaking skies, over occasionally slippery roads, I ran a solid 10.3 miles. (Remarkably, I even hit my target paces.)
If I were not so accustomed to heading out no matter the weather, and perhaps if five miles weren’t a perfectly manageable run to me, then I would never have found myself in the necessary shape and with adequate motivation to run ten miles this morning in the prettiest of winter conditions. Perhaps that runner in the green sweatshirt was right, and yesterday’s conditions are the reason I run, after all. Perhaps every run in abysmal weather is just preparation for the real thing.
To be fair, yesterday did bring a considerable dump of snow (with icy cold winds to boot) in only twelve hours. The snow began falling in Manhattan just before sunrise, right as Zdenek and I were getting ready to head out for our run. Because of the media build-up to this “severe winter storm,” we were amused to see only an inch of snow on the ground when we rolled out of bed. We almost decided to go ahead with our scheduled 10 mile tempo; only because we weren’t sure whether we’d have adequate time did we opt for a five mile run instead (reserving the 10 miler for today). And it’s probably a good thing we did.
By the time we got to the park 30 minutes later, it was almost impossible to run. The snow/ice/rain was coming down hard, and I could barely open my eyes facing into the wind. The roads were covered in icy slush, making it impossible to do anything more than a very easy run. (God bless the Central Park crew who were already out there, salting the roads and plowing the snow as fast as it was falling. It is no lie that Central Park is home to the most well maintained six miles of asphalt anywhere.) It was one of those mornings that made me ask myself, Why am I doing this again? I could be at home with a steaming cup of coffee right now or, better yet, still in bed. Passing one lone runner in a green sweatshirt on the West side, we asked him (rhetorically), “How are you enjoying this run?” “Great!” he replied, much too enthusiastically. “This is why we do it!”
This is why we do it? Really!? We run because of the snow and sleet and wind and rain? Perhaps we run in spite of those things, but definitely not because of them. I’ll admit, a tough run through terrible conditions is a sure way to make me feel like a hero, but I’ll take sunny days and calm winds any day over the satisfaction from triumphing over adverse conditions. What in the world was that man thinking? I can only conclude that the ice pellets hammering his head had left him in a temporary state of delirium.
This morning, we awoke at 5:30 am to the sound of our pre-programmed coffee machine (so “very suburban” of me, as one of my coworkers recently mocked) and soon made it to the door to face our ten mile tempo. Outside, the winds were absolutely howling on our little corner of the UWS, and I opened the door only a crack before quickly shutting it again. Zdenek muttered something about “going back to bed” and then commanded, “Just open the door! You’re psyching me out!” And off we went, onto our icy, uneven, ankle-twist-inducing sidewalk and through the empty streets in the pre-dawn light. It was slow-going.
But upon entering the park, we predictably found ourselves running in almost complete solitude on a (mostly) cleared road (the Central Park snow removal team are not miracle-workers, after all). The majestic elms of Central Park were covered down the lengths of their north-facing trunks in a full dusting of snow (one positive side effect of strong winds, I guess). The ground was blanketed in fluffy white. We saw snow-men, a snow-woman, and even a rather impressive snow-dog. Zdenek and I both commented to each other at least once, “This is so beautiful!” And under breaking skies, over occasionally slippery roads, I ran a solid 10.3 miles. (Remarkably, I even hit my target paces.)
If I were not so accustomed to heading out no matter the weather, and perhaps if five miles weren’t a perfectly manageable run to me, then I would never have found myself in the necessary shape and with adequate motivation to run ten miles this morning in the prettiest of winter conditions. Perhaps that runner in the green sweatshirt was right, and yesterday’s conditions are the reason I run, after all. Perhaps every run in abysmal weather is just preparation for the real thing.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Flip-turn
Tuesday’s run, as detailed, left me feeling positively elated. In fact, the whole day from start to finish was a winner: A great run. A fantastic, swanky lunch along Central Park South. The closing of a deal that I’ve been working on for months. The season premiere of LOST. In fact, by the time I got home on Tuesday after work, I was so thrilled about how my day had gone that I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to take full advantage of my good fortune and fit in as many more wonderful experiences as possible, so I changed into my suit and headed to the pool for an unscheduled swim.
My first 500 meters or so weren't too bad. I wasn’t super fast but nor was I super slow. My legs were tired from the morning’s run but I focused mostly on my upper body. All seemed to be going well. And then, somewhere between 750 and 1000 m, it all went very, very wrong.
At first, I just couldn’t breathe quite properly, and found myself gasping for air after only a few strokes. I kept hitting the lane ropes. The pool seemed too murky and I had a hard time focusing (this may, disgustingly, have been the reality). And then suddenly my flip-turns ceased to be flip-turns at all, and instead became some sort of half somersault that left me bobbing, disoriented, two feet away from the wall. I tried to flip-turn on the next lap. Same problem. And then next one. And then next. Granted, I’ve never been a champion flip-turner (Zdenek looks like some sort of streamlined dolphin when his legs flip over and he powerfully glides away from the wall, bullet-like), but this was ridiculous. So when Zdenek and the girl in the next lane started laughing at my muddled “swimming,” I decided it was time to call it at day.
Approaching the pool this morning at 6:30 am was a bit frightening. Had I forgotten how to swim, or at least how to turn around? Did I damage the part of my brain responsible for somersaults? Would I be laughed out of the pool yet again? Was my swimming career already over? But the pink sunrise over Central Park was shining in the through the windows lining the pool deck, and the “Fast” lane was empty, calm, and beckoning. I jumped in. Twenty-five meters later, I found myself flipping, turning, and pushing off the wall. And again. And again. Until, 1800 m later, I headed to the showers.
I now realize that what happened to me during Tuesday’s swim was likely due to complete and utter exhaustion -- I (pathetically) lacked the necessary energy to throw my legs over my body. Tuesday morning’s tempo certainly did a number on me, and perhaps if I had just rested that night instead of trying to squeeze in an unnecessary swim, I would have been better off for it all week long. I learned that I really do have a finite amount of energy and, indeed, a finite number of flip-turns, available in one day. Tuesday night's activities should have consisted solely of flipping on the remote and turning to LOST.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
A great place to run
I have a confession to make: I did not end up running my 8 mile OMP (that’s “ordinary mortal pace,” or basically a comfortably hard run) after work yesterday evening. I did, however, come very, very close to it. So close, in fact, that I had my Clif bar in hand and was almost changing into my running tights, but Zdenek (who, to his credit, was fully willing to do the run) reasoned that we’d be better off having dinner, getting to bed at a decent hour, recovering from our lingering hangover, and running the OMP Tuesday morning instead. We would then shift our workouts around slightly (choice b) to schedule our difficult tempo run (at 30 seconds per mile faster than the OMP) on Thursday. Ideally, this would still leave us rested enough to run 18 miles on Saturday.
So that is what we did. Except that we didn’t.
This morning’s run started off questionably. It took us almost a full hour to get out the door (due to delicious coffee and a few too many trips to the bathroom); once we did, I realized that my heart rate monitor had gone totally wonky and was reading 199. While I normally rely on my heart rate during training runs to ensure my effort is hard enough but never too hard, this morning I was forced to simply go by feel. And I felt great. So great, in fact, that by the time my monitor kicked in again about 1.5 miles later, I realized that my heart rate was in tempo, rather than OMP, territory. But I didn’t slow the pace. Climbing Cat Hill around mile four, Zdenek commented that we might as well be doing our tempo run today. I suggested slowing down, but he retorted, “Finish what you started.”
And finish we did. I ran a perfect tempo pace for a full eight miles (which is 2.5 miles more at tempo pace than required by my training plan), and my resulting heart rate was spot-on (if not lower than anticipated). It was an exceptionally good run for me. I felt fantastic completing it, and even better knowing that Thursday’s run will be a more relaxed effort. This made me think of an interesting interview with Kara Goucher that I recently read, in which she talks about following an unscripted training plan and running by feel (which is, apparently, the Kenyan way). If she feels good, she trains hard. If she’s having a rough day, she backs off. She aims for a certain number of miles each week and a few key workouts, but the rest is decided on the fly.
It took me a few miles today to get over the fact that I was supposed to be running an OMP but was instead hammering out a tempo. For the first loop, a small battle played out between my mind, which wanted to follow the script, and my body, which wanted to write its own rules. Thankfully, I let my body win, and I was rewarded with the most perfect eight miles. The best place to run is in my element.
So that is what we did. Except that we didn’t.
This morning’s run started off questionably. It took us almost a full hour to get out the door (due to delicious coffee and a few too many trips to the bathroom); once we did, I realized that my heart rate monitor had gone totally wonky and was reading 199. While I normally rely on my heart rate during training runs to ensure my effort is hard enough but never too hard, this morning I was forced to simply go by feel. And I felt great. So great, in fact, that by the time my monitor kicked in again about 1.5 miles later, I realized that my heart rate was in tempo, rather than OMP, territory. But I didn’t slow the pace. Climbing Cat Hill around mile four, Zdenek commented that we might as well be doing our tempo run today. I suggested slowing down, but he retorted, “Finish what you started.”
And finish we did. I ran a perfect tempo pace for a full eight miles (which is 2.5 miles more at tempo pace than required by my training plan), and my resulting heart rate was spot-on (if not lower than anticipated). It was an exceptionally good run for me. I felt fantastic completing it, and even better knowing that Thursday’s run will be a more relaxed effort. This made me think of an interesting interview with Kara Goucher that I recently read, in which she talks about following an unscripted training plan and running by feel (which is, apparently, the Kenyan way). If she feels good, she trains hard. If she’s having a rough day, she backs off. She aims for a certain number of miles each week and a few key workouts, but the rest is decided on the fly.
It took me a few miles today to get over the fact that I was supposed to be running an OMP but was instead hammering out a tempo. For the first loop, a small battle played out between my mind, which wanted to follow the script, and my body, which wanted to write its own rules. Thankfully, I let my body win, and I was rewarded with the most perfect eight miles. The best place to run is in my element.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Real enjoyment
This past Saturday, in talking with my sister, I learned that one of my nephews has decided to take his training to a new level. Without going into too many of the details, he very much wants to improve his competitive swimming but feels that three practices per week offers insufficient pool time to realize his full potential. And so, recently, he approached the front desk of his local swimming pool to request an open swim schedule and purchase a book of drop-in passes. He has committed himself to swimming two times per week -- before school at 6:30 am or so -- on his own and in addition to his usual club practices. Did I mention that my nephew is just shy of ten years old?
As his running, swimming, and cycling aunt, I beamed with pride to hear my sister tell me this, and I sincerely hope that both of them stick to their new plan (because, of course, his ability to make a morning pool time will depend on her ability and willingness to get up earlier than usual to drive him to the pool). My sister’s life is, to put it mildly, extremely hectic, and so I can’t say I’ll blame her if this new commitment ends up falling through the cracks. Nevertheless, I applaud my nephew for even suggesting an increase in his training intensity, and I’m delighted that he’s enjoying swimming as much as he is (and so, too, is my other nephew, who recently told me, “I finally found the sport that I really, really, really enjoy”).
The truth is, though, if my nephews are enjoying swimming as much as they claim to be, then extra swim practices and early mornings probably don’t feel like work at all. Training can almost become the opposite of work and, indeed (in the adult world at least), relief from work. I know this feeling well. Tonight on my calendar, for example, I have a work party (complete with dinner and drinks) at a swanky Manhattan location. Unfortunately, though, I missed my scheduled eight miler this morning, and so I am faced with the choice of: (a) missing this run altogether (unheard of); (b) shuffling around my runs for this week to try to accommodate it elsewhere (annoying); or, (c) skipping the party and heading to that other Manhattan hot spot, Central Park. I have opted for (c). Though I was a bit nervous to reveal to my co-workers my reason for missing tonight’s party, I found that everyone I told had the same reaction: “That makes sense. That’s a very good reason to skip the party.” I guess my co-workers understand that it’s the one thing I really, really, really enjoy.
As his running, swimming, and cycling aunt, I beamed with pride to hear my sister tell me this, and I sincerely hope that both of them stick to their new plan (because, of course, his ability to make a morning pool time will depend on her ability and willingness to get up earlier than usual to drive him to the pool). My sister’s life is, to put it mildly, extremely hectic, and so I can’t say I’ll blame her if this new commitment ends up falling through the cracks. Nevertheless, I applaud my nephew for even suggesting an increase in his training intensity, and I’m delighted that he’s enjoying swimming as much as he is (and so, too, is my other nephew, who recently told me, “I finally found the sport that I really, really, really enjoy”).
The truth is, though, if my nephews are enjoying swimming as much as they claim to be, then extra swim practices and early mornings probably don’t feel like work at all. Training can almost become the opposite of work and, indeed (in the adult world at least), relief from work. I know this feeling well. Tonight on my calendar, for example, I have a work party (complete with dinner and drinks) at a swanky Manhattan location. Unfortunately, though, I missed my scheduled eight miler this morning, and so I am faced with the choice of: (a) missing this run altogether (unheard of); (b) shuffling around my runs for this week to try to accommodate it elsewhere (annoying); or, (c) skipping the party and heading to that other Manhattan hot spot, Central Park. I have opted for (c). Though I was a bit nervous to reveal to my co-workers my reason for missing tonight’s party, I found that everyone I told had the same reaction: “That makes sense. That’s a very good reason to skip the party.” I guess my co-workers understand that it’s the one thing I really, really, really enjoy.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tired and restless
Around 4 pm yesterday, I found myself increasingly nervous and anxious. By 6 pm, I wanted to leave work and get home as quickly as possible; once home, I ate my dinner and gulped down a glass of wine in record time. When I settled in at 9 pm to watch the State of the Union address, I had a difficult time concentrating and instead prepared for bed at around 9:45 pm. By 10:20 pm, I was under the covers while Barack Obama's voice boomed in from the other room; at 10:30 or so, I finally asked Zdenek to turn off the television so that I could go to sleep. I think I was zonked out by 11 pm, but then I awoke several times during the night and had difficulty falling back to sleep. When my pre-programmed coffee machine started brewing at 5:45 am, I had already been awake for 15 minutes or more.
My heightened state of anxiety yesterday wasn't just because I was feeling crummy (though I was) or wanted to get an extra hour of sleep (though I did). I was nervous because of what lay in store for me this morning. I was stressing over the fact that I've been teetering on the edge of a full-blown illness all week long and that every night I've only added to my accumulated sleep deficit. I was doubtful that I would be able to concentrate and find sufficient energy to perform well this morning. But I wasn't facing a test, an important meeting, or even a job interview today. Rather, I was up against a scheduled tempo run that called for a sustained, hard effort, and I wasn't certain that I would be up to the task. I was worried that this run would feel terrible, and in turn would make me feel terrible, and that it would forever leave a black mark in my training log.
I recognize that this probably sounds silly to anyone who might read this (does anyone actually read this?) -- I feel silly even writing it! I know that I'm not competing for anything (now or in the future) and that I'm so far away from the ranks of even the semi-elite that I should just be happy that I can even train for a marathon at all. But when Zdenek and I headed out the door this morning, I told him that I had been dreading this run all week (to my annoyance, he casually replied that he hadn't even given it a moment's thought until then). I was still doubtful that I could rally enough energy and focus to meet the prescribed pace and distance laid out for me in my training plan, at least not without overshooting my target heart rate by five or more beats per minute.
Happily, when all was "said and run" today, I had a fantastic tempo. My pace was a full ten seconds per mile faster than planned, and my heart rate was bang on. I worked hard but felt strong. Even better, it was a bit snowy and wintry, which made it all the more interesting. In retrospect, I should never have worried about this run at all, and I certainly shouldn't have stressed unnecessarily about it for the twelve hours prior. I should have gone to sleep looking forward to a good night's rest, and left it at that. And even if the run had gone poorly -- even if had gone extraordinarily poorly -- would that have been such a big deal? In the grand scheme of things, no, but it would have left me dreading next week's tempo even more than I surely will. Stress can be a good motivator, but I'm thankful I have at least a few more days before anxiety kicks in again (and even more thankful that tomorrow is a rest day).
My heightened state of anxiety yesterday wasn't just because I was feeling crummy (though I was) or wanted to get an extra hour of sleep (though I did). I was nervous because of what lay in store for me this morning. I was stressing over the fact that I've been teetering on the edge of a full-blown illness all week long and that every night I've only added to my accumulated sleep deficit. I was doubtful that I would be able to concentrate and find sufficient energy to perform well this morning. But I wasn't facing a test, an important meeting, or even a job interview today. Rather, I was up against a scheduled tempo run that called for a sustained, hard effort, and I wasn't certain that I would be up to the task. I was worried that this run would feel terrible, and in turn would make me feel terrible, and that it would forever leave a black mark in my training log.
I recognize that this probably sounds silly to anyone who might read this (does anyone actually read this?) -- I feel silly even writing it! I know that I'm not competing for anything (now or in the future) and that I'm so far away from the ranks of even the semi-elite that I should just be happy that I can even train for a marathon at all. But when Zdenek and I headed out the door this morning, I told him that I had been dreading this run all week (to my annoyance, he casually replied that he hadn't even given it a moment's thought until then). I was still doubtful that I could rally enough energy and focus to meet the prescribed pace and distance laid out for me in my training plan, at least not without overshooting my target heart rate by five or more beats per minute.
Happily, when all was "said and run" today, I had a fantastic tempo. My pace was a full ten seconds per mile faster than planned, and my heart rate was bang on. I worked hard but felt strong. Even better, it was a bit snowy and wintry, which made it all the more interesting. In retrospect, I should never have worried about this run at all, and I certainly shouldn't have stressed unnecessarily about it for the twelve hours prior. I should have gone to sleep looking forward to a good night's rest, and left it at that. And even if the run had gone poorly -- even if had gone extraordinarily poorly -- would that have been such a big deal? In the grand scheme of things, no, but it would have left me dreading next week's tempo even more than I surely will. Stress can be a good motivator, but I'm thankful I have at least a few more days before anxiety kicks in again (and even more thankful that tomorrow is a rest day).
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