Mo Jo: We Become Olympians (i.e., olympic-distance triathletes)

Distance: Five miles
Pace: Moderate
Confidence level: Way out of whack

You may recall, loyal reader of ROW, that back in June 2014--nine months ago--TST and I confidently told the world we were going to do a triathlon.

Then we didn't.

We tried. We both got in the pool. I got my bike adjusted and got the cool clip-on shoes. We ran, per usual. But we just didn't sign up for anything. In the meantime, TST ran her second marathon and did lots of other cool things, and I got busy and got the flu and got unmotivated and otherwise did NOT do a second marathon.

After I got the flu, I was sick for two weeks and then was convalescing for another three. I tried to go back to running, mostly because Coach is a nag and won't let me quit forever, but I would run a quarter mile and want to DIE. I felt like I was back to square one. I had never run before ever. This sucked. My lungs hurt. My feet were like lead. I was exhausted.

(I was, however, feeling super skinny because frankly, that flu was kind of awesome.)

Last week I did a wretched, complaint-laden three-and-a-half miles, telling Coach weakly around mile two, "Just go on without me (whimper)." He did, scampering off like he'd been freed of a slow, whiny albatross. Two days later I did a slow four by myself, and then on Sunday I did six. And today I did five and felt JUST FINE.

I'm back, bitches!

So in a burst of feeling fit, I looked up some races and found a triathlon about a month away. I emailed TST to see if she wanted to do it, and she said (of course, because she is awesome and up for anything), sure. "Do you want to do the sprint or olympic distance?" she asked.

Sprint distance is a 400-meter swim, a 12-mile bike ride, and a three-mile run. Olympic is a 1600-meter swim, a 24-mile bike ride, and a six-mile run.

"Olympic," I said. Note that I have swam exactly 0 meters since June, but hey, I am feeling pretty good. I looked up some training plans, and they seem to think one has 16 weeks to train. Where is the four-week plan, I wondered? Eh, I'll just wing it.

So we're on for the next challenge! Keep an eye out for updates.

TST: Suffering Is Optional (Alternate title: Let It Go)

Distance:  26.2

Pace:  11:06

Official time:  Yes, this  time I got one.  4:50:47.

Wineries visited:  4

This morning, I woke up at a beautiful B&B in Napa.  Then Husband #1 and I hopped in the rental car and drove to Sacramento, where we boarded a plane to Vegas to collect our children (who were staying with grandma and grandpa).  Now I am typing this on the drive from Vegas to Phoenix.  Longest travel day ever!  Two days ago, I ran my second marathon. 

Husband #1 and I arrived in Napa a little before noon on Saturday.  We stopped at the race expo to get my bib and ridiculously awesome retro swag.  It wasn't like the big races I'd done in the past.  It was a small gathering of people who looked like serious runners.  At the expo, I realized I had forgotten my gels and my salt pills (they were unhelpfully sitting in the trunk of my car in Vegas).  I found some Gus, but no salt pills.  No worries, we found a pharmacy, where I bought 2 liters of Pedialyte and some electrolyte gummies. 

(This bag should play "Eye Of The Tiger" on a non-stop loop.)

 (Pedialyte:  Not just for vomiting toddlers.)

We checked in to our B&B, where we were greeted with a chocolate truffle and complimentary glass of bubbly.  Yeah, the marathon was less than 24 hours away.  But a glass is fine.  We went to lunch and, of course, I had to have a glass of refreshing rose.  It is Napa, after all.  Upon returning from lunch, our B&B host informed us there would be a wine reception in the wine cellar at 5:30.  It would have been impolite to say no to that.  We joined the other guests to sample some local favorites with the other guests (one of whom called cabernet “the Taylor Swift of wine” because every week they come out with a new one – puh-leaze!).  We ate an early dinner at a highly-rated Italian restaurant for some pre-race carb loading.  And you know what?  I am pretty sure the Romans made it a cardinal sin to eat gnocchi without a glass of red wine.  Okay, so over the course of a day I drank more wine than I intended before a marathon.  I also downed a liter of Pedialyte, though, so I feel like they canceled each other out. 

(Mmmmm . . . pasta and (fermented) grapes.)

I slept really well up until about 3:30 am when I started having nightmares about oversleeping.  Husband #1 drove me up to the start (stopping for a latte on the way) in Calistoga before the sun came up.  I couldn’t find my electrolyte gummies, but didn’t look too hard because I figured the Pedialyte would carry me.  I would come to regret that decision.  The start line was dark and cold.  I found the porta potty and then begged my way onto a school bus to escape the chill.  I sat there with a handful of other chilled runners, all of whom were expecting to qualify for Boston.  This was a small race full of serious runners.  I didn't see a single person in costume.  I kind of had to pee again, but couldn’t bring myself to leave the bus.  Another mistake I’d regret.

(It is the perfect shirt for the race and for this blog, but not for the weather.)

The sun came up and we started soon after.  I had one bluetooth earbud hidden under my headband (which I was so happy to have for ear warmth!) playing at the lowest volume possible.  There were no corrals, so I headed toward the rear of the pack, not wanting to be run over by all the fast runners I’d seen wandering about.  Miles 1 through 7 were dreamy.  I kept 9:45 to 10:00 miles over stunning rolling hills.  My “Run Now Wine Later” shirt was a hit with the few, but devoted and enthusiastic, spectators.  Then my bladder told me I had to take a break.  Damn.  Should’ve gotten off that bus.  There was a porta potty at mile 7.  I lost 4 minutes waiting in line.  It was okay, though.  I was still well on pace to run a 4:20 or better if I could give a good finishing kick.  Then the wheels fell off at mile 12.  My stomach cramped so badly that I was having flashbacks to childbirth.  I eased off the pace and eventually started incorporating walk breaks.  I drank water and Gatorade at every water station, but they never seemed to quench my thirst.  The nausea and cramping continued and I’ll simply say I stopped at more porta potties, which fortunately did not have 4 minute lines. 

I began to text Husband #1 on my walk breaks and make myself run as much as possible.  Husband #1 told me to take it easy because somebody had already collapsed at the finish line, which was scary.  (And yet, that person beat me by almost an hour . . . )  Around mile 23, I managed to figure out a slow jog that I could (mostly) sustain.  Although my abdominal pain was pretty awful, the rest of me felt good.  My legs weren’t tired and I could have easily maintained a conversation or given a State of the Union address.  People would see me walking and ask me if I was okay.  I would smile and say yes and they would reply, puzzled, “well you LOOK really strong still” polite enough to not continue “why the hell are you walking?”   Before I knew it, I was rounding the corner at mile 26  with only .2 to go.  Husband #1 had his phone out snapping photos, so I put on my best finishing smile and slowly jogged across the finish line, proud of myself for finishing in under 5 hours.  A very nice high school boy met me at the finish and told me how I looked “strong and ready to go back out there.”  Thanks, kid.  He personally escorted me to a water bottle, my medal (also fantastically retro), photo ops, and gave me detailed instructions on how to find the food and showers.

(". . . went the distance, now I'm back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive . . . ")

All I wanted was Pedialyte.  Fortunately, Husband #1 had it in hand when he met me.  I crumpled to the ground and sipped Pedialyte while I changed into flip flops.  My stomach started to ease when I got through half the bottle.  We walked to the car and by the time we got to the B&B, the Pedialyte was gone and my stomach was almost completely better.  Our well-appointed room had a jacuzzi tub, which I put to good use.  My legs were stiff, but pretty good and I was able to walk to a nearby brewery for lunch.  After a post-lunch nap, Husband #1 surprised me with a massage (the lady came to our B&B!).  We walked in to town for a delicious tapas dinner, where I almost fell asleep at the table. 

Overall, it was a good day.  I didn’t kill myself.  I didn’t forget my timing chip.  I didn’t lose any toe nails.  I ran through beautiful wine country.  It will surprise people who know me well that I am not depressed by my performance.  I could have had a better time, but it is what it is.  I didn’t hit the wall.  I didn’t fall short because of conditioning or injuries.  I made a stupid nutrition mistake that I will never repeat. My confidence is actually bolstered, not shaken. Haruki Murakami said “Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional.”   I ran 26.2 miles, 14 of them in pain.  I am not going to suffer by beating myself up over my finishing time.  There will be other marathons and I will run them faster.  My 20 mile training runs prove that I have faster marathons in me.  

Believe it or not, this has encouraged me to shoot for a 50K trail run.  When my stomach forced me to slow down and forget about pace, I was able to really enjoy my surroundings and my legs felt like I could go forever.  You can watch a YouTube video of the beautiful course here.  I realized I might really enjoy a race where the goal is to finish and I get to walk the uphills.  So next February I plan to do the Phoenix marathon with the goal of breaking 4 hours and then follow it up with the Crown King Scramble, a 50K trail run (with my only time goal being to beat the 9 hour course limit).

Monday after the marathon, Husband #1 and I went on a wine tasting tour.  Five people in our ten person group had run the marathon, two of them qualifying for Boston.  It was fun and I felt great (which confirms I didn't push my legs anywhere near as hard as I could).  We bought a bunch of wine, which led to my only true injury of the weekend -- a bruised arm from carrying a heavy box of wine through the airport.  

(The struggle is real, my friends.)

TST: Missed it by THAT much!

Distance:  13.1

Pace:  8:24

Seconds by which I PR’d:  43

Seconds by which I missed my goal:  5

The PF Chang’s Rock n Roll half marathon was yesterday.  Last year I wanted to break 2 hours, a goal I smashed with a 1:50:47 finish.  When I got done celebrating that, I realized that running 48 seconds faster would have brought me below 1:50.  So that was my goal this year:  break 1:50.  My recent 13 mile nightmare shook my confidence a little bit, though.  And I realized that last year I was already in the taper phase of my marathon training, whereas this year I am just ramping up to my 20 miler.  So this might not be my year.  That’s okay.  Anything under 2 hours would be great.  That was what I thought until my badass ultramarathoner friend Dave Krupski assured me I could do a sub-1:45.  Say what now?  Nope.  Not me.  I’m keeping my expectations low.  This led to a message exchange in which I told him I’d like to take advantage of his coaching services to run a sub-4:00 marathon next year.  (Dave has founded a coaching program called Zwitty Ultra Endurance Coaching, which you can find at www.zwittyultra.com.)  Dave replied sure he could help me, but rather than trying to break 4 hours, I should shoot for a Boston qualifying time.  Once again, say WHAT now?  I laughed at him and then looked up my qualifying time.  Oh.  I’d have to run a sub-3:40.  Hm.  Is it endorphins or is that within reach?  I’d have to train.  Like for real speed train.  I’d have to give up more boxing workouts in favor of more running and drop about 10 pounds.  But.  Hell.  If I could run a full 5 seconds per mile faster than I ran my last half, could forever say I’d qualified for Boston!  Trying not to get my hopes up for 2016 goals, I just said I’d see how this half marathon and my next marathon go.  Of course, I was already planning my Boston strategy in my head and had recommitted to my goal of a sub-1:50 half. 

Back to the race.   After my terrible awful no good very bad 13 miles a couple weeks ago, I wanted to do this race right.  I had a plan (go out at 8:30s, drop to 8:15s at mile 6-7).  I made sure I ate some simple carbs the days leading up to the race.  I had a half bagel instead of skipping breakfast.  I hydrated by drinking lots of water and a bottle of Pedialyte the day before.  I put my timing chip on my shoe the day before and triple-checked it was the right part.  Oh, and I have new wi-fi headphones that are covered by a headband I plan to use for Napa.  The Rock n Roll would be my testing ground for that setup.  When I left the house Sunday morning at 6:45, I was ready!  My friend E-Bay met me at my house and Husband #1 dropped us both off. 

(My shoes!  One with my timing chip correctly placed and one with a little plate reminding me that not all pain is significant.  It is a quote from Scott Jurek's book that gets me through tough running moments.)

I was planning to stick around and watch two of my Ragnar teammates (Peppy and Go Pro)  finish their first full marathon, so I decided to check a bag this year.  I have to say, I am amazed at how easy that process is and will now do it every race.  E-Bay and I met KO Kennedy, two of her friends, and another Ragnar teammate, Sparky, at gear check.  One of KO Kennedy’s friends was assigned to corral 4, so we all decided to head up there except for E-Bay, who wisely decided to start around slower runners so she wouldn’t feel pressured to go out too fast.  I’ve never started in a corral that reflects my true estimated time (I usually go back so I can pass people all race).  It was nice.  Way less waiting around and we were off before I knew it.  This is my first major race with a GPS watch.  It went a little nutso and told me I was running 7:15 for the first half mile.  I just ran comfortably, loosely, letting people pass me, confident I was not running that fast.  True enough, I ran my first mile in 8:28 – the plan was in effect.  I settled into that pace and just planned to enjoy my music for the next couple hours.  I ran negative splits for the first six miles with mile 6 clocking in at 8:11. But I forgot that miles 7-8 are a slow climb followed by a steeper climb in mile 9.  This did not help my pace, which dropped to 8:30, 8:22, and 8:35 for miles 7-9.  The course crested a hill at 9.3 miles, so mile 10 was back up to 8:22, but I was tired.  Miles 11 and 12 were 8:29 and 8:37 respectively.   I’m glad I had my watch because there were no mile markers for 11 and 12, which would have been totally demoralizing if I was relying on markers to know where I was.  My watch said I was at 1:41 (no seconds were displayed, so I wasn’t sure how close I was to 1:42) when I hit mile 12.  1:49 was still possible!  I gave it everything I had and managed to run mile 13 in 8:08.  I sprinted that last .1 as fast as I could (according to the watch, it was a 6:48 pace).  But, alas, it was not enough.  I finished in 1:50:04.  It was better than last year, it was a PR, but it did not start with a “1:4.”   AAARGH! 

Just past the finishing line, a woman vomited right in front of me.  In fear of my own stomach upset, I willed myself not to look.  I collected my medal, a water, a Gatorade, and a banana in the finishing chute and got to the gear check.  The great thing about starting and finishing so early is that the crowd is minimal.  There was no line to collect my bag or for the portapotty where I changed into my dry clothes (my race clothes were so wet I had to wring them out).  I was spent.  I called Husband #1 and told him there’s no way I could have run it 5 seconds faster.  Sure, I’d stopped at a water station to take a salt pill, but without it I may not have been able to run so fast at the end.  Who would ever know, right?  Well, I know today.  My legs are fine.  A little tight and stiff, but I was still able to coast through a boxing class this morning that involved pulling a tire while sprinting and doing 120 squat jumps and 30 burpees. Clearly I could have raced harder.  Although I do have a 20 mile run on Thursday, so I guess it’s good I didn’t kill myself in the half.  Yeah.  That’s it.  I was saving myself for my training run . . .

(Me and E-Bay at the finish.  Note how my bib says "TOESHOESTINA."  Too bad I was wearing my Newtons, not my Vibrams.)

The after-party was fun once I was in dry clothes and drinking my free beer.  KO Kennedy and E-Bay crushed their goals and were pleased.  I did not see Sparky after the race, but I think he was pleased with his race, as well.  We hung around and watch the Wallflowers perform at, literally, a distance of 20 feet from Jacob Dylan himself.  Then we went to the marathon course to watch Peppy and Go Pro finish.  By then, the temperature was well into the mid-70s and felt much hotter because there was sun everywhere and no shade or cloud cover (my sweaty clothes had caused condensation to form inside my plastic gear check bag – gross!).  Oh man, watching those marathoners turn the corner into the finishing chute brought back memories.  Most resembled zombies, as I’m sure I did, painfully lurching toward the finish.  It was very interesting to see them turn that last corner.  Some pepped right up and ran the last .1 with a bit of spring back in their step.  But some couldn’t manage to alter their tortured gaits as they hobbled to the finish.  I cheered for all of them because I remember how invigorating it was to see friendly faces when I felt the lowest.  Then Go Pro whizzed by, looking strong and happy.  Peppy was right behind her.  She was running like she was finishing an easy neighborhood jog.  They did not look like miserable zombies.  I hope they are happy and proud.  They deserve it.  

(The Wallflowers.  Up close and personal.  My 17 year old self is, like, so jelly.)

Mo Jo: Clifford Gets Into Shape

Distance: 3 miles
Pace: Oh, 11s, with sniff and pee breaks
Mood: Happy

This is Clifford. Clifford is big boned.

Clifford is my 90-pound American Bulldog mix. He is shaped a bit like a sausage. He does not taper from the chest. His round belly protrudes like he is a pregnant lady. He is very, very good at cuddling and couch time. Basically, there is more to love.

He is not an active pup. When the other dogs hear someone outside, perhaps innocently walking their dog, my other two race to the door to bark and then run outside to let that dog know he should GO AWAY. Clifford will raise his head up from the arm of the sofa to assess the situation, conclude the other two have it handled, and then return to his sleepy meditation on doggie issues.

The vet, however, does not use words like "big-boned" and "slow metabolism." She says Clifford is fat. I grow concerned she is looking at me as well. You know what they say, fat dog, fat owner. I feel a sudden need to produce Betty Bamba, my slim and trim dog.

Now, as someone who runs fairly regularly, you would think there would be an obvious solution here. Take Clifford running. But I haven't wanted to for two reasons.

First, running with a dog is not going to produce good running times. Maybe you have trained your dog perfectly to run to your pace on a leash, but I find that I run more slowly, am more focused on making sure the dog is safe and not about to trip me, and take way more breaks. I've been working on my pace this year so it has not been convenient to take a dog along.

Second, Clifford usually has about a mile in him. Then he slows down. Then he falls behind. On one memorable run, he stopped and refused to proceed. Poor guy was Over It. I threatened to leave him, and he said fine, he would find a new home on that block. We had to walk home.

But, I am also worried that my good, sweet, cuddly boy is going to die prematurely because I'm selfish in my running goals and won't help him lose weight, so we've been doing some run walks so that he can get into better shape. It's basically a couch to 5K program. And today he did amazing! Three whole miles--just .1 short of a 5K. I thought he'd flag for sure after two, but he did not fall behind. He seemed to be having a great time.

We:

• Sniffed some street signs
• Got barked at by an angry beagle (one-third the size of Clifford)
• Checked out a pair of gorgeous Golden Retrievers
• Tried to go make friends with some children 
• Loped around the park without a leash

It was actually a really happy run. Did I kill it on pace? Nope. Did I go very far? Nope. But did I have a good time and enjoy my morning with my Very Good Boy? I did. And he is taking an extra long nap right now to celebrate.

TST Gets Her Groove Back

Distance:  18 miles

Pace:  9:58

Vomiting Incidents:  0

After quitting a 17 miler at 15 miles and becoming violently ill from pushing myself too hard through 13 miles, I really needed a good run.  Before Saturday’s pity party/pukefest, I was pretty confident.  After running hills at altitude in the bitter cold, I thought my upcoming 18 miler in flat, temperate, practically sea level Phoenix would be a walk in the park.  Then, after discovering that altitude training did not, in fact, give me supernatural running powers, my confidence was shaken.  But more than that, I was not looking forward to the run.  At.  All.  I’ve reached a comfortable place with my long runs.  I know they will be long and tedious, but I look forward to the solitude and repetition and, most of all, the accomplishment.  I had none of that going into today’s run.  I was filled with trepidation.  I was afraid it would be miserable.  I was afraid I would get sick.  I was afraid I’d just want to give up.  Oh yeah, and I had to get up at 4:00 am so I could get ready, make the family’s smoothies, and my coffee would have time to settle before I started running at 5:00 am.  I spent the last half of Wednesday actively dreading my run. 

The dread was far worse than the run. When my alarm went off at 4:00 am, I almost went back to sleep.  I drank coffee, then set my alarm for a 15 minute snooze on the couch while my coffee kicked in.  My dog decided this was an invitation to lick my face every time I closed my eyes.  No snooze for me!    

Okay, okay, I can't resist you.  Even when it is 4:10 am.  

I left the house right on time at 5:00 and made myself start running without thinking about it. I told myself to shoot for a 10:30 pace and just take it easy.  Not surprisingly, I ran my first mile in exactly 10:00.  But I felt fine, so I tried to back off a bit and just sank into the rhythm of the run.  The moon was very bright and still high in the sky (though intermittently hidden by scattered clouds).   The weather was cold, but not biting.  I was generally comfortable.  I planned to stop at my boxing gym 11 miles into my run, so well over halfway.  About mile 5, I started feeling kind of tired.  I realized I was hunching my shoulders, which was affecting my breathing and making my upper back sore.  Plus my audiobook was not engaging.  I branched off from crime thrillers to listen to “The Husband’s Secret,” which I found on this article recommending books for long runs.  It is narrated in a delightful Australian accent, but I found the story moved a little slowly at first.  And I was growing increasingly concerned this book was going to be generic chick lit.  I almost put on my music, but really wanted to save it for the last portion of my run.  I’m glad I stuck with the book.  By the time I got to the gym, I was actually a little sad to switch to music. 

My average pace was 10:07 when I stopped at the gym. I refilled my water, peed, said hi to my coach and to Yogi (from my Ragnar team), switched over to music, and set right back off.  “Only seven miles,” I thought.  And I was not being sarcastic.  I was over the hump and loving the run.  With music playing, my average pace dropped to 10:04 then 10:03.  It was just me and the music and the sun coming up.  The remaining miles ticked away.  I call this experience "Zen running." I wish all runs were this way.

I hit 16.85 miles when “Fight the Power” came on and I decided I felt so good, I’d run fast for the remaining 1.15 miles.  I flew through the last mile (considering it was mile effing 18!) in 8:52, which dropped my average to 9:58 – a hair under three hours total.  And I felt good!  My hamstrings and hips were tight, but I could have run farther.  I peeled of my clothes and barely remembered to weigh myself before jumping in the shower.  Other than the scary dehydrated number I saw on Saturday, this was the lowest number I’ve seen on the scale in my adult life.  But I felt much better today.  Score!  Once in the shower, the first streams of hot water hit me and I screamed “OW!  AYEEEEEE! SON OF A . . . MOTHER FUCKER!!!!”  I can only conclude that a half pound of my weight loss was skin that chafed off along my sports bra.  Then I giggled because I realized that, technically, all men are sons of people who . . . um . . . had relations with their mothers.  It wasn't a very inventive or obscene curse.  Then I put on pajamas and worked for a bit from home before dragging myself to the mall to reward myself with new (and smaller!) pants.

And now, several hours later, other than the fact that my bra clasp is rubbing right where my sports bra stole my skin so I keep awkwardly and inappropriately adjusting myself, I feel good.  A little tired, sure.  But I’m wearing smaller pants and I’ve kept down all my food (a delicious grilled cheese – god bless a 2,097 calorie burn).  I’ve even wearing heels!  Kitten heels, but they are still heels!  I’m happy because I got my groove back.  

Mo Jo: Wait, the Marathon Is in Eight Weeks?

Distance: 12 miles
Pace: Slow
Attitude: Better

I have a confession, loyal readers of ROW. I decided to quit. I tried to run 12 and quit at 9. I was OVER it. I was over the boredom, the low-level pain, the sweat. No audio book could save my mood. I did the walk of running shame back to my car and decided, eff it, I am not doing this marathon. Who wants to run 26.2 miles without music anyway?

Plus the long runs are an absolute killer to an otherwise good Sunday. I come home, eat, drink Gatorade, take a lovely shower, and then lie on the couch the rest of the day like a slug. I think, "Boy, I'd sure like more water, but the kitchen seems so far away..." This is not how I want to spend every Sunday for months and months. I quit.

But I'm afraid to tell TST. So I hint to her that I am now seriously undertrained and probably need to drop out, thinking she'll say, "Oh, that's totally understandable!" TST is not having any of it. "You still have ten weeks!" she says chirpily. Hmm. She's not really letting me off the hook.

So, not wanting to let my marathon partner down, I lace up my shoes and start over. Short runs, slower pace. Try to remember why I like running. Do some fives and sevens at tempo, feel fine. Then I even run twelve and do not die of boredom, despite my chosen audio book trying to kill me with teenage angst. I was trying to listen to The Maze Runner, but sometimes YA fiction just has to be read, not listened to, so you can skim the adolescent "oh, let's examine how I'm feeling for three pages" BS. I changed back to Amy Poehler's book Yes Please for the last four miles, and that helped a lot. Laughing is good for running.

(What is bad for running is gross construction workers that feel the need to pause all work and just stare at female runners as they go by. This is in no way flattering. It is uncomfortable, and I don't want anyone focusing on my ass in running pants--anyone. I had to change my route because I was running a loop and didn't need to provide another sideshow. Makes me want to carry a Taser.)

The other thing that helped--and TST's last post was interesting on this point--was slowing down! I have been working on bringing up my pace to a less turtle-like speed, and so naturally I didn't think I should be doing my long runs at my former, glacial pace. I was, for some reason, putting some low tens in there. But long runs are supposed to be slower than race pace, according to the gospel of Hal Higdon, and it is much harder to recover from long runs if you go faster. You get the physiological benefit of the long-run training from the slow workout. I think both TST and I are feeling stronger this year, so we're making new training mistakes based on our assumptions we can do more.

So, we still have eight weeks or so. I can do this! Just need to get a quick 14 out of the way tomorrow and I'm back on track. I mean, a slow 14. 14 miles? Yes please.

TST: New Year, Same Old Training Mistakes

The good news is I am still on track for the Napa Marathon.  I’ve done all my long runs, all my tempo runs, and most my speed work.  I remain injury-free (knocking on wood as I type this).  My runs have been pretty good.  Overall, I’ve maintained a better pace than my training runs last year.  I spent two weeks up in the mountains for Christmas and New Year and stuck to my training at 7000 feet.  On the days I had the kids by myself, I dragged them to the local track, where I did both tempo runs and speed work.  (PS, speed work is the evilest devil ever.  I hate it!  Also, running with the kids at the track leads to many interruptions.)  The temperatures were often below freezing and I wore layers, which added new and fun dimensions to chafing.  On Christmas Eve, I started a 17 mile long run and it was 18 degrees.  I felt good for the first 10 miles.  Then every mile became more tortuous.  Nothing in particular hurt.  It was just an overall discomfort and, if we’re being honest, ennui.  The temperature climbed to 32 degrees, which is still cold, but was enough to make my triple-layers soaked and miserable.  I gave up and called Husband #1 at 14 miles.  I kept running while he loaded the kids in the car and found me a mile later.  Then I felt like a loser for quitting two miles shy of a 17 mile run.  So a couple hours later, I went back out and ran my final two.  In what passed for a suitable punishment, I ran the first of those miles straight up a big hill.  I made up for it with 10 very good miles on New Year’s Eve, right before a big snow storm hit.  Between December 1 and December 22 (the day I went up to the mountains), I had allowed myself exactly one rest day.  I took regular rest days between December 23 and January 3 (when I returned).  And by “rest,” I mean I didn’t run.  I did plenty of sledding, skating, skiing, fort-building, and hiking. 

Suffice it to say, by the time I returned to Phoenix on January 3, I was feeling great – altitude trained, but rested in a way I hadn’t been for weeks.  When I arrived home at 1:00 pm, Phoenix was a balmy 54 degrees and I thought “what better time to do my scheduled 13 mile long run???”  It was a spur-of-the moment decision.  My nutrition hadn’t been great:  a half smoothie, two lattes, and tater tots from Sonic (the midway point of the trip home).  But my altitude training would totally make up for that.  Oh yeah, and I could tell by my scale I was a pound or two dehydrated.  But so what.  I set off running, thinking I would see just how great the altitude training had worked by attempting to PR a half-marathon.  I ran my last official half at a 8:28 average.  So I decided to shoot for an 8:15 average.  Totally doable because, you know, a few rest days and high-altitude training had clearly transformed me into super-woman.  I did my first mile in 7:47 and was hardly winded.  I began mentally composing my victorious blog post.  By mile 7, I realized I was not super woman.  I began to feel very fatigued and my legs suddenly weighed two tons each.  No biggie.  I’d slow down for a couple miles and then pick the pace back up at mile 10 or so.  I watched my average pace slip from 8:07 to 8:15 to 8:22 to 8:29.  I just couldn’t make myself go fast anymore.  My last mile was my slowest:  9:26, bringing my average pace to 8:34.  Now, 8:34 is still a respectable pace, fantastic for me!  At 8:34, I’m still well under a 2 hour half marathon, a barrier I never thought I’d break.  But I’d been so convinced I could slash my pace on too little water and an order of tater tots, I was devastated at my time.  I was almost in tears when I came home.  I was also missing several inches of skin from various chafing areas. 

I stepped on the scale and realized I’d lost another three pounds despite taking a salt pill and drinking 16 oz of water (it is actually the lightest I’ve ever been in my adult life).  Husband #1 was kind enough to go on a Gatorade run while I showered and curled into the fetal position.  Nausea hit hard and came with serious chills.  I simply could not get warm.  I am well-acquainted with nausea after hard runs, so I knew I needed to eat.  I tried a few crackers.  Gross.  Then I made the mistake of going to a Mexican restaurant with the family.  I drank half a beer and tried for the mildest thing on the menu I could find (a salad loaded with guacamole, sour cream, cheese, and beans).  I took a few bites and realized I needed to go lie down in the car because I could no longer even tolerate the smell or sight of food.  Shortly after we got home, all the food I’d managed to get into my stomach came right back up.  As a two-time survivor of horrific morning sickness, I should have known not to eat Mexican food on an iffy stomach.  It is among the worst types of food to come back up (I’ll not detail it here, but if you need recommendations, I can give you a list of my preferred foods to throw up – pregnancy is fun!).  I curled up on the couch under a huge blanket because I was still freezing.  I half slept and half watched the UFC fights while gingerly sipping water.  Toward the end of the evening, I managed to hold down some brown rice with a little soy sauce.  I know, totally your idea of a wild Saturday night, huh?

The bottom line is I screwed up my run.  I didn’t adequately prepare for it, thinking I could just power through.  I had unreasonable expectations and I started WAY too fast.  Experts disagree on what causes post-run nausea.  In my case, I suspect it is closely tied to dehydration because I lose a lot of water and salt when I run.  But whatever causes my post-run nausea, yesterday was the worst it’s ever been . Even today, my stomach is a little queasy (which I did not help by doing a 90 minute boot camp, but, come on, I haven’t boxed in two weeks!).  I will run the PF Chang’s half marathon in 13 days.  I still intend to try to beat last year’s time, but maybe not by 13 seconds per mile.  And I’ll make sure I start and stay properly hydrated.  Most importantly, my race plan will be to start slower and finish faster – the opposite of yesterday’s run.  I’ve learned banking time early just doesn’t work, a lesson I keep forgetting and re-learning.  Despite my best efforts, I may not beat last year’s’ time.  My secondary goal is to finish in less than two hours.  I promise to try and be happy with that.