Toe-Shoes Tina: Thankful for a change of clothes . . . and grit

Distance:  8 miles

Pace:  9:17

Altitude:  7,000 ft.

Elevation gain:  488.8

Wardrobe changes:  1

Temperature:  35 degrees (Fahrenheit)

For my 40th birthday, I want to run a marathon in Antarctica.  Because they only let 100 runners go per year, the trips book up three years in advance, leaving me approximately 2.5 years to save up a few thousand dollars and convince myself I can run a marathon . . . in Antarctica.  Temps during the run range from 15 to 45 degrees (Fahrenheit) because the marathon is in the Antarctic summer.  I’m guessing 5+ years from now, global warming will have adjusted that upward a bit.  But I’ve been mentally prepping for some serious cold weather running gear.  No way I can wear Vibrams (which is fine, since I can’t do 26.2 in them anyway) and I will need some real insulation.  Definitely won’t need my now-preferred booty shorts.  So when I saw the temperature was 35 degrees at the start of my 8 mile tempo run, I thought it would be a good opportunity to test my cold tolerance.  I wore thick spandex running pants, a lightweight long sleeve running shirt, and a very lightweight waterproof wind-breaker.   Then I put on a pair of gloves that are specially designed to use with touch-screen phones and a winter hat. 

(My new favorite gloves that allow me to navigate my phone without removing them.   The gray fabric conducts energy in some way that allows your fingers to still work your iPhone.)

As I walked through my neighborhood to my starting point, the wind was biting.  As it was Thanksgiving, I decided I was thankful for my jacket.  I set my goal pace for 9:00 (aggressive in light of the altitude, but it’s a tempo run, right?) and started my run down a long downhill slope.  Within the first mile, each of my shoes came untied and stopped to tie them – not good for my time!  I finally realized the hem of my running pants was rubbing against the laces and untying them, so on my third try I finally double-knotted my shoes.  Still chugging downhill, I realize I am getting warm.  Very warm.  Very very warm.   My super lightweight jacket feels heavy, hot, and uncomfortable.  And I have to pee.  Oh, great.   At 1.5 miles, I spy a McDonalds and use the restroom, shedding my jacket and tying it around my waist.  I decide to carry my hat.  At 2 miles, I turn around and head back up the hill.  This.  Sucks.  How is it possible to overheat in 35 degree weather?  When I reach my start point 4 miles into the run, I decide to make a pit stop.  I went back to my house and changed into three quarter length running tights and my short sleeved Tough Mudder shirt, feeling anything but tough.  I shed my gloves and hat, popped a Gu, and peed again and set out for my last 4 miles.  (Yes, I paused my GPS during both pit stops.  Much like Mark McGwire, I deserve an asterisk for this run.  But there was a time in my life when I was less dedicated to running and I would have just called it a day after those first 4 hard miles.  I’m proud of myself for getting back out there.) 

(I'm with ya, buddy.  I share your asterisk shame.)

My next two miles were up the hill I’ve affectionately dubbed “the Beast.”  Any relief I got from my change of clothes and short break was gone.  To borrow a Slo Jo word, I trudged up the Beast.  Every 5 minutes, MapMyRun perkily informed me “you’re behind your target pace, speed up!”  I may or may not have called the app a “stupid b***” out loud, angry that she didn’t realize I was going up a hill.  I kept thinking “two miles up, then it’s just two miles downhill.  Down.  Hill.”  I finally reached the top, panting, dizzy, nauseated (ah, yes, this is my old friend, exertion nausea), and angry at the sport of running.  But hey, now I was practically done because I just had to go two more miles downhill!   I quickly realized that running two miles downhill, while much easier than running two miles uphill, is still running two miles.  I’d pushed way too hard in my beginning miles (shocking, eh?), so my downhill miles were still fairly miserable.  And even in a lightweight tee and thin tights, I was hot.  The temp had climbed into the 40s by then, but that was still far too low to justify my overheating.  Evidently you are supposedto dress for 15-20 degrees warmer when you choose your running gear to account for exertion-related heat. 

(Kate Upton's outfit suggests she is dressed for a very strenuous workout.)

I finished my run and limped back home.  By then I was totally nauseated and couldn’t bear to eat or drink anything.  That made it worse.   After about 30 minutes, I took a salt pill and forced some tortilla chips down.  This stabilized me enough to turn to Thanksgiving dinner.   Specifically, I had to hoist a 15 lb. limp, dead, flaccid, mass of dead turkey flesh out of brine and prep it for the oven.  This is vomit-inducing for me under normal circumstances and considerably less pleasant after my run.   Fortunately, the contents of my stomach stayed put while I put the turkey in the oven.  My stomach improved considerably after that and I was able to actually enjoy Thanksgiving dinner several hours later.  Turkey is much more appealing when it is cooked.  And, because MapMyRun told me I burned 1,078 calories pushing through those 8 miles, I enjoyed my Thanksgiving champagne (Piper Sonoma) without any guilt.  All in all, I was happy I pushed through that run.  And I learned that I might want to pack my booty shorts for Antarctica after all.   

(This turkey did not start out so lovely and delicious.)

Slo Jo: Running from the Portapot

Distance: 14.0 miles
Pace: Achingly slow 13-minute miles with a couple of 12s in there for no reason at all
Knee pain: Flaring
Wine consumed: Some good stuff at dinner party. I recall it was red.
Weight: WAY DOWN! WOOT!

Flash and I tried to run on Sunday. We met at Granada Park to run on the canal. Phoenix had a three-day rainstorm which was really, really wonderful, but I was worried the bridle path would be too muddy for a long run. It was sprinkling a little when we started, but about .7 into our planned 14-mile run, it began raining a lot harder. We turned around and went back to the cars, feeling lame. We agreed to meet at 4pm on Monday to knock out the long run.

BUT, Flash forgot she had tickets for Monday and canceled! So I had to do the long run by myself. I sucked it up and went on Monday morning instead.

First Mile: Starting off slowly. Warming up. Slow slow slow. I am bored and lonely. And oh no--I have to pee.

I try to focus on my audio book, The Watchman. One of the main characters, Joe Pike, is a runner, but I suspect because Pike is painted as this super mega athlete, almost like a cartoon character, that he probably runs a little faster than me. I am exactly nothing like this Pike person; he's the strong, silent type. I'm more of a not very strong, talker-type. Especially when there is someone to talk to. Unlike today.

Second Mile: I wonder how scary it would be to use that unattended Port-a-Potty. I read this wonderful book by Justin Cronin, The Passage, and there is a scene (wait, maybe it was the second in the trilogy) where vampires are lurking in a similar container and it becomes a freaking slaughter. (Sorry if that was a spoiler. I tried to be vague about the container.) In any event, I'm afraid to use the Port-a-Potty because what if there is a scary person inside?

Third Mile: I convince the guys at Central Market to let me use the employee bathroom. They look like they are going to say no, but I look sufficiently pathetic that they let me.

(Please don't make me pee my pants.)

Fourth Mile: I decide to turn around at Dunlap, because last time I did the extra half uphill to Hatcher, there was a dead chihuahua on the side of the road. What if the poor thing is still there? I can't take it. Maybe the dead body was moved into that Port-a-Potty. OMG. So I run down the canal to 7th Street and back instead to get an extra mile in. There are some old people running with live chihuahuas, and they are hustling. They are awesome.

Fifth and Sixth Miles: Joe Pike does amazing stuff. Man. I bet he's not scared of the Port-a-Pot.

Seventh Mile: My nemesis Knee Pain decides to join me for the run. Crap crap crap. Knee Pain announces his arrival by driving a nail into my knee cap and then punching me in the quads. Gah. I make little crying noises because I'm running by myself and I can. Whimper whimper whimper. But I do not stop.

Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth Miles: Joe Pike does not have knee pain. His knees are Super Knees.

Eleventh Mile: I try an experiment and run faster and try to land more on my forefoot rather than heel. I think when I go super slow for the long runs, I end up running heel to toe. Running faster actually feels better, to my surprise, and I run my fastest mile of the 14.

Twelfth Mile: Knee Pain says, "You think you are free of me?" Then he turns into Tonya Harding and whacks me in the knee some more.

(Nancy, watch your back!)

Thirteenth Mile: I keep going. The book ends. I won't ruin it for you, but I was saying stuff to myself like, "Oh, COME ON." So I didn't love it. I put on some music, and that powers me through. I continue to make audible whimpers, but keep going.

Fourteenth Mile: I finish at Bethany Home and only have 13.95 on my watch, so I make myself run back and forth in front of my car until it creeps up to 14. Otherwise, the sports watch will say I ran 13 miles, and I want credit for every step! I take my sweaty self home, drink an Evolve, and walk like I'm 100 the rest of the day. I have chafing in terrible places. But I made it, and I didn't get taken out by anything lurking in the Port-a-Potty. That's a good run.

Toe-Shoes Tina: The Tough Runs Make Us Stronger

Distance:  15 miles
Pace:   10:39
Sodium Consumed During Run:  450 mg
Wine Consumed Evening Prior:  2.5 glasses of Dogajolo Toscano

After running 14 miles last week, I am no longer petrified of my long runs.  I am cautiously anxious, but I also look forward to the challenge in a way I did not before (perhaps because I now believe I can meet that challenge).  In preparation for my 15 miles today, I went to the running store to find things to help my post-run nausea.  I was hoping to find some long-distance running guru to give me all the answers, but they were slammed and there was nobody to help me.  So I got a bunch of Gu (my tried and true fave), Gu Roctane (Gu plus amino acids), Honey Stingers (organic!), and a bottle of salt tabs.  Because 15+ miles requires me to run with more gels than I can fit into my running short pockets, I also got a running pack.  It is actually really cool, for a fanny pack.  It is a tiny little band of mesh that stays tiny if you're only carrying a couple gels, a salt pill, and some Chapstick.  But it expands to carry a whole lot more, including a phone, as I would later learn.

(My running pack, before and after.)

I had planned to do boot camp one weekend day and then run another weekend day.  My preference would have been to run on Saturday because I knew my legs would be fresh (there is no such guarantee after a boot camp).  Unfortunately, Phoenix was hit with nonstop steady rain Friday through Saturday.  According to my weather app, Sunday would be sunny with a 10% chance of rain.  I chose to run Sunday.  I also thought that I might need some running gear that protects me from the elements (not something you need very often in Phoenix).  The waterproof jackets at the running store were $150, so I ordered one on Amazon for $27.

Fortunately, Saturday's boot camp was focused on upper body, so my legs were still relatively fresh Sunday morning.  I packed a Gu, a Roctane, a Honey Stinger, three salt pills in a little baggie, and my Chapstick into my running pack.  I grabbed my 16 oz water bottle and strapped on my iPhone arm holder.  And I was off.  Less than a mile from my house, it started to rain.  I was wearing short sleeves and became concerned about my phone getting wet through its neoprene holder.  So I shoved my phone (holder and all) into my running pack and pulled my shirt over it.  To my pack's credit, it stretched to hold all the bulk.  The feeling of my mesh running pack on bare, non-Body Glided skin, however, was unpleasant, but better than ruining an iPhone.  One mile in.  Great.  I hit two miles and realized I had to pee.  I crossed a busy street and used the bathroom at a Dunkin' Donuts, feeling bad that I did so without buying anything.  I made a mental note to go buy a donut from them this week.  Upon exiting the Dunkin' Donuts, I thought "awesome, only an entire half marathon to go."  I seriously considered just turning around and doing this run some other day.  But then I thought that I will certainly hit low points in the marathon when I just want to quit. This is good practice for pushing through them.  Right?  Right????

("What? Over? Did you say 'over'? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!")

By mile three I decided there was no way I could run 15 miles with my running pack under my shirt.  Fortunately, I was only three miles from home, so I sought shelter under a gas station's canopy and called Husband #1 to have him bring me a long sleeved shirt so I could tuck my phone under the cloth on my arm.  Husband #1 informed me that it might be a few minutes because Daughter #2 was in the bath tub following a potty accident.  Fan-freakin-tastic.  I told him my general trajectory and kept running.  He did not catch up to me for two more rain-soaked, pack-chafing miles.  By that time I was grumpy (my splits for my first 5 miles are all near or over 11 minutes, making me even more grumpy).  When I opened the car door, Daughter #2 brightly informed me "mommy!  I had an accident!"  I took off my shirt in the middle of the sidewalk, put on the dry long sleeved shirt, ate my Roctane gel, and promptly vowed never to eat another of those.  Gross!  But I was finally able to take my phone out of my pack and put my (much lighter) pack outside my shirt.  I held my phone in my hand and pulled my sleeve down over it.  Miles 5 through 9 ticked by uneventfully (and thankfully with faster splits).  At 9.28 miles, I arrived at my boxing gym.  I stopped in and quickly said hello, refilled my water bottle, took a salt pill and a Honey Stinger, and peed (again!).  It was a nice pit stop with friendly faces, but I was off again in less than 5 minutes.

(These are my now-beloved salt pills.  They have electrolytes other than sodium, too.)  

At mile 10, the sun came out for about 2 minutes and I actually thought "I only have 5 miles left."  This is not a thought process sane people have.  Only 5 miles????  By mile 11, it was raining again.  Shortly after mile 12, I found a bus stop with a trash can and took a regular Gu (I like to take my gels near trash cans so I can throw them away after, because littering is for losers).  After that, my run was non-eventful.  The last mile sucked because the last mile always does, but it wasn't as bad as my first five miles.  I got home and Husband #1 was nice enough to go to the store to get me a bag of ice for an ice bath because I could feel my legs stiffening (but no joint pain, thanks, Pinch Your Butt!).  I recalled that my friend, Jack Rabbit, had told me the only thing that helped her post-run nausea was Gatorade after a run.  I abhor Gatorade, with its unnatural flavors and colors.  But, in a moment of desperation, I asked Husband #1 to get me a Gatorade, so long as he could find one that was a color found in nature.  Shortly thereafter, I was soaking in an ice bath and guzzling white Cherry Lime Gatorade (I don't even want to think of the chemicals that give it that flavor -- blech!).  But now, several hours later, I feel fine!  My legs and joints are fine and my stomach is normal.  So I'll continue to take my chemical-laced Gatorade and my salt pills.  But no more Roctane.  Gross!

Slo Jo: Hail to the Trudgers!

Distance: 4 miles
Pace: 11 minute miles
Wine consumed: yes

Woot woot! Finished a four miler around the neighborhood, and I was pretty happy with just about everything about the run. I had a slow warm up mile, then miles two and three were both exactly 11:09. How's that for keeping a pace? My last mile I kicked it up a little and got a 10:50.

Now, if you have Toe Shoes Tina as your training buddy, you might feel like these numbers aren't that amazing, since readers of this blog know that she generally breaks the speed of sound at the track. But guess what my wonderful Nike watch told me after I plugged it into the web site:

What what? WHAT? Average pace for women my age (that makes me sound 100) is 13:07, and I, on the other hand, have a comparatively swift 12:10 average. Wow! And the Nike community as a whole is only averaging 11:55. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. I'm not ridiculously slow; I'm normal.

And then look at this one:

(Boom.)

Look at that. I'm putting in miles. Those other slow runners are SLACKERS.

This made me curious. Is there an "average" pace for runners? I spent a little time on Google, and I narrowed my search to average marathon times. In this funny article from the NY Times, the author (who proudly finished 619 out of 625 runners in the NY marathon), says:

"In 1980 the average marathon time was about three and a half hours for men and about four hours for women, according to Running USA. Today, the averages are 4:16 for men and 4:43 for women. About 20 percent of the participants in the New York City Marathon take longer than five hours to finish."

Why is this? Because running has become more popular, and "average" runners like me are entering. This affects the averages.

The article also says that some of the faster marathon runners (those we slow pokes think of as "real" runners) resent those of us in the back of the pack. They call us "plodders." I really prefer the term trudger, if they wanted to slow down long enough to ask me. One reason they don't like us is that marathoners don't feel so special anymore if anyone can earn their 26.2 sticker by jogging along and throwing in the occasional walk. To these elite racers, I offer this considered, well-thought-out response:

I mean seriously? There are elite runner elitists? I think that one of the great things about running is that almost anyone can start to do it. You put on some shoes and go. I know so many people who turn to running when they decide they are tired of sitting in the gigantic buttocks-shaped print they've worn in their couch or who have grown alarmed at the size of their jeans. And a marathon, or half marathon, or 5K, gives the runs a purpose beyond just a new pair of jeans. It is rewarding to finish a race, to be part of the crowd of fit, happy people, and to have put in the work to accomplish a goal.

(Oddly enough, we plodders, or amateur runners, are getting criticism from another group--the couch potatoes. What? How can you resent a runner? But in an article in the Wall Street Journal, one writer told us runners to "get over it." Guess he wouldn't be a reader of this blog. I mainly bring this up because the response in Runner's World was hilarious. Read it here. I had no plans to put one of those 26.2 or 13.1 stickers on my car until I read the WSJ article. Now I'm gonna sticker that sh*t up.)

I suspect the plodder critics are a very small percentage of the running population (and the couch potato population, I suspect, does not give a crap about this issue). I have found runners to be 100% supportive of my attempts to run, and some of these runners are really amazing athletes.

So I say to you, fellow plodders: Keep on plodding! We are runners, and we are slow. We are the Trudging Majority. They cannot keep us down. They cannot make us feel bad about our 13-minute miles. Sometimes it takes 13 minutes. That is okay. They can outpace us, but we'll get there eventually. We are like a very very slow and tired army. We can do this--and we're going to wear crazy outfits and have some fun while we do it.

Fist pump!

Toe-Shoes Tina: Unbalanced

Distance:  0.0
Pace:  0.0

I didn't run.  So why am I writing?  To tell you about my running-focused sports massage.  My body hates me, specifically my hips.  My right leg is plagued by a tight IT band, which causes knee pain from time to time (although that pain has been ameliorated considerably by switching to neutral shoes and a mid-foot stride).   My left leg bestows unrelenting sciatic pain on me when I sit for more than 20 minutes at a time.  My trainer, Pinch Your Butt (pinching your butt is evidently the way to ensure correct form on everything, except being arrested) not only holds his bachelors degree and several certificates for training, but is a licensed massage therapist as well.  He also hears me complain three days per week about which parts of me hurt and what activities cause the pain.  Wanting to stay injury-free now that my long runs are well into the double digits, I scheduled a 90 minute massage session with him.

(Shakira's hips don't lie.  Mine don't like me.)

PYB told me he recently learned a new massage technique.  I told him that the last massage I got (at a fancy spa) included the massage therapist lying his head on my head and that if PYB tried any such thing I would punch him.  He assured me his new technique was called neurokinetic therapy and did not involve placing his head on mine, though might hurt a little.  Because I participate more actively in this type of massage, I wore spandex running shorts and a sports bra to avoid uncomfortable flashing situations.  We began by him testing my muscle strength by having me flex my leg in various directions from different starting positions as he applied resistance with his hand.  Doing this, he could tell where I had strength imbalances.  He then did trigger point work to release tight muscles.  Then we re-tested my muscle strength.  Lather-rinse-repeat.

It was not a relaxing massage and it did hurt when he was working the tightness out of various muscles.  Oh, did you know how many leg muscles there are?  I didn't.  I got quadriceps, hamstrings, and calf muscles, but those are the easy ones.  There are all kinds of little muscles that hurt like a bitch when you "release" them:  TFL, psoas, some little muscle on the front of my shin that I still don't know the name of.  The psoas, by they way, is an a-hole of IT band proportions.  PYB pressed into the side of my abs right above my hip and pain just radiated through me.  Amazed, he said "I can feel each individual insertion point."  I thought that meant I was ripped.  PYB corrected me, telling me it is not a good thing.  Rather, it means the psoas is just too tight, which means it is pulling too hard on other parts of me and creating imbalance.  Dammit.

(All of these little muscles can cause pain and bad running form.  Yay!)  

But it was amazing how quickly the technique worked.  PYB would do the testing and then dig in to some poor little muscle that I previously didn't know existed.  And it would hurt.  And I would scream.  And then hold my breath.  And PYB would tell me to breathe.  And then he'd work the muscle until I couldn't feel pain anymore, often I even felt a warm flush through the muscle.  After that, he could dig right into the same muscle in the same spot that caused me to scream minutes earlier and it wouldn't even hurt.  Evidently once that happened, my re-test showed significant improvement on my strength imbalances.  PYB did this for quite a while on each leg, then finished each leg by stabbing me repeatedly, I mean, working my IT bands.  Oh how I hate my IT bands.  PYB informed me they are full of adhesions, all of which make them hurt more when touched, let alone massaged.  (You can read more about IT band adhesions here.)  Inspired by Slo Jo's plan to have hers surgically removed, I asked PYB if I really need my IT bands or if I could have them taken out.   He insisted I needed them, so I asked for what.  He said to hold my kneecap in place.  I began to wonder whether I need kneecaps.  Really, what do they do?  My IT band massage was ugly. I whined, screamed, cursed . . . if I'd been in possession of state secrets, I would have revealed them to make it stop.  Somebody should tell the CIA this may be more effective than waterboarding.

("If you do not tell us what we want to know, Mr. Bond, we will massage your IT bands.")

After spending over an hour on my legs (something you won't get from a cookie-cutter spa massage), PYB was kind enough to finish with a little back and shoulder work that was more relaxing than painful.  I left feeling much looser in my leg muscles.  PYB said I might see some changes (improvements) in my stride.  We will see how tomorrow's speed work goes, and -- more importantly -- this weekend's 15 miles.  Eep.

Toe-Shoes Tina: A Terrific Tempo Run

Distance:  5 miles
Pace:  7:56/mile
Wine:  2 glasses of Merlot

If you read this blog, you know the level of my devotion to MapMyRun.  I've begun to doubt it recently, though, thinking maybe it is becoming a cheerleader for me instead of an objective observer.  A few weeks ago, I did my speedwork on a dirt track at a local middle school while Daughter #1 had soccer practice on the field in the center of the track.  I ran 12 laps, which should have been 3 miles.  It ended up being 3.25 miles, according to MapMyRun.  I chalked it up to running toward the outside lane and not running a straight line.  The following week, I ran on a more official-looking high school track that had real lines lanes and painted markings.  I ran 4 laps in the inner lane.  1.06 miles.  Ruh Roh.  If MapMyRun gives me an extra .06 every mile, my very long runs are going to be very off.

(Scooby is not modeling desert-appropriate running gear.)

I did what any good obsessive compulsive would do and frantically Googled upon returning home.  First, I Googled track markings to see if perhaps the track was longer than I thought.  I could not make heads or tails of the articles I found on track markings, so I reluctantly went after the more likely option and typed "MapMyRun inaccurate."  Oh my.  A troubling number of results came up.  According to this New York Times article, it is common for cell phone GPS apps to be inaccurate by varying degrees.  Some things make it worse, including routes with curves.  Okay, great.  Maybe my GPS was just wrong on the track, which is curvier than Anna Nicole Smith.  The article made me think I should test my phone app by checking it against an internet mapping function.  This is hard for me to do as I prefer not to run on streets, opting instead for green belts and canals, which you cannot easily map online.  I did it for the first time during my 10 mile run through the mountains (the one with bear spray).  When I returned from my run to compare the routes, I was nervous.  What if it was only 9 miles?  That would seriously impact my  pace!  Fortunately, it was spot on.

With one accurate run under my hydration belt (okay, that's a lame joke, I don't have a hydration belt), I decided to test it on my 5 mile tempo run today.  I ran streets the whole way so I could confirm my distance upon returning home.  I left a few minutes before 6:00 am.  Outside it was dark, but fabulous.  The temperature was a blissful 57 degrees and a full moon hung in the air.  When I began my run, there was not even a hint of dawn on the horizon.  That may sound miserable to some, but this is my kind of running weather.

(My run looked a lot like this today.)

I was hoping to sustain an 8:15 pace.  I did my first mile in 8:02.  On the one hand, it was faster than my (somewhat aggressive) goal pace and I have a bad habit of going out too fast.  On the other hand, I felt A-MAZ-ING and thought I could sustain the pace.  Turns out, I was right.  In fact, I sped up.  My last four miles were 7:58, 7:42, 7:57, and 7:47.  My overall pace was sub-8:00.  You can understand why I almost didn't double-check this with an Internet map.  I didn't want it to find out my 5 mile run was really 4.5, which would severely affect my pace in an upward fashion.  What if my MapMyRun was just telling me what I wanted to hear?

(I need an app that will tell me the truth about my pace, like Grumpy Cat.  GrumpyCatMyRun?)

I sucked it up and logged my route into the computer.  5.01 miles:  sweet!  My GPS isn't blowing smoke up my ass, I really am fast!  (My sub-3 hour marathon friends can shut it right now, my pace is fast for me, a semi-reformed non-runner).

Slo Jo: Inspired by Ironmen

Distance: 0
Pace: N/A
Distance of Other Runners: IRONMAN DISTANCE
Inspiration Level: 10 out of 10

I know I just posted yesterday, but I wanted to give the Ironman report. Flash and I decided to go watch Coach on the marathon portion of his race.

In case you haven't been following a friend's training like I have, a quick reminder. Ironman is a triathlon consisting of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and then a 26.2-mile marathon. The World Championship is held annually in Kona, and there's a great book on it called Iron War that I highly recommend you check out.

(Trust me. It's good.)

The Ironman in Arizona starts with a swim in Tempe Town Lake, a lake renowned for its loveliness natural features dead bodies. The bike course leaves Tempe and climbs up the Beeline Highway up to Shea and returns, and then the runners have two 13.1-mile loops around Tempe Town Lake. Fortunately, Ironman.com's Track Your Athlete feature begins to work again after a worrying pause where I think Coach dropped out, and I am able to see when he started the marathon. Then I draw a little map of the course to calculate where we can find him; the idea was to avoid just missing him and having to wait for him to run 13.1 miles before we got a chance to see him.

(I marked it with the mile times so we could calculate where to be at what time. Flash found this map hilarious. What? It is good to plan ahead.)

Flash and I decide that given the time and my mathematically precise calculations as to where Coach will be when (I didn't have a lot to do on Sunday), we should stand on the north side of the lake so we can catch Coach twice. This creates a parking nightmare. Cops are out directing traffic, and they have clearly cottoned on to our idea of parking somewhere and walking. We park in a store's lot, then notice all the "NO EVENT PARKING" signs and chicken out. We have to park next door where the store is out of business. This seems okay. We walk under the freeway overpass to get to the lake, and notice a car parked nonchalantly in the desert landscaping under the overpass. Um. Is that an acceptable spot? Why didn't I get that spot?

We finally arrive, and the marathon is in progress. We stand on the side Coach will be arriving from. Flash has brought McDonald's take-out with her but is too embarrassed to eat McDonald's in front of these athletes, so she saves it for later. There are some, but not a whole lot, of spectators on this particular spot of path, but one enthusiastic group brought noisemakers and a cowbell. We start clapping and cheering. Some runners say thank you; some are clearly in the zone.

I notice the bibs say the runners' names. I start using them. "Way to go, Amanda!" "Keep it up, Keith!" I shout out, "Good job, David!" and startle the poor guy into stopping and looking at me to see if he knows me. Hey Dave, your name is on your bib. Lots of runners are wearing bright pink and blue compression socks. I tell one woman in pink socks, "Hey, a guy up there has your same socks. You should go catch him!" She pauses for a second and then laughs. None of the runners have headphones--I figure I am breaking up boredom or at least distracting from pain for one second by talking to people.

We collect fist bumps and high fives. A guy in a superhero cape runs by. Some people are doing what I call the Slo Jo Trudge (albeit more understandably after working out for 9 hours than when I do it after 3 miles, but still), and some are really running. I don't understand these people. They get cheers anyway. "Great pace, Bill!" Flash and I note that there are a lot of cute guys out here. I should have brought cards. Maybe I could stamp my phone number on men's biceps. Their tight biceps. But I digress.

Finally, we spot him. Coach! He's wearing a black T-shirt and black shorts. He looks astounded to see us, probably given that we swore we wouldn't come. He made us promise like 100 times. But he is not the boss of me. So, with my stalker map and calculations, here we are in the right spot! He trots by and ignores Flash's proffered high five. We get the giggles after that--we're getting all these thank yous and smiles for cheering from complete strangers, but not from our purported friend! Flash renames him Grumpy. He hadn't wanted us there because it was going to put pressure on him to finish if a bunch of people were waiting at the finish line, which I understand. But popping out at the 8-mile mark is different from waiting at the finish, if you ask me.

We cross to the other side to wait for Grumpy's return and end up cheering on the same group of runners again. There's cape man, and sock girl, and man in all-pink outfit. Some look so tired, and some just look focused and driven. It is incredibly inspirational. Grumpy runs back by, and I quickly reassure him we are leaving. We get high fives this time around..

Flash and I went back to the car, where she could eat her McDonald's in secret. We both went home and finished watching the race from our laptops. Watching the finish is really cool--for every runner, the announcer says, "Joe Smith--YOU are an IRONMAN!" I stayed with it until Coach finished, victory arms in the air. Very very proud.

And very inspired! I should be able to do a marathon if these people did one after riding and swimming more than 100 miles. They put in the work--so can I. You should definitely go out and cheer if a race is in your area--it is fun and the runners do appreciate it!

Slo Jo: Another Not-So-Long Run

Saturday: 7 miles in 1:19
Sunday: 7 miles in 1:34
Wine consumed: a lovely tempranillo with friends M&C on Friday night

I've done this two weekends in a row now, because I do not learn from my own mistakes. I ran six or seven on Saturday, felt awesome, and then decided to do a long run on Sunday and fell apart.

(Bzzz. Ow! Bzzz. Ow!)

It really wasn't a good running day, even though I wore my new running pants that I treated myself to at Runner's Den. They cost a ridiculous amount of money, and getting into them is a bit like getting into my scuba wetsuit. My inner mean girl said, "Maybe they are TOO SMALL and that's why they are hard to pull on!" I told her to shut it. I look gooooood. I did not verify this opinion in the mirror.

I learned last weekend that running 14 miles (my plan for the day) is unbelievably boring when you don't have Coach and Flash around to joke with/complain to/sing to (they especially like my version of "That's Not My Name" by The Ting Tings), so I had a genius idea and downloaded an audio book. I've never tried to run to an audio book before, and I loved it! I downloaded one of Robert Crais's Elvis Cole mysteries, The Watchman. So far, so good. It is seven hours long, so it should keep me busy a while. The female character is driving me crazy, though. People are actively shooting at her and she is demanding lunch. Although, I like to eat on a schedule, too, so who am I to say it is not realistic?

So, I ran ran ran. Encountered a white labrador puppy--that got me to stop. Puppies are Designated Break Time on long runs. So cute. Then I nearly got run off the road by an 8-year-old. Not at all cute. I said, accidentally in my outside voice, "You could say 'on your left!'" The dad said, "Sorry." Harrumph. More puppies, fewer children please.

(Freakin' menace to society.)

The entire run was pretty painful--I had another side stitch, and my knees hurt again. But Saturday's run was amazing! You know you are having a good run when you are actually hoping the stoplights stay green. Usually I like them to turn red so I get a little walk break. Not yesterday. I even had negative splits, and I stayed around 11-minute miles with a random extra fast 10:40 at Mile 5. I am getting faster. Progress is good! And I rolled my IT bands afterward and didn't have to make sad little whimpering noises, so maybe I'm on the mend. But then I ran half a mile the next day and got a side stitch. Great.

I was a little disappointed in my non-finish because I have some friends doing amazing things today. Coach is doing the full Ironman in Tempe. We are under strict instructions not to go to the finish line. I spotted a loophole and realized that doesn't mean we can't go cheer from the sidelines, so Flash and I are going to go watch part of the marathon portion of the race. That should be inspiring. Can't wait to see these athletes. The Ironman website has an "Athlete Tracker" feature where you can see your athlete's progress, but the website is having major issues and won't show me any progress after mile 56 on the bike, even though it already showed me mile 65 half an hour ago. How is one supposed to stalk one's athlete without functioning technology?!

Also today, Running-on-Wine friend ShoeKiller is running the half marathon in Las Vegas! TST and I are excited to hear about how it went.

So, I'm feeling a little worried about the marathon as I haven't run a long run since the half marathon...but here's hoping I get back on track on Tuesday. I'll give you the full report.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Not Down With The Sickness

Distance:  14 miles

Pace:  10:36

Wine:  3 glasses of Zinfandel

As I write this, I am ecstatic.  I just finished a 14 mile run.  I have no broken parts and did not cry (did not even want to cry).  I successfully ran at a sustainable pace in real shoes.  This is the first time I’ve run more than 13.1 and my body still works. 

(Yay for a functioning body!)

As I write this, I am also nauseous.  And this has been a consistent problem for me on runs over 10 miles.  As long as I use gels, my stomach is fine during the run.  It is fine when I finish the run.  Then 45 minutes to an hour after the run, nausea sets in.  I just ran 14 miles!  According to MapMyRun, I burned 1,933 calories and I’d like to start replenishing them.  The problem is that all food has suddenly become unappealing.  That’s some serious bulls*** right there.  I had the same problem during pregnancy.  I was so excited to have cravings and “eat for two,” but alas, throwing up almost everything I could manage to get down in the first place ruined that dream.  I was sick from the beginning right to the end, to the point I had to take medication to keep even water down sometimes.  So here I am again, entitled to eat because I’m burning calories left and right and my stomach is preventing me from well-deserved indulgence.  Do I just have a wimpy stomach?

(My stomach is not pleased with being called a wimp.  I say, stop being a wimp and I'll stop calling you that.)

Perusing the Internet, I learned that I am not the first runner to experience GI issues.  And I also learned that my GI issues (nausea after running) are far better than GI issues experienced by other runners.  Take, for example, this very graphic blog sent to me by my friend Dr. Runner, who is presently training for her first half marathon despite repeatedly insisting she is not a runner.  I’ll not detail the GI issues in that blog, feel free to click if you yourself are not nauseous.  Aside from the gore, the Internet also taught me that there are myriad theories about GI distress in runners:  too much water, not enough water, not enough electrolytes, eating before runs, not eating before runs, eating protein before runs, eating fiber before runs, not eating immediately after a run, eating protein too soon after a run, too much exertion.  Trying to sift through all the advice is paralyzing. 

(I face similar overload paralysis when faced with too many choices of wine.)

Here is my morning routine:  wake up at 5:05 am.  Make a small latte with organic milk from grass-fed cows (lest anyone think coffee is the problem, this has been my breakfast for years of early morning workouts and I ain’t changing it!).  Make smoothie from fruits, veggies, light coconut milk, and (sometimes) chia seeds.  The whole family eats the smoothies for breakfast.  I then work out at 6:00 or 6:30, depending on the day.  Aside from wine and the occasional slice of pizza, I eat really well.  Whole grains, lots of veggies, mostly vegetarian, organic yogurt and other dairy, home-cooked meals almost every night.  There’s not much more health-tweaking I can do to my diet. Okay, I could eat less cheese.  Couldn't we all?  But a life without cheese is not a life worth living (this is the Wisconsin girl in me talking).

I followed this routine today and before my other long runs.  Today, my smoothie had oranges, carrots, bananas, pineapple, and coconut milk.  I drank a slightly smaller portion than usual and set a whole glass aside for post-run.  I ran 14 miles, taking a gel at miles 5 and 10 (I have learned during other runs that too many gels hurts my stomach on a more immediate basis).  Over my run, I drank about 16 oz. of water.  Immediately upon returning from my run, I drank the rest of my smoothie (previously, I waited to eat and thought this might be the cause of my nausea) and 16 more oz. of water.  Through all of this, I felt fine.  Then, an hour after my run, nausea set in.  I’m hungry, but nothing sounds good:  crackers, bananas, pizza, cheese, bread, apples, yogurt, NOTHING!  Dammit!  This is pregnancy all over again.  It is all I can do to get a few whole wheat crackers down.  Slo Jo forwarded me this link, aptly describing my feeling as a long run hangover. 

(Running hangover:  all of the pain, none of the fun.) 

I can’t figure out what is making me so sick.   I’ve ruled out most eating-related theories and I’m at a loss.  I know it’s not exertion (I’m well-acquainted with exertion-related nausea and this is not it).  I do know I am a salty sweater (I finish runs with serious salt streaks down my face), so maybe that is related?  I’m certainly not over-hydrated, and I did lose three pounds on this run, even with my fluid intake.   So maybe I need to drink more?  (Though I am reluctant to incur the additional pit stops that go along with more water.)  Dear readers, please tell me what has worked for you because I really want to pig out!

Slo-Jo: Slo-Jo Versus Her IT Band

Distance: 7 miles

Planned distance: 12 miles

Calls to friend to come pick me up: 1

Wine consumed the night before: Unknown, but likely an amount not conducive to running 7 miles

Okay, it is ON like DONKEY KONG. Whatever that means. I haven't been all that serious about marathon training because I was worried about the half marathon. But now that is in the past, I rested, and I'm ready to train. I even bought a new book:

(Um, you can't click to look inside. Just foolin'! But you can if you go here.)

because clearly as a first-timer I need a book with "Advanced" in the title. Duh. 

So on Saturday, I ran six with Coach, and I had a plan. He was so proud of me for arriving with a plan instead of a host of complaints as to why I didn't think I could do his plan that he didn't listen to the plan. I explained the plan again:

1 mile slow as warm up 

4 mile tempo run 

1 mile slow as cool down

And we did it. But I don't understand my Nike watch. It will claim I'm doing a TST-worthy (on her really long runs, not her Olympic-time-trial short runs) 10:07, but then when I get home it congratulates me on my 12-minute mile. WTF, Nike watch. On the run, I felt like we were doing 11s, but then we slowed down based on the watch, and we ended up going too slow. It’s a process.

Anyhoolies, that was Saturday. On Sunday, my ADVANCED MARATHONING book suggested ADVANCED marathoners like moi should run 12 miles. Okay, done. Put a band-aid on my still-tender blister from the half. Hoped my possibly broken toe would be okay. Put on sunscreen because it looked a bit bright out, and off I went.

I didn’t mention my broken toe? I ran the half last Sunday, went home, took a nap, and cracked my toe on the bedframe getting out of bed. Normally, when I stub my toe, it hurts for a few seconds and then the pain subsides. This continued (and continues) to hurt. My toenail is the same shade as my purple nail polish, and I can’t curl my toes on my left foot. But as Scott Jurek would say, “Not all pain is significant.” That's right. I am JUST LIKE Scott Jurek.

My toe and I felt okay for the first six. But it was hot. And I was a little bored. The Arizona Grand Canal, starting at 20^th and Osborn and heading west, is super ghetto. Why can’t they pull the shopping carts and trash out of our drinking water supply? Why am I the only runner taking advantage of this fine polluted view? I decided I, too, need bear spray, but for the urban bears. Jog, jog, jog. I decide my goal is 12 12s. 

The wheels fell off at mile 7 when first I got a side stitch, and then my knee blew out. Turning to the side stitch, there are lots of possible reasons, and one is dehydration. I will just go ahead and assign this as the culprit, because I did have quite a lot of wine the night before in a fit of being irresponsible (I recall it being fun, too), and it was hot and sunny. But if you want to read the other causes, read this.

The knee thing is worse. I am pretty much convinced I have tight IT bands.

(I think I will have mine removed, like an unwanted mole or conjoined twin.)

In fact, as I write this, sitting comfortably in my Aeron desk chair, I can feel how my hip hurts and my knee still aches. TST told me to get out the foam roller and gave me a handy song, to the tune of Rawhide, to inspire me:

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin 

Keep those IT bands rollin’

Anyone who has used a foam roller knows that it is one of those medieval instruments one finds in a torture museum reserved for people 18 and over who can handle gruesome images. Ladies and gentlemen, here is the Iron Maiden that pierces you a million times, and here’s the rack, and here is the foam roller. I rolled one side and broke out into a sweat. My dog came over to check on me because I was whimpering.

But I get ahead of myself. Anyway, the knee blew up, and suddenly I wasn’t doing so well. I was doing the lurch. I could feel my mouth pulled back in a grimace. And I had to stop. I was five miles from the car, so I called my friend S and begged to be picked up.

So, what have I learned? (1) Roll IT bands daily; (2) stretch; (3) consume wine daily in moderation before runs. Oh, and that the song Rawhide is catchy. I can’t stop humming it. Raw-HIIIIIIDE!

Toe-Shoes Tina: Conquering Fear

Distance:  10:35 miles

Pace:  10:35 (how's that for symmetry) 

Elevation gain: 702.1 ft.

Wine consumption:  3 glasses of Petite Petit (a divine red blend of Petite Syrah and Petit Verdot)

I am back up in the mountains facing my first long run since my 13 miler that ended with tears and the purchase of real shoes.  Saturday night, I used MapMyRun’s online mapping function to map out a 10 mile run.  I wanted to avoid an out and back on the main road because (a) it’s boring and (b) car exhaust seems to hang in the cold mountain air, making breathing alongside well-traveled roads yucky.  Armed with bear spray (you thought I was joking, didn’t you?), I felt more comfortable taking a scenic loop through the forest.   The loop only took me about 6.5 miles, so I still had to go up the main road for a short out and back, taking me back up the hill I dubbed “the beast” last time I ran here. 

I got up early Sunday and went for coffee.  I decided to check out my loop, which I had driven before, but not with an eye toward running.  Specifically, I wanted to make sure there was adequate sidewalk/shoulder throughout the forest road.   I also wanted to look for bears.  The road had a decent enough shoulder.  I saw no bears.  I saw hills.  Eep.  Big hills.  Since my primary goal of this run was to slow down, I thought maybe I should be grateful for the hills.  But that seemed stupid.  As I returned home and engaged in my pre-run ritual of peeing three times and slathering myself with Body Glide, I felt dread.  It wasn’t that I just wasn’t looking forward to running, I was actively dreading it.  I realized I was feeling fear, specifically fear of:  crying, pain, failing another long run, slowing down, the cold (it was 39 degrees when I started my run), my new  (non-toe) shoes, and – yes – bears.  The fact that bears were last on my list of fears speaks to how bad the others were.  I laced up my new shoes, realizing that I hadn’t tried them out on a shorter, more reasonable distance first.  Too late now!  Because I was carrying my bear spray, I did not want to carry a water bottle, so I put a bottle in the planter near where I would end my loop and begin the out and back.  

(The bear spray holster was also handy for carrying my Gu.)

I set off, happy I chose to start my route on a 2-mile descent.  My goal pace was 10:30, which I knew was too fast in light of the 7,000 foot elevation and hills.  Still, it was 45 seconds slower than my prior long runs.  Why wouldn’t I let myself run slower than that?  Last weekend, I proved to the world (and myself) I am fast when I ran a 23:56 5K, taking home a medal.  I was second in my division and the 5th woman to finish (the 4th was named “Daniel,” so I demand a recount).  So what if I ran 11 minute miles on my long run?  I have only recently discovered I am capable of speed.  I suppose it is my inner slow runner still making me insecure that if I slow down too much, I’ll erase all the speed gains I’ve made.   It’s not logical, but it is what it is.  I turned off the main road onto the forest loop. 

(They are not as cool as my toe-shoes pics, but on the plus side, I don’t feel like I’m getting a stress fracture.)

(And . . . with the bear spray.  Far more likely to be used on a two-legged predator, but I’m glad I have it.)

The forest route was gorgeous.  And hilly.  And no longer seemed so cold.  I downed a Gu at about 4.5 miles and finished the loop with no bear sightings.  On some of the hills, my pace shot up over 12:00, which was a good thing.  And I tried desperately not to push it too hard, though admit I was out of breath at the top of my biggest climbs. 

(Sadly, this picture does not even come close to capturing how big this hill was while I was running up it.)

I downed my second gel (a new one called "Honey Stinger," that I really liked) at my turn-around past the top of the Beast.  My last 1.5ish miles were down hill, so I let myself drop to a sub-10:00 pace.  This was the only point at which I felt discomfort in my shoes.  It was difficult to go down a steeper hill while maintaining a mid-foot strike in my shoes.  My feet felt like they slid into the front of the shoes and I ended up keeping my toes curled in a weird position to brace my feet.  This caused my arches to hurt.   So, I admit, I used a little bit of a heel-strike on the steep downhills.  It wasn’t substantial and it hurt less than my weird toe-curl stride.  Fortunately, I won’t be contending with hills in the New Orleans marathon, so I really don’t have to devise a solution. 

In the end, I conquered the long run, tolerated my shoes, didn’t feel the cold, saw no bears, and shed exactly zero tears.  I wasn't even nauseous (thanks, gels!).  I felt so good after the run, that I took my kids for a short (.25 mile) jog around the neighborhood.  Then a very hot and well-deserved shower.  It’s nice to have my confidence back.  

Slo Jo: How Slo-Jo Briefly Turned Into Flo Jo and Then Regretted It (The Half Marathon)

Distance: 13.1 miles

Pace: Started off pretty well, then slowed down to a crawl. A painful crawl.

Glasses of wine: 2 the night before (for medicinal purposes); 3 delicious post-race mimosas

How I feel the day after: Like I need a day off—preferably spent sedated and seated in ice bath

5:55 a.m. Flash arrives at my house ready to rumble. It is still dark outside. She has packed a bag with a change of clothes, Gatorade, and flip flops, and is perfectly coordinated in pink. Our other friend, Pixie, arrives around 6:05 to pick us up and drive us downtown to the race. Pixie is perfectly coordinated in blue. I need to rethink my race outfits.

6:15 a.m. We arrive and the hunt is on for portapots! We are so early that the truck is still unloading them, so Flash encourages Pixie to get in there while they are fresh. I decide to go, too, and manage to OPEN THE DOOR ON SOMEBODY. I scream. The surprised occupant makes a mad dash to grab the door again. The crowd laughs. When I later found an unoccupied stall, I found the door lock remarkably easy to use. How on earth did that person eff it up?

6:45 a.m. Pixie has to pee again. She is nervous. Flash and Pixie have not done a half marathon before, although Flash is experienced at shorter races.

6:55 a.m. There are no corrals to this race, so we all sort of mill around and try to pick an appropriate distance from the start line. Our race plan is that Flash and Pixie will stay with me for three miles and then can go as fast as they want. The idea is not to go out too fast. I say we are going to do 11s, 11:30s to start.

7:00 a.m. We are off!

7:01 a.m. I think I’m running too fast. I’m the pacer. Shoot.

7:30 a.m. Am going too fast. But man, I feel good. I sing Waterloo to the crowd, “MY MY! AT WATERLOO, NAPOLEAN DID SURRENDER…” Flash and Pixie pay no attention to me, but I'm pretty sure the crowd loves my singing. I chat with a speedwalker. I whoop when we pass mile markers. I'm the Fun Pacer.

7:33 a.m. or so. We pass the mile 3 marker and Flash sort of gracefully (I don’t know how she does this—she looks like she is barely moving) dusts me and wanders off to go run faster. Pixie follows her. I don’t speed up, because I feel like I’m already pushing my pace. But then I can see them ahead of me, and I keep pushing. So my first six miles look like this:

(Not too shabby for me, right? Look at those 10:20s. I never run 10:20s. And here I was at miles 4-6 doing 10:20s.)

8:02 a.m. I am flying along. Push back with feet. Keep it up. I'm not the Fun Pacer anymore. I'm fast! I'm too fast to sing Abba! I'm keeping up with Pixie and Flash, sort of. My time is going to be AMAZING.

8:03 a.m.-ish. Man, is this course all uphill?

8:05 a.m. My knee hurts.

8:07 a.m. Now my other knee hurts.

8:15 a.m. Think I’ll have a delicious GU to give me some energy. Who put this slow song on my running mix? I don’t want to listen to "Linger" by the Cranberries this second. I need “Work, Bitch.” I need “Boom Boom Pow.” I don’t need soft Irish melodies.

8:17 a.m. That GU made me nauseous. Not feeling so great. Knees hurt. I’m getting slower. Pace has dropped into the 11s.

8:25 a.m. Hey, there’s Flash’s fiancé on the side of the road! He gives me a high five and tells me to keep it up. This gives me a total boost. I will now always come watch people race, because I felt so much better after that. I think he is responsible for the 11:23 speed increase in Mile 10.

(Okay, slowing down a bit. I suspect this is where I should have been for miles 4-7...)

8:48 a.m. I hit the wall.

I’m nauseated. My knees hurt. My thighs hurt. I have a blister forming on my foot. I hate running. I’m not running at all; I’m doing the zombie lurch. People start to recognize that I’m in visible agony and become my personal cheerleaders. The security guard for the light rail tells me to stay in the shade. Older men with their dogs let me know it’s just a few more miles. Scott Jurek appears and tells me I should eat less animal protein. I am not so good.

Some lady starts cheering me. She says, “I’m looking at YOU, girl! Yay! Good job! Keep it up!” Through my bleary focus, I eventually realize she is Flash’s sister. Yay! Flash’s family is basically keeping me alive at this point.

9:00 a.m. I have got to make it to the finish in 20 minutes to beat old time!

9:01 a.m. Eff my old time.

The last three are ridiculous. It was so hard. I admit I had to walk a little bit, which was a mistake because walking felt SO GOOD. I just ran out of steam.

(OMG look at that last mile. Seriously, Slo-Jo.)

9:28 a.m. I manage to lug my aching body across the finish line. 2:28 was my time. Not that impressive overall, but it was a training run for the full.

I’m pretty sure that those early 10:20 miles were just too fast for me, and so I burned up all of my energy. This is a REALLY IMPORTANT LESSON that I need to learn for the full, or I will never make it. “The first half of the race sets up the second,” Coach reminded me later, and I have to keep that in mind. So I’m really glad I did this race and got that reminder.

How did Flash and Pixie do? Pixie killed it at 2:17. She did really well! Flash unfortunately threw up right before the finish line, and that added a few minutes to her time…she came in at 2:19. Those two first-timers did a great job. We hung out at the finish a while, then went and had well deserved mimosas. It was really a perfect day.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Long run, how did I f*** you up? Let me count the ways

Distance:  13 miles
Pace:  9:40
Wine:  1.5 glasses of Blackstone Merlot to get me through trick or treating
Miles spent crying:  .6

Last night was Halloween.  Because my gym's demographic is young people (not me, of course, I would have been there), it is closed today.  Might as well do my long run!  It sucked.  It sucked so bad.  My knee hurt at 9.5 miles and got steadily worse.  My left foot felt bruised with every step from 10.5 miles on.  I'm really not lying when I say I cried for most of the last mile.  I just wanted to quit so bad and I was genuinely afraid I was going to blow out my knee or something.  Here's what I did wrong:

1.  I went too fast.  I didn't feel like I was going to fast because I wasn't breathing hard or exerting, but a survey of my marathoner friends revealed I should be doing long runs slower than my anticipated race pace instead of 20 seconds faster.

2.  My legs were overworked.  At yesterday's boxing class, Pirate was on crack.  His workout consisted of lots of sprinting, jumping, and squatting.  Oh yeah, and we pushed a full size pickup truck around the parking lot (when we weren't pushing, we were being pulled by resistance bands while we sprinted).  My legs were toast today.  It turns out I am not Super Woman and my muscles do require rest.

(This was our "cool down")

3.  My legs were cold.  Literally.  It was about 50 degrees when I ran today.  I wore a long sleeved shirt, but opted for shorts because I usually get hot.  My legs felt stiff, tight, and cold for the first hour of my run.  That did not help my knee, which I believe hurt because my IT bands were tight.  (Again, why do I need IT bands?  Can I have them amputated as elective surgery?  Just curious.)  I'm not crazy.  According to this blog, cold legs are stiff legs.

4.  My legs were not stretched.  I have slacked this week on stretching and rolling.  And then to make things worse, I didn't do any stretching this morning. Research shows that static stretching is not good before a run, but dynamic stretching is.  I did neither and just set out at 6:00 am on cold stiff legs.

5.  I was dehydrated.  Halloween was a hectic day.  I did not drink nearly enough water with all the craziness.  By the end of the day, my lips were getting dry and chapped from dehydration.  But I came home and fell asleep instead of guzzling water.  Then I didn't crack my water bottle this morning until mile 6.

6.  I wore the wrong shoes.  This is by far the most painful mistake for me to admit.  Ever since my 12 miles last week, my left foot has felt bruised on the bottom.  I was able to largely ignore it for my 7 mile tempo run.  But it resurfaced with a vengeance today.  To the point I was afraid of a stress fracture.  I have been in denial because I love my toe shoes soooo much.  They are part of my identity!  I so desperately wanted to run my marathon in my Vibrams.  And I know others do it.  But those people probably have a BMI under 15.  Yes, I am "all muscle," but my poor feet don't care if my abnormally heavy frame is filled with muscle or with fat -- they don't appreciate 150 lbs of weight falling on them with no cushioning on every stride for 13 miles.  Today I finally came to grips with the fact that I need to limit my Vibrams to runs under 10 miles.  I went and bought a pair of Brooks Pure Cadence (after trying on about 10 pairs of minimalist shoes).  They are minimalist, but not toe shoes, which is causing a bit of an identity crisis.  Slo Jo suggested I could now call myself Mostly Toe-Shoes Tina, but it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue.  Oh well.  I guess I'll take it over a stress fracture.

(The guy at the running store said "You ran HOW FAR in Vibrams????")

Enough negativity.  On the plus side, I effectively used Gu to stave off post-run nausea.  And, as Dave Krupski (our ultramarathoner friend) told me, the runs you struggle through are the important runs.  I didn't quit at 10 because it got hard.  I finished all 13 and I should be happy about that.  I celebrated with an ice bath (pure torture, but also awesome for recovery) and am now enjoying glass of red wine.  Cheers!