Toe-Shoes Tina: We Are The Champions!

Distance:  26.2!!!!!!

Pace:  10:12 (I think)

Humidity:  100 percent.  Really.  Not hyperbole.

Purple toes:  1

Slo Jo and I are both now marathoners.  It is awesome.  Running the marathon was less awesome.  But the trip was very fun and very memorable.  I apologize in advance for the long blog post, but it’s been a long journey and it was a LONG run!

We arrived in New Orleans on Friday, January 31 – full of nervous energy.  We checked in at the Monteleone and immediately set out for charbroiled oysters.  So good.  Conscious about pre-marathon carb needs, we also ordered fries.  Then we went back to the hotel and had a drink at the famous Carousel Bar, where we sat next to a woman wearing the 2013 NOLA marathon shirt.  We struck up conversation and she informed us she is running the half, as she had several times prior, because she always ends up with a hangover in New Orleans, which precludes her from running the full.  She sounded wise.  She gave us advice on getting to the expo and wished us luck.  Later that night, we met up with my friend, Reno, who had signed up for the half.  Her friend, Channing, was with her.  Channing lives in New Orleans.  We were happy to bar hop with a local.  We stayed up much later than planned, not returning to the room until 10:30, whereupon we ordered pizza from room service.  I fell asleep before it came, managing to wake up long enough to shove a slice in my mouth.  Reno and Channing stayed out much later.  You get to have more fun when you’re running a half. 

Saturday was far more boring.  We hit the expo and went shopping.  We had 5:30 pm dinner reservations.  The restaurant was probably surprised when we showed up and were not 75 years old.  Dinner was yummy and we were back to the room very early.  We laid out all our running stuff, set our alarms, and watched a Jimmy Fallon highlight show.  Both our alarms went off at 5:30 am (we are nothing, if not type-A) and we jumped out of bed, both of us having had dreams about running all night.  I planned to eat a banana and have a small latte.  I walked to Starbucks at 5:40 am only to find that it did not open until 6:00.  Well, that was certainly inconvenient.  The race started at 7:00!  I sulked back to the hotel.  There were throngs of runners about the street as well as some drunk stragglers from the previous evening.  One of those drunk stragglers wobbled up to me, gold tooth gleaming in the moonlight, and exclaimed “hey girl, where you going with no socks on?” (I was in flip flops).   “Trying to find coffee,” I grumbled, “I have to run later.”  He looked confused and then a light bulb went on “oh yeah!  They have all the streets closed off up there for some marathon.  What’s your name?”  “Sandy,” I lied.  Sandy?  WTF?  The best I can come up with is the super storm that cancelled the New York marathon?  That can’t be a good omen.  He bid “Sandy” goodbye and I trotted back to the hotel, whereupon I applied all the necessary body glide and my race number and timing tag (or so I thought).  Then I went back to Starbucks at precisely 6:02, determined to get my latte.  15 people in front of me had the same idea.  I did not get back to the hotel until 6:20, where I had only a couple minutes to drink my latte.  I only got through half of it.  SJ informed me it was 100 percent humidity outside (no exaggeration) and we set off for the start line.  It was like walking through a cloud.

Slo Jo and I made our way through the crowd of runners, most of whom had no regard for what was going on around them and randomly stopped in the middle of foot traffic.  Again, I thought this did not bode well for the marathon.  I got to corral 12 and gave Slo Jo a quick good luck hug.  In my corral, I decided to put my race number on my shorts so it would be visible even if I was wearing my jacket, which I expected to do for much of the race to protect my phone from the drizzle.  I opted not to use MapMyRun for a few reasons:  (1) it is impossible to start it as I cross the start line if it is under my jacket, (2) I don’t want to get too stressed about pace, and (3) it burns my battery.  I had paid $5 so Husband #1 would get text updates on my progress.  I figured he could tell me my time if I couldn’t figure it out from the clocks throughout the course.  I (unlike some unpatriotic bloggers) stayed still for the national anthem and then watched two women clasp hands and pray for about 45 seconds, reminding me I was in the South.  Then I noticed the 4:30 pacers in the corral ahead of me, so I snuck up to corral 11 and formulated a race plan:  get in front of the 4:30 pacers and stay there.  We inched toward the start line and then it was go time.  I could not see the start clock when I crossed the start line, but no matter – Husband #1 was watching online.  I started “Eye of the Tiger” and zipped past the 4:30 pacers.

But running was hard.  It was crowded, the streets were pocked with potholes, and the humidity was brutal.  Clock time was 25:33 at the 1 mile marker and I was drenched in my own sweat.  I started tasting salt on my lips well before mile 2.  Although you’re not supposed to try anything new on race day, I knew I had to adjust my salt to account for my sweating, so I decided to take a salt pill every 6 miles instead of 8.  I also got water or Gatorade at every station instead of waiting for mile 6.  All of the first 13 were hard for me.  I developed a dull pounding headache by mile 4.  Each mile marker had a clock and I was running 9:40 to 9:50 each mile.  I was gaining valuable time on the 4:30 pacers, but it was hard.  I never hit my stride.  The first several miles were amateur hour and I was dodging oblivious runners/walkers left and right.  I didn’t want to slow down because I needed to bank time for bathroom breaks (the marathon having come at a very inconvenient time of the month), so I kept up the uncomfortable pace, which shouldn’t have been an uncomfortable pace in any event.  The marathon course was the same as the half marathon course for the first 13 miles.  So I got to see all the perky people in fun costumes who only had 13 miles to run (yeah, I said it).  I saw only two marathoners in costumes:  ladies dressed up in lingerie and dramatic makeup blaring the Christina Aguilera version of “Lady Marmalade” vacillating between jogging and stripper dance moves.  They were fun.  I passed them easily.  About mile 10, I began to resent all the half marathoners because they were about to finish.  Jerks. 

I took my first restroom break at mile 13.  It took me about 3 minutes, but reset me mentally.  I came out of the bathroom to a sparse course (the half marathoners having separated) and a drink station with plenty of Gatorade.   For the first time, my run felt good.   We turned in to some large city park for a long out-and-back (6.5 miles each way).  Right around mile 14-15 I began to see the course leaders coming the opposite way.  I whooped for the first couple guys I saw.  Then I saw the first place woman come chugging along with her bike escorts.  I cheered “you go girl!!!!” and I think I scared her.  I didn’t care; I was happy!  Soon, well . . . in 90 minutes . . . I’d be coming down that same home stretch.  Yay endorphins!!!!!  They ran out at mile 18.  I suddenly could not care less about pace and struggled to put one foot in front of the other in something resembling a running stride.  I took my second bathroom break.  It did not help and cost me another 3 minutes.  I came upon a series of bridges, each of which required an incline.  On a normal day, the incline would have been a gentle slope.  18 miles into the humidity-laden marathon, however, each one seemed like Everest.  I began walking up the inclines, but saw the 4:30 pacers rapidly approaching me.  They chased me for the rest of the race.   I’d run to gain some cushion between us so I could walk.  “Just run to the water station,” I’d plead with myself, “then you can afford to walk.”  I began to wonder why there aren’t 20 mile races – it’s a hard distance!  Why not 20?  Why can’t I be done now????  Around mile 22, I swore I would never run another marathon.  At mile 23, the guy in front of me veered off to the side and puked in the grass.  I looked the other way, held my breath, and ran by him.  At mile 24, I told myself (out loud, in fact) “2.2 miles.  2.2 miles is grit distance!  You have grit.  F***ing use it!”  People might have thought I was crazy. 

Finally, there was mile 25 and a drink station.  I’d gained enough space from the pacers that I could walk the whole damn station, even though I finished my drink long before the last trash can.  A very nice woman shuffled up behind me and said “you only have a mile left, come on, you can do it!”  I gave her an ironic smile (or maybe a grimace, I was beyond caring) and proceeded to leave her in the dust.  We turned into a central part of the park and I could hear the music.  I was at the finish!  Oh, no, wait.  No finish yet.  The course snaked up and back and up again then around a corner.  Surely the finish was around that corner.  No!  Still another 5 miles (okay, that’s what it felt like) through lazy turns.  Holy crap!  Could they antagonize me a little more with this finish line?????  But finally, the barricades loomed on either side of the walkway and the finish line appeared like a mirage.   Lord help me, I sprinted.  I didn’t know I had it in me, but I did.  When I saw the cameras, I threw up my arms in victory and sailed over the finish line.   I collected my medal and stopped.  Emotions started welling up.  I’d done it!  But before the tears of joy and exhaustion could emerge, I heard “Tina!  Tina!”  I turned to my right and saw Reno and Channing.  Reno was hanging over the barricade, waving a can of beer at me.  The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.  I scooped up a water and a mylar blanket, then hightailed it out to the area where Reno was hanging.  I draped the mylar blanket on the ground and promptly collapsed, unsure whether I could get back up.  My legs burned and I exclaimed “that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’ve given birth!  Twice!”  Reno, who has a few marathons under her belt, smiled sympathetically. 

(This is me frantically texting from the only position that felt comfortable after my run.)

I managed to roll into a position that didn’t feel terrible on my legs and I texted Husband #1 “what is my time?”  He replied that my tracking hadn’t worked.  I looked at my shoe and my heart sank.  I hadn’t attached the “sensing” part of the sensor.  If it wasn’t for Reno and Channing, I would have burst into tears right there.  But they were amazingly supportive.  Reno confirmed I crossed the finish at clock time 4:43.  I knew I hit 1 mile at 25 minutes, so my start time was somewhere between 15 and 16.  I finished a few minutes in front of the 4:30 pacers.  We estimated my time at 4:27 (even with about 6 minutes in bathroom breaks!) and I began to feel a little better.  I did it.  I had witnesses.  We waited for Slo Jo to finish.  She looked really strong and managed to ham it up for the cameras a little.  Then we commiserated for a bit and took the shuttle back to the hotel, where we took hot showers and ordered a bunch of fried food from room service.  I had chafing in areas in areas I’d never chafed before and the second toe on each foot felt spongy and strange.  I blame the humidity. The entire tip of the toe on my left foot was dark purple and in that instant I knew that I was going to lose a toenail, probably two.  But my broken toes felt great, so I guess it was not all bad. 

(My marathon journey has been the journey of ugly toes.  Totally worth it, though.)

SJ and I rallied after naps and watched the first half of the Super Bowl at a bar.   We then mosied over to our favorite oyster place and ate more chargrilled oysters for dinner.  They sat us upstairs.  Up a very long set of stairs.  Which we had to go back down after dinner.  We both complained loudly with each step.  I slept like a baby that night.  Then I woke up very early with a growling stomach on Monday.  Rather than waking SJ, I slipped out of the room and walked a couple blocks to a coffee shop, where I devoured 3 beignets and a latte.  Aaaaah.  Carbs!  We flew home later that day.  Sitting for 3+ hours on a plan was not pleasant, but bearable.  Two days after a hard workout always seems the worst on my muscles, but I have to say, today (Tuesday) I feel fine.  I went to my normal boxing class this morning.  My quads were a little sore and I fatigued a bit quicker than normal, but I was fine.  I even wore high heels to work for the first time in over a month.  Altogether I am stunned at how quickly I have recovered.  I have not taken Advil or iced any part of me, but I am hardly sore two days after.  No joint pain, minimal muscle discomfort.  So clearly the only conclusion is I didn’t run hard enough.  *sigh*  Next time.  Yes, I said next time.  It took me several tries to get comfortable with 13 miles.  I need to do more distance runs to get comfortable with 20+ miles.  So I definitely see more marathons in my future.  Hopefully 4:15 or faster! 

(PSA:  This shoe might look like it has a sensor on it, but it doesn't.)

In all seriousness, this has been an amazing process.  I would not have stayed so committed if it wasn’t for Slo Jo and her encouragement.  And the support of all of my family, friends, and blog readers has been invaluable.  Thank you so much for sharing this journey with me.  

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!)