Toe-Shoes Tina: Somebody Bring Me A Bubble

Distance:  5 miles

Pace:  8:37

Narrowly Avoided Cab Collisions:  1

Slo Jo has been having (hilarious) nightmares about race day.  I guess marathon stress affects us all in different ways.  I am not normally a hypochondriac.  My immune system is strong (further bolstered by surviving two toddlers in daycare), I have decent pain tolerance, and I heal quickly.  So why have I turned into a Purell-squirting, catastrophe-spotting nutcase?  Because, with the marathon less than a week away, I have taken quite literally the mantra “get to the starting line healthy and uninjured.”  Certainly dislocating/breaking toes 30 days out in a freak gym accident didn’t help things.  I’ve learned during training that you can have hiccups and skip a couple of runs and remain on track.  But if I have a hiccup this week, it won’t be a training run I miss.  It will be the main event!  This makes me paranoid. 

Friday (9 days pre-marathon), my family and I escaped to the mountains, hopeful we’d be snowed on (but what if I slip on ice????).  Daughter #1 sneezed a bunch of times on the drive.  She has the most disgusting, wet-sounding sneeze, I’ve ever heard in my life – like the Niagra Falls of snot.  She needs to learn how to stifle it a bit, but how do you teach a seven-year old to stifle her sneeze?  No worries.  Daughter #1 has mild allergies or something and we are regularly subjected to these gross sneezes.  It is not a sign of illness.  So I confirmed she was covering her mouth and nose when she sneezed and we were all good.  Then Husband #1 started coughing.  Slightly more noisy and frequent than a throat-clearing cough.  He was not covering his mouth.  We were all trapped in a tiny Prius that was simply recycling the aerosoled germs of Sneezy and Coughy.  I snapped at him to cover his mouth for Christ’s sake and he argued that it was just a little throat irritation.  He claimed he was not sick.  I insisted he cover his mouth and would not drop it.  He finally did it just to shut me up.

I went for my last “long” run of 10 miles on Saturday.  It felt great.  I did a 9:46 pace, accounting for the hills and altitude, and started a new Jack Reacher book.  I am getting a little tired of all these chicks in their 30s-40s who do not need either makeup or bras to navigate civilized society.  But, I am inspired by bad asses and Jack Reacher is a bad ass, if an implausible bad ass.  I returned home from my run chock-full of endorphins and optimism to find Husband #1 sprawled on the couch, sweating profusely.  In my head, I heard the slowrecord scratch sound effect that accompanies a huge plot twist in the movies, generally when the main character suddenly realizes he’s in deep s***.   Husband #1 was legitimately sick, fever and all.  And I was trapped in small townhouse with him until I could brave a 3 hour drive home in tiny Prius airspace.  And even if I didn’t catch whatever it was from him, there would be two more opportunities for me to get it when he gave it to each of my children (ah, the epidemiology of the family unit).  Of course, he felt awful.  And of course, it wasn’t his fault.  But to call myself sympathetic to his plight would be a huge whopper.  It was all about me.  What if I got sick right before the marathon????  His timing could not be worse!  He told me I could run with a cold.  And, it’s true, I cannot remember the last time I missed a workout due to illness.  There is a huge difference, however, between sniffling through 60 minutes of kickboxing and running a freakin’ marathon!

Husband #1 slept on the couch and I tried to stay clear of the house, taking the girls for a hike.  My throat started hurting, but that is typical for me in the dry mountain air (no snow, as it turned out).  I tried not to breathe during the 3 hour car ride home on Sunday.  He was still wrecked Sunday evening, but our home allows us to spread out more.  I popped multivitamins and told Husband #1 that the best case scenario would be that he got whatever type of influenza the girls and I were vaccinated against (he did not get a flu shot).    Bless him, he agreed.  I don’t think there has ever been another time in my life where I’ve secretly wished, let alone vocalized a wish, that a loved one get the flu.  I guess desperate times turn me into a monster. 

To escape the den of germs and also because we had no food, I went grocery shopping.  I promptly smashed the front of my foot on an uneven tile in the produce section.  Of course it was the right foot and of course it was my sore toes.  Pain washed over me and I managed not to drop to the ground screaming in pain.  But it hurt!  And it made me feel vulnerable.  I am literally a toe-stub away from not being able to run!   I bought lots of fruits and veggies and hurried home, avoiding all the maniac drivers who might run into my car and sideline me with injuries. 

Then comes Monday morning.  My throat isn’t scratchy anymore and I am still fever-free.  I had planned to make up my 8 mile tempo run from last week (that I missed because my friend, Trail Runner, bailed due to bad weather and I did not feel up to repeating the Albuquerque death run by myself).  Upon actually waking up, I decided 5 would suffice.  It’s Monday.  Because I left the house at 6:00 am, making it dark for my entire run, I wore a bright neon yellow shirt so I’d be visible to groggy morning commuters.  It was kind of hard to get moving.  My legs felt heavy for the first two miles.  I remembered Slo Jo’s observations about Audiobook vs. music for faster running and traded Jack Reacher for Pitbull.   This made me peppier (I guess I know what I’ll be listening to race day).  I started to feel good and loose and was speeding up.  Then, about 3.5 miles in, I stepped into an intersection where a little residential cross-street met up with the main road I was running.  As I stepped off the curb, a cab came racing up in the cross street, tapped the breaks, then proceeded to hit the gas while I was directly in front of him.  I screamed profanities and jumped out of his way.  He narrowly missed me and completed his right hand turn.  I turned around, still yelling nasty things, and saw him pull to the side a bit.  He was clearly concerned that he clipped me.  I considered running up to his window to continue my tirade, but I ultimately didn’t want to let him ruin my pace.  Asshole. 

My remaining 1.5 miles were uneventful.  Then I drove the girls to school and myself to work (which involves several miles on the freeway).  Head on a swivel, evaluating potential threats like I was driving the President through the middle of Kabul.   I made it to work unscathed (as always).  Now, please excuse me while I figure out if Amazon sells the plastic bubbles they use for people born without immune systems.    

Slo Jo: Marathon Dreams

Distance: 8 miles
Pace: 11:00 avg
Brooding thoughts about marathon: infinite

The marathon is in seven days. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about it. Constantly. When I listen to music, I'm asking myself whether that song should go on the marathon mix. When I see someone cough, I apply Purell. And my subconscious mind is definitely worrying. Every night for the past three nights, I've dreamed about it. It goes like this:

(1) TST and I are getting ready the morning of the race, and I realize I did not wash my running outfit. It is disgusting. I take it to the laundromat, but it is too busy. I run back to our hotel thinking I will Febreze it. TST is there, making chicken. I offer to Febreze the chicken as well, but TST says she will just cook it, instead. (This dream is clearly related to our Bisbee stair climb run.)

(2) TST and I are there the morning of the race. There is a rally going on: "Who thinks they can break 4:30?" I don't raise my hand. Instead, I need to pee. I go to the porta potty, and it requires you to climb a ladder to get to the seat, which is high in the air and rickety, and there are five seats per porta pot, requiring one to get to know one's pantless neighbors.

(3) I run the first half and realize I forgot to pin my number on and therefore my time is not being tracked. This sucks. And, after the first half, the race organizers make us wait for a van to take us to the second half of the race rather than letting the runners, you know, run there.

So, it appears my worries are not being prepared. And needing to pee. It's funny that my concerns are mainly gear related, and things I can fix. Like, I can bring a clean running outfit to NOLA. I don't think I will forget to pin my number on. I'm sure the real underlying concern is that I'm not physically prepared.

But I am, I tell myself. I went for an eight-mile run this afternoon and was trying to run 11:30s, and I was doing 10:45s. I could have gone faster, but I wanted to do 11:30s because I was trying to run closer to race pace. I am so rested up from the taper that my body actually wanted to run fast. Since when does THAT happen? Usually I'm quite content to trudge along, but today I kept speeding up.

So I think we're ready. I know TST is. We have made it within a week of the race, and we're not injured or sick. We've accomplished half the goal: getting to the start line. I'm actually getting really excited about the race itself. I'm nervous, but excited. We put in the work--now it's time to go do it! Thus, the new dream should go like this: we get to the race on time, the porta pots are single seaters, we each run our own race, and we end feeling good and proud of ourselves. And then we go have some celebratory cocktails.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Who Knew?

Distance:  13.1

Pace:  8:28.  No that is not a typo.

Wine last night:  1 glass of zinfandel

Self-Doubts:  Too many to count

Today marked my fifth time doing the PF Chang’s Rock n Roll half marathon (sixth if you count last year when I relayed it with Slo Jo).  Before this year, I’d only properly trained once – my first attempt in 2007.  I had given birth only seven months prior and had not yet begun boxing.  I was in significantly worse shape than I have been in more recent years.  I ran it in 2:09 something and was thrilled.  That first attempt has stood as my PR for 6 years, 364 days.  It turns out, not training for a half results in a worse time, even if you are fitter overall.  Knowing that I’d have the bulk of marathon training behind me by the time of the half this year, I set a goal of breaking two hours.  If I don’t do it now, I thought, it’s physically impossible for me and I should just give it up.

Fast forward to Sunday morning.  My day did not start promisingly.  I was tired and rushed.  Fortunately, I planned ahead and had set out most of my running stuff the night prior.   I did not set out my Gu because I knew I had a big bag of them in the car.  As I was getting into the car so Husband #1 could drop me at the starting line, I discovered my “big bag” had exactly one Gu.  Crap!  Well, guess I’ll wolf down a banana now for fuel.  No bananas.   Crap!   I instructed Husband #1 to stop at Starbucks so I can buy a banana there.  Halfway to Starbucks, I open the envelope containing my safety pins so I can attach my race number.  No safety pins.  Crap!  Somehow all four of them escaped the envelope in the middle of the night.  I suspect they were aided and abetted by a 3 year old.  So after I got my banana, we had to go BACK to the house, where I took the safety pins off my Hot Chocolate race bib from last month, which I (thankfully, though sadly) had not gotten around to throwing away.  On to the start line.  I was late.  Pixie texted me that the portapotty lines were ridiculous.  I went straight to my corral and came to terms with the fact I’d probably have to take a pee break on the course.  Gah.  Could that be the difference between 1:59 and 2:00?  I hoped not.    

I was in corral 8 of 20.  There were two people in Vibrams and for a moment I was sad I was not in mine.  I don’t know what I put down for an estimated time.  I know it wasn’t 2 hours.  I like to start in a slower corral so I can pass people all race.  But I know I put down a running pace, not a walking pace.  I assume the others in corral 8 put in a similar pace.  Many of them were liars (not the Vibram-wearers, of course).  As we crowded over the start line, many of them were walking right off the bat.  I nearly tripped over one woman who decided not only to walk, but hold her phone up and take pictures while runners streamed around her.  MapMyRun clocked my starting pace as over 12 minutes.   Not the best start when I needed to average 9 or better to hit my goal.  I get that everybody has their pace and I applaud all runners, joggers, and walkers who go out there and attempt 13.1 miles.  But use common sense, people.  If you will need to walk in the first half mile of the race, don’t sign up for a running pace and start in a running corral.  Walking later in the race when we’ve all had a chance to spread out is fine.  Walking when we are smashed together like sardines at the start might get you an elbow to the neck. 

I spent a lot of my first mile composing The List.  The List was all the excuses I would make when I didn’t break two hours:

• I don’t have enough Gu to push through 13 hard miles
• I am not properly rested because I stayed out until 2:00 am Friday night dancing
• I am not properly hydrated because of the drinking that accompanied that dancing (and due to the fact that I won’t drink water the morning of the race)
• I have 2 broken toes
• My corral started slow
•  I haven’t been training for a fast half marathon, I’ve been training for a full slow
• I don’t want to push myself and jeopardize my marathon in 2 weeks
• I’ll have to stop and pee

All of these were perfectly valid excuses to post on facebook when I failed to meet my publicly announced goal.  I was deciding how many I could use without sounding like a whiner when I blew through my first mile in 8:25.  Oh.  Crap.  Now “I started too fast” was right at the top of The List.

Mile 2 consisted of this very familiar internal dialogue:  “Slow down.  Slow down.  Slow down.  Shit!  Still too fast.  Slow down. Slow down.”  Mile 2 was 8:17.  I had not slowed down to a sustainable pace.  But I still felt great.  I wasn’t breathing very hard and was not really sweating yet.  I managed to rein it in to 8:49 and 8:57 on miles 3 and 4.  Just before mile 5, I passed a 2:00 pacer and thought I might just eke this out after all.   At the 10K mark, I was like “this is where my race begins” and pushed it a little harder.  I started to feel it in my legs, but was still holding up fine.  I passed two more 2:00 pacers (either some of the pacers start before others or they are terrible pacers) by mile 9.  Mile 9 was an out-and-back up, then down, a hill.  There were photographers on the downhill and I was gearing up to give a “thumbs up” when some lady jumped in front of me and spread her arms wide so she could get her own fun picture.  This is another way to get elbowed in the neck, FYI.  After the hill, we turned the corner and mile 10 was up yet another hill.  I tried not to lose any ground on the uphill and then sped up when we began our gradual descent toward the finish.

At mile 10, I thought “only a 5K left, this is where my race begins.”  I decided I could push through a 5K, regardless of what happened to my body.  At that point, I started to think I might break 2 hours.  Miles 11 and 12 were 8:17 and 8:05, respectively, largely because they were gently sloping downhill.  The course leveled out toward the end of 12 and my effort began to catch up with me.  I decided to cruise at a moderately hard pace until I saw the 20K sign.  At that point I’d have .7 left and my race would really begin (yes, for the third time).  I was definitely feeling it by then.  My face was salty and my leg muscles were burning.  Just before the turn to the finish line, I saw a familiar figure jumping up and down waving both arms wildly.  It was my friend Cheery who’d come to watch her sister do her first half.  I triumphantly held up 2 fingers and screamed “2 hours!!!!  I’m gonna do it!”  I don’t think she heard me, but the runners around me were startled.  My 13th mile was 8:23 and I sprinted the .1 to the finish line, sticking with the 2-fingered pose as I crossed.  It may have looked like a peace sign to most people, but my friends know it was a milestone, not a peace sign. 

I headed to the meet up area, still buzzing with excitement.  I had no idea I was capable of such a fast (for me) half marathon!  I met up with Shoe Killer and Dr. Runner, who had done the bike race.  Then Pixie finished with her own PR.  Husband #1 showed up and told me the website said 1:50:45 for my time.  I immediately thought “geez, maybe if I’d skipped a water station or pushed just a little harder, I could have broken 1:50.”  And you know?  If I had known my body could handle an 8:28 pace for 13.1, I would have gone faster.  But I guess I’ll have to save it for next race.  I also came to terms with my fast start.  Yes, as always, I started too fast, but I was able to slow down and prevent the epic bonk I was sure was coming.  And it helped my time overall to have a couple fast miles early in the race.  I’ve changed up my race strategy as a result.  I am at peace with the fact I will always start fast, like an undisciplined puppy.  But after a couple miles, I burn of that initial rush of adrenaline and run smart.  That is my style and I’ll take it.  

Slo Jo: Four Slow Horrible Miles.

Distance: 4 miles
Attitude: Very poor
Number of poops (by dog): 1

Apparently I have decided "taper" means "never run again." After my successful 19 on Sunday, I did not run on Tuesday. I thought, that's okay, body is tired, I'll run on Wednesday. I made plans to run with Coach, got dressed, had coffee, and got a text from him canceling. Did I go by myself? NOPE. I happily went and showered and got ready for work. "I'll run later," I reasoned.

Guess what happened later? Happy hour! I may be running more now, but I am not known for passing up happy hour to go run. I can't think of a single time that has happened, in fact. It was great fun. There was a couple there on a fix-up date, and the woman had a couple of martinis and basically had to be carried out by her blind date. How do you top that for date #2?

Okay, putting aside other people's love lives, it is now Thursday, and NO RUNS. I text TST for support. She chirps back, "I just ran a fast four!" This doesn't help. Whatever, you and your fast four. If I can run a slow quarter mile, I'm putting a checkmark in the "W" column. W for WINS. Not for WINE. That W always has checkmarks by it.

I saddle up Clancy, who, unlike his mama, is super excited to go for a run, and off we go. I start a new audiobook based on TST's recommendation, Sycamore Row. It starts with a hanging, so that's all good. I like a little drama. And we get a lot of gruesome details. But then it starts getting into the business of being a lawyer, and I start having work anxiety. Running is supposed to take me away from work anxiety. I may have to switch books. Maybe something with zombies or aliens. I am unlikely to have zombie anxiety (although I do have a zombie game plan involving going to the George & Dragon, which I derived from Sean of the Dead. But I digress).

My last post, which talked about how I ran faster to music than I had to finishing up Doctor Sleep, inspired some interesting Facebook commentary. One friend mentioned how she had run to an audiobook during her last 5K and enjoyed the experience until she realized her race time was her "personal worst." That made me laugh. Another said music definitely pumped her up and made her run faster. The Facebook consensus seems to be audiobooks: good for distracting you, not so good for pace. But it is going to take me more than five hours to get through the marathon. Five hours! That seems like a long time to be alone with my thoughts and the musings of Pitbull. I will have to decide when I get there.

Anyway, Clancy and I ran slowly around the neighborhood. We stopped a lot. We let cars go by. We (meaning Clancy) had a nice poop on the sidewalk. We admired a super cute and fat French bulldog that barked at us. We forced ourselves to finish four miles even though we (meaning I) really felt like two miles was a sufficient distance. My knees hurt. My legs hurt. I guess I am still tired from the 19.

BUT--at least I did it. Checkmark in the W column! And tomorrow is another day.

Slo Jo: 19 Miles. And I Feel Fine.

Distance: 19 MILES. HOLY MOLY.
Page:  12:13 avg
Carbs eaten the night before: Infinite

This is going to be a happy post. Because I ran 19 miles without stopping (except for occasional stoplights). I felt just fine. I felt strong.

(What does that say? 19 miles. I'm framing this. And my feet look tiny.)

Because I've been having fuel issues, I decided to eat my face off the night before. I had homemade won ton soup and then made pasta and then got into the chocolate graham crackers. Because that wasn't enough, I put peanut butter on them. I'm running 18 miles tomorrow, I said to myself. I DESERVE this.

The next morning, with my distended belly in front of me, I started the run with Coach and Flash. That seemed appropriate. They had been with me when I first started trying to do, say, six miles, and had some sort of anxiety or asthma attack on the fifth mile. They had heard about my blisters, my chafing issues, my fall. And here they were, on my last long run before a marathon. It was pretty cool.

That said, I was feeling some anxiety and crabbiness about the task of running 18 miles. It seemed impossible. So I wasn't responding well to Coach and Flash's lighthearted joking around. I wanted everyone to be focused like a laser beam. I was informed that I was being a grump and not exactly making my friends pleased to be around me, so I tried to change my attitude. But then everyone started just running by themselves and I had no one to share the new, improved Slo Jo with.

Coach stopped after 12 miles, and Flash did 14 (she had to go to the gym and lift weight afterward--slacker). I did see my friend K about three times, though--we kept crossing paths. She is training for the PF Chang's half marathon next week, and from what I could see, she is going to rock it. She looked very strong. We'd run by each other and she'd hold up three fingers as her miles left to go. I would totally have stopped to chat, but there was no stopping the force that was K doing her last pre-marathon long run! You go!

Once I was on my own, I decided to put in my new audio book and--d'oh!--I hadn't downloaded it. I was stuck with music. And so I ran to music for the first time in ages, and my times got much better. Hmm. Last week I averaged 12:48 or something; this week I was better. There might be a lesson there. I was also running in a way to minimize any knee pain on the left knee, because I was getting stabbing, piercing, crazy pains that attacked my knee and seized my quadraceps. Here is how you do the Knee Pain Minimizing Run:

1. Any curbs must be addressed with the right leg only.
2. Any incline or decline must be taken very, very gently.
3. Attempt smooth gait.
4. Stop and stretch if necessary.
5. Say eff it and take some Aleve.

Anyway, I don't know if it was the music, or my feeling that hey, I am actually going to be able to run this marathon, or the Aleve-induced kidney failure, but I started feeling quite good. I picked up the pace. I felt fine. I decided to run an extra-bonus mile and ran up the canal so that I'd have a total of 19. And I finished by running my fastest two miles of the day. Woot!

(11:27 then 11:14. Very pleased.)

I celebrated by taking a shower and falling asleep. So much for the adrenaline rush. You know how you flip the pillow over for the cool side? That's what I was doing with my leg in bed. I'd move it to a different part of the sheet and think, ah, so cool on my poor leg. It is entirely possible I should have iced it rather than relying on the cool-sheet method, but hey. We all have our techniques.

So--TST and I now taper for NOLA. We're excited!

Toe-Shoes Tina: Eating The Elephant

Distance:  20.02 miles (Bam!)

Pace:  10:31

Wine:  2 glasses to celebrate a very good day at work

Purple feet:  1

There is an old joke:  “How do you eat an elephant?  . . .  One bite at a time.”  I can’t remember which of the dozens of running books and magazines I’ve read used that concept to explain distance running, but it stuck with me.  Running 20 miles is overwhelming, just like eating an elephant.  So you don’t think about the entire task.  You break it down into small manageable “bites.”  Focus on the bite directly in front of you instead of all the bites you’ll have to take.  So, tasked with running 20 miles, I did not think about 20 miles.  I thought only about the mile I was on.  And you know what?  The run was much better than I thought it could be.  (Note, I am not calling it enjoyable because that would be a lie.)

(Yummy!  Just kidding, I won’t even eat a cow or pig, so an elephant is definitely out of the question.)

When I began marathon training, I doubted I would ever run 20 miles, let alone run 20 miles on a purple foot less than a week after (likely) breaking two toes.    But, holy crap, I just did!  And, wow, does that make me sound tougher than I am!  I know some seriously tough people, and I’m not one of them.  I’m friends with fighters who are okay with getting punched in the face and shin-to-shin contact.  One of my former coaches fought an entire professional boxing match with a torn bicep.  I’m friends with Dave Krupski (prior guest blogger), who ran 135 miles through Death Valley in July and then followed it up by falling down a mountain during a trail run and still making it several miles to the aid station on his own.  Husband #1 has taken more hockey sticks and pucks to the face than I can count, yet still refuses to wear a sufficiently protective helmet.  All things considered, I am not tough.  Not surprisingly, these people had very different reactions to my broken toes than my other friends.  Indeed, my toe injury made me realize my friends are divided into two camps:  (1) “Walk it off!  It’s just broken toes, you can tape ‘em up and run on them.”; and (2) “Holy crap!  Have you consulted a specialist?  At the very least you should stay off it!”  I love all the concern shown by my friends in camp #2.  But it turns out camp #1 was right. 

(Monty Python:  clearly in camp #1.)

On Monday, three days after the injury, I took my toes out for a test run.  I was scheduled to do a 5 mile tempo run, but decided I would just take it slow and see how it felt.  Well, it felt okay.  My foot has a baseline level of stiffness and pain, but that is not worsened by bearing weight on the toes.  My running stride didn’t hurt my foot.  (The lightest touch on the top of my foot, though?  OUCH!)  So I was able to run my full 5 miles.  And what is more, I did it much faster than I expected.  I thought I was starting slowly, but my first mile ended up being 8:45 and felt fine.  So I sped up to a proper tempo pace and ended up running negative splits for an average pace of 8:25.  I was elated and resumed plans for a 20 mile run Thursday.  I desperately needed this 20 mile run to fuel my confidence and convince me I can still do a marathon.  I am now convinced. 

(My poor purple foot after running 20 miles.)

The run itself was uneventful.  I stuck to my plan of just focusing on the mile I was currently running and not on the insane number of miles that followed.  Not surprisingly, I started out too fast.  Most of my first 12 miles were under 10 minutes.  I realized, logically, that my pace was too aggressive, but didn’t try very hard to slow down, evidently believing that slacking on my long runs over the holidays magically improved my running ability.  It didn’t.  The early speed came back to bite me around miles 14-15.  I had to slow down.  Then I had to take a couple walk breaks during my last 2.5 miles.  I wasn’t tired from a cardio perspective, but my joints and muscles just felt tight and stiff.  It was like they had been locked into my running stride position for too long.  I needed to walk to change the way my legs were moving.  Once I did that, they loosened up and I could run again for a bit.  I did that 3 or 4 times and realized I will probably have to do the same thing during the marathon, seeing as how it is 6.2 miles longer than my run today.  I decided I am okay with that.  Runners World says there is no shame in walk breaks. And while I would love to finish my marathon in under 4:30, a much more realistic goal for me is under 5:00.  I can always aim for a faster time in my next marathon, right??? In any event, I realized my 20-mile pace was actually faster than my 18 mile pace from about a month ago.  So maybe being lazy over the holidays is a fantastic running plan.

(Oh, and despite Slo Jo's very well reasoned argument about not needing to pig out after a long run, I wolfed down a croissant after my 20 miles to replace my glycogen stores.  Shut up, they need replenishing!)

Slo Jo: Could Really Go for a Hamburger

Distance: 5 miles
Pace: 10:30 avg
Temperature: 45

This morning I ran five with Coach and CC. CC had some great success at a 5K this weekend. She has been running with Coach three days a week, with her goal being one 5K per month. This month, she took an unbelievable five minutes off her run time. I ran with her to help her pace (basically, I was there to say "slow down" a lot during the first mile).

CC then made the mistake of telling Coach that she finished 7th in her age group. (Mysteriously, I am in an older age group, had the exact same time, and was not even in the teens.) Coach looked at the results and noted the number six finisher had been four minutes faster--so today was speedwork for poor CC.

We did a walk to warm up (I never do that unless I have Coach with me, especially if it is cold out). And it really wasn't that cold. Yes, I have seen the weather and understand that not every part of the nation is enjoying Phoenix's 70-degree temperatures right now. It appears some people might be a little, shall we say, chilly. But telling me to suck it up because it was only in the 40s is like thinking about starving people in China. It's theoretically likely that someone there is hungry, but if I'm not hungry, I just can't eat. Oh, who am I kidding. I can always eat.

(Super cool photograph of frozen lighthouse. Not taken in Arizona. Here's the article.)

So I wore a long-sleeved shirt, a running jacket, and my new gloves that let you work your iPhone. It felt good to start jogging; I needed the blood to start flowing. We jogged for a couple of miles, chit-chatting. My stomach started grumbling. I had eaten some dry cereal, but it was having no effect. I'm trying to lose a couple of pounds before the marathon, and my body was complaining about lack of fuel.

I just read an interview with "exercise immunology expert" David Nieman in Runners World in which he stated that while runners are told to restock their glycogen after a workout, it isn't really necessary. He said that while studies on glycogen restocking are valid:

The issue is that this finding doesn't apply to 99 percent of us. It's for Ironman triathletes and marathoners doing double workouts and 120 miles a day. These folks are never more than a few hours away from their next workout, and for them it's important to practice maximal re-stocking.

Well, I *am* a marathoner (I hope), but I'm not doing double workouts or anything too crazy. All I did was five miles today. So what is better than glycogen restocking? 

For the 99 percent of us, it's more important to practice maximal food restraint. We'd be better off losing a couple of pounds than re-stocking in world-record time... 

Nieman nodded his agreement with me..."I've looked at those studies, and the glycogen gain is very modest. Most people will run better in their next race if they lose a pound of body fat."

I also read Matt Fitzgerald's book, Racing Weight, that devotes about 300 pages to one concept: lean runners run faster. I GOT IT IN THE FIRST FIVE PAGES, MATT. 

And in Iron War, a book I have plugged before, one of the top Ironmen is so devoted to being lean that he rinses his cottage cheese before eating it. Well! That is...devoted.

So a pound of body fat it is! Maybe even TWO pounds. Seems easier just to drink chocolate milk after running instead. But I'm gonna try. But as a result of my calorie restrictions, I was hungry on this run.

After 1.75 miles, CC and Coach turned around, and they planned to do speedwork. I was grateful that I had a really good excuse not to participate in speedwork. I HATE IT. So I motored on without them. I took my speed up, because I was cold, and ran mile 3 at 10:30 and mile 4 at 10:20. These are good times for ol' Slo Jo. I was trying for negative splits, but I ended up slacking on mile 5 and turning in a 10:40. Perhaps FUEL would have helped me push through--but NO! I'm on a diet.

I got back to the car and did my stretches, then went home and scrambled some eggs. It wasn't glycogen restocking, Mr. Nieman. We call it breakfast. Or second breakfast. Is it lunchtime yet?

Slo Jo: Kill Your Couches

Distance: 16 miles
Pace: 12:45 avg
Dislocated toes: 0

Okay, if you haven't read TST's latest post yet, pause this one for now and read it.

Read it?

Okay, now we can all have a collective moment. If I had a purple foot and probably two broken toes, I wouldn't be describing how I was dashing off to boot camp and modifying my running so that my weight only fell on eight out of ten toes. I just wouldn't. You'd be hearing a description of how I watched all three Lord of the Rings movies, plus The Hobbit, with the actors' commentary on, while icing my toes and sipping Advil-laced cocktails.

But, as you have figured out, Gentle Reader, TST and I are made of different stuff. I'm just hoping with her that her toes heal in time for our marathon and that she also can do her training runs soon. AFTER SHE RESTS. Right, Broken-Toe-Shoes-Tina?

Turning to my own training, I managed to complete 16 on Saturday. Coach came out of Post-Ironman Slackerdom and actually ran the first six with me. It was nice to have someone to talk to for six miles. We jogged up Central to Dunlap and then turned around and returned to Bethany Home. There was a craft fair on Central, and they were blasting Elton John's "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me." I have had that song in my head for three days now. Kill me.

Elton John running wind sprints. Probably to "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me."

After the six, I ran a mile down to AJ's, which has a very nice public restroom available after you do a weird walk through the stock room, where the employees do NOT have their public faces on, and you feel like you are definitely NOT VERY WELCOME in the stock room. But hey, sometimes a runner needs to pee. Lately I swear I could pee 900 times before the run, not have any liquid for two days, and yet a quarter mile into the run, I would need to pee. I think this is psychological, and my body is saying, hey, let's go home and sit on the couch where there is a bathroom right down the hall. This is way better than my body saying, I am going to tighten your IT bands until you cry and go sit on that comfy couch! I should put the damn couch on the street.

Mile 8 was back to Bethany, then up the bridle path again. I am getting toward the end of my Stephen King book, Doctor Sleep, and it is getting really freaking exciting. So that helped. I really don't remember much about the run except getting very excited when something terrible happened to a bad guy. I think I cheered out loud. I added a trek up and down the canal for extra mileage so that by the time I got back to the car, I'd have all 16 miles.

Happily, I didn't have any IT band-caused knee pain. I hadn't taken any ibuprofen, because I heard it isn't good for your body on the long runs, and I don't want organ failure. I mean, my liver is already overworked as it is. So I just hoped for the best, and it was pretty good. I had some tenderness on the inside of the knee, but I just stopped to stretch my quads every now and then, and it was tolerable. I also got a blister on the ball of my right foot--weird, because I've broken in my shoes. But maybe it was my socks. It's manageable.

At mile 14.5, I got a text saying I should come to a bar for beers. Well, that sounded pretty good. I texted back that I had 1.5 to go. My friends wrote back, "See you in 10 minutes." Oh, ha ha. More like 30, at the super-extra-slow trudge I had going at that point. Actually, I could predict within a few seconds how long it would take me--look at this:

Can you see that? Miles 11-15 are all within two seconds of each other. 12:48 seems to be the pace. It isn't fast, but it is consistent!

I was motivated to finish by the thought of a delicious cool beer, and managed to make it through. The last mile hurts, but it always does. Does not matter how far I'm going; my body hates the last mile. And that beer? It was delicious.  And deserved.

TST: The Agony Of De Feet

Distance:  0.0

Pace:  0.0

Broken toes:  2 (likely)

Days to marathon:  28

Ever since my 18 mile run, I’ve felt physically ready to run the marathon.  My plan was to keep up with my training runs to maintain and possibly improve speed.  I spent 10 days up in the mountains for Christmas and New Year's.  During that time, I did not push the running.  I didn’t want to hurt my Achilles overtraining on hills and I was wary of the ice collecting in shady parts of the sidewalk.  My mantra has been “get to the start line healthy.”  Plus, after 10 days in the mountains (which, despite my slacking, did include a fair number of runs), I figured I’d be a beast for a few days upon returning to the lower altitude.  I was looking forward to my 15 mile run the first Saturday of January and then my 20 mile run the following week.  After that, taper and coast my way to marathon day.  That plan was rudely interrupted at 6:55 on Friday morning. 

During my normal 6:30 am boxing class, we were doing a drill where we bear crawled across half the length of the mats and then transitioned to a crab walk for the remaining half.  Of course, I was going as fast as possible so as not to be shown up by Jack Rabbit and the rugby players in class.  As I swung my leg under me to move from bear crawl to crab walk, my toes caught on the mat and I heard a loud “POP” similar to a really good crack of the knuckles.  I went numb upon looking at the little toe on my right foot, which was sticking out sideways in a highly unnatural fashion.  “I think I broke my toe!” I yelled, regretting it immediately because I felt like a giant wimp in front of the rugby girls who had probably suffered much more severe injuries.  I quickly added “I need to run my marathon!!!” in an attempt to salvage some pride.  I pushed my pinky toe upright, amazed it didn’t really hurt.  In fact, I couldn’t feel much of anything except adrenaline pulsing through me.  I got some tape and buddy-taped my two little toes together and resumed working out, trying to process what had happened.  The pain did not set in for a few minutes and, frankly, was not all that bad at first.  If it wasn’t for the upcoming marathon, this wouldn’t have been a big deal.  But the marathon changed everything.  I was scared that I might have wasted all my good training and PISSED that such a freak accident might take me out of the race.  The pain steadily grew and I couldn’t concentrate on anything except whether I could run the marathon.  So after about 20 more minutes of class, I called it a day.  By the time I drove away from the gym, I was in tears – not because of pain, but because I couldn’t stand to be so close to a goal and fall short. 

(This is not my foot.  Sadly, I did not have the presence of mind to take a photo of my toe before shoving it back into place.  If I had taken a picture, however, this is what it would have looked like.)

I stopped home and showered, picked up Daughters #1 and #2 so Husband #1 could go to his own doctor appointment (he tore tendons in his hands New Year’s day – together we are keeping Urgent Care in business), and drove to Urgent Care.  I also texted Slo Jo with the bad news, expressing regret at not having taken a picture of my dislocated toe.  It would have been great for the blog.  Normally I wouldn’t go to Urgent Care for a broken toe.  But I was concerned (1) about my ability to run and (2) that my toe wasn’t in the right place.  As an initial matter, I was impressed that despite being in pain and in a panic and having just finished a workout, my heart rate was only 59 bpm.  This is really a testament to how running (and other exercise) impacts your body in a good way.  Next, the doctor confirmed that I had dislocated my toe, based on my description of what happened but told me I had put it back in the right place.  (To which, I thought "Sweet!  I should be a doctor!")  He felt around my foot bones and determined they were intact.  By this time I realized that the toe next to my little toe was also extremely painful (I hadn’t been focused on it because at no point had it stuck out sideways).  The doctor agreed that I probably broke both little toes.  He said we could x-ray if I “really needed to know,” but the treatment would be the same whether they confirmed a break or not:  buddy tape the toes and wait for the pain to go away.  I asked whether an x-ray might make a difference in my ability to run.  He seemed perplexed and I explained that I had a marathon to run in 30 days.  Clearly not understanding the need for ongoing training, he told me broken toes will feel better in about a month, meaning in time for my marathon.  I patiently (and hopefully in a non-condescending way) explained that I could not sit around for a month and then expect to run 26 miles.  I needed to know whether I could train before then.  After a few awkward go-rounds, told me what I needed to know:  regardless of what an x ray said, I could run so long as I could tolerate the pain.  The breaks (assuming they existed) were stable and I would not damage them further by running.  He said the first three days would be the worst for pain and swelling, then I should start feeling better.  All I heard was "yes, TST, you can still run."  I opted not to wait around with the kids for an unnecessary x-ray. 

(This was my foot shortly after returning from Urgent Care.  And those are the shoes I wore to my office that day, my poor timing further emphasized by the fact that some seriously heavyweight dignitaries were visiting my office that very same day.  I hope they liked my fashionable Havianas.)  

(This is my foot on day 2.  About half my foot is purple, but fortunately, the pain is limited to the two little toes (particularly at the base).  Purty, right?)

So, of course, day 2, I went to boot camp.  I was actually bummed that I wasn’t doing a 15 mile run (how’s that for a change in attitude???).  Possibly because he felt sorry for me, Coach K, our instructor, had us spend most of the 90 minute class doing weights.  We then went outside and pulled/pushed weight sleds.  I found I could do this at a decent speed if I used a limpy stride, keeping my weight on the heel and inside of my right foot.  Doing this for a training run would probably negatively affect my joints, but I could use it in short spurts to participate in boxing class.  We finished up inside hitting the heavy bags.  If you are using proper boxing form, you rotate on the balls of your feet when you punch.  This caused me great pain.  Coach K, who was familiar with broken toes, having broken all his at various points, had me box on my knees.  That way I could still get proper rotation in my core without hurting myself.  My toes didn’t feel great afterward, but I was proud of myself for working out.  Then I spent much of the afternoon elevating and icing my foot.  During this time, I signed Husband #1 and Daughter #1 up for a 5K color run -- part of my dastardly plan to turn us into a running family.  

(Day 3.  I think the bruising has finished spreading and will now start to turn all sorts of fun colors as it heals.)

Day 3 was back to boot camp.  This instructor was less sympathetic to my plight.  I told him I broke my toes and could still kind of run, but my stride was really effed up.  We started by running laps, which I did in my limpy stride.  (After my first lap, he said “Whoa!  You’re right!  Your stride is totally effed up!”)  We then did a circuit that involved jumping.  I did a lot of exercises one-legged, but kept up with class.  Ultimately, I was able to modify or just suffer through everything we did.  We ran quite a bit and I started transitioning a teensy bit of weight onto my toes.  It hurt.  A lot.  But I could (barely) tolerate it.  It made me hopeful that I could run properly in a few days.  Perhaps I can even tackle my scheduled 20 miles on Thursday.  We shall see.  I’m not giving up on this marathon!