Thursday, May 31, 2012

Burlington: The Final Shakedown

Miles Run this Week: 26.2

Well, it's over.

It's kind of hard to believe. I've been preparing for this race for months and months, to have it all be over in a day.

I got up super early on race day - I'm usually a person who rolls out of bed and cruises to the start line with mere minutes to spare. But this time, be it nerves or knowing what kind of prep it takes to even get to the start line. So I was up at 5:30. I went and grabbed an egg and put it on top of my (cold) rice and ate as much as I could stomach.

I foam rolled my right quad and did the resistance band exercises trainer-coach recommended. When I said goodbye to Joe, I cracked. All I remember is bursting into tears and blubbing, "What if I can't?" It was the final moment of doubt. All I wanted was to go into this with zero uncertainty, to know that I had trained and that I was ready. Joe came back with "Well, we'll cry about it later, not now."

And then I sauntered over to the waiting area for the shuttle bus to the start.

One of my favorite feelings during a whole race is the pre-race silence with your fellow runners. We all sat on the curb in a silent electricity. Maybe all of us were thinking about what we wanted to accomplish. Maybe we were all thinking about our play lists. Maybe we weren't thinking at all.

I got to the start area an unprecedented 50 minutes ahead of time. Gave me a chance to take it all in:


Could have been worse.

I paced around the start area, getting a lay of the land: portos, pace group gatherings, a good place to plop down and get dressed. Since my track days, I don't usually show up to the race in my sneakers and the clothes I'm planning on running in. Usually it's flip flops and a hoodie with some tear away pants. Why mess with a pre-race ritual? 

So eventually,  I got dressed, and I was ready to go!


My best friend and running buddy met me at the start line - which was awesome for a bunch of reasons. One of them was the baggage check line spanned into New York State, so there was no way I was going to be able to store my bag before the gun time. It was also just great to have someone there to help the nerves. She gave me her running hat (white to match). There wasn't a cloud in the sky - perfect for a beach day, FAIL for a long, long run like mine. I needed something to keep the sun off my face (plus, my biggest fear is looking like a raisin before 40). 

Finally, I got into the start corral. I actually ran into the 1 person I knew who was running, right in front of the 4:30 pace group. The chances of that happening seemed so low - but then I got to commiserate while we waited for actual starting gun (and not puke everywhere...because that's how I felt). Finally, the gun went off.


I crossed the mats, and just started running. I mean, what else was I going to do? 

I found the 4:45 pace group and stuck by them, holding my breath, waiting to see what my knee would be able to take. About 2 miles in, I realized how hot it was going to be that day. It was probably only in the 60s at the start, but it was also 8 AM. I had run in the heat in Boston, but there was also a ton of shade around the Charles path, so while it's hot, there is always a lot of relief.

I saw my entourage around mile 3, and then I was off for the first 6+ mile stretch outside Burlington. 

The most striking thing to me about Burlington was the distribution of spectators. While I liked that I came through downtown 3 times before the finish, and the crowd through Burlington was energizing, the other stretches were boring and soul-sucking. 

The 4ish to 8ish mile loop was only saved by the fact that it was an out-and-back turnaround leg, meaning that we eventually were running by the elites (which is always cool - to see people with those strides and that kind of power is always inspiring and humbling all at once) and the other pace groups. Since we were less than 10K in, nerves and spirits were still high, so everyone was cheery and encouraging when we saw each other. 

I cruised past the 5 mile marker, and then went on high alert - waiting for any sign from my knee area that it was about to lock up and that my race would be over. I took at picture of the mile 6 marker to tell my friends that I had at least made it through my first hurdle. Miles 7 through 8 were a long, grinding hill. Like a fool, I spent a ton of energy trying to stay with the 4:45 pace group up this hill, lest I look like a wimp to my friends to be dropped before mile 9. Total idiot. 

So I caught 4:45 and came through downtown Burlington at miles 9 and 10. Bands were rocking. I saw my entourage. Things were looking good.

Miles 10 and 11 were pretty terrible. There were spectators, sure. But we're in this long stretch of warehouses and commercial areas, no shade in sight. And that's when the sun started slowly crushing my will to run/live. Around 12, I lost 4:45 for good. I didn't even really care. Now it wasn't about time. It was about  getting through it. (I ate more GU gummies to help my brain space...being this angry at 13 is not a good way to enter the 51%.) 

So from 12 to 13, there was a gorgeous view of the lake (for about 100m) and a Newfie that was the size of a small bear. I actually asked the owners if I could ride him to the finish line. They politely declined. 

I pushed through to 13.1, where the 2 person relay hand-off was. People were in happy and peppy, mostly because they were either ending or just beginning. I wasn't doing either, so I glared. Don't get me wrong - I'm all for the half and whole race day...but I think splitting the whole into 2 halves and watching fresh legs speed away while you have 13.1 on your legs and need to go 13.1 more is cruel. (And don't EVEN GET ME STARTED on the 5-person relay they had going. More on that around 21.)

But 13 to 14 were easily the best views of Lake Champlain. And there was a breeze which was pretty clutch. Around 13.5, a friend called me. I literally had to pick up (since it was interrupting my tunes!) and answer with "I'm running a marathon...what's up?" This may be the most creative hello I've ever had. 

At 13.7 I stopped to stretch. Another girl stopped with me; all we did was look at each other and laugh. There are no words for the pain, the emotions, the knowing that you're over halfway there, but still have so far to go. 

Thennnn around 13.9, I realized I was going to have to run up the giant-ass hill. OH COME ON. 

At 14ish, I saw my fluorescent entourage again. One of them said, "Amy, you're not even sweating!" thinking it was a compliment. I replied with "Um....that's bad." And I picked up some more food and water. And I looked up at the hill. Welp, this was it. 

There were these AWESOME drums (that you can hear in this video of the race) that literally propelled me up the hill. I also knew that 2 of my best friends were up there, waiting for me. I couldn't look like a pussy! So slowly but surely, I started climbing that hill. You can see how far it was and the incline: 
Allllll the way behind me was my food and water pick up. Ugh, that thing was a beast, but I saw my girls waiting for me at the top and just focused on getting to them. When I got to them, I hugged them like I had just come out of captivity or something. My face pretty much said it all, the perfect mixture of joy and pain:


And then I was on my way for the final 11 miles, with no entourage action until the end.

Miles 15.5 through 19 seem to be a blur in my head. There were people with spraying hoses and a little shade to take the edge off. Somewhere in there I think there was a little kid with a broken arm handing out ice chips with his mom. I stopped and asked "What happened, buddy?" and he replied with, "I broke my arm...but not by running." At some point around there, I saw the 5:00 pace group, and kind of deflated. Especially since they dropped me pretty quickly. It was the nail in the coffin that I would not break 5 hours in this race.

But really, I really, really didn't care. I felt a thousand times stronger than I felt in Chicago. I had trained. I had actually prepared for this race. I guess for some people, that would make the missing the goal time sting more, but for me, it was more comforting. I'd finish when I finished. Regardless of what the time was when I crossed the line, I knew I had succeeded in many other ways.

It was in the middle of that thought process that I hit the wall. At about 19.5. With 6.3 to go. Ugh. So I started running 2 minutes, walking a minute. My pace slowed from the 11ish pace I was carrying to high 13s. Joe texted me that he was waiting for me at mile 24 - which could have been 1000 miles away as far as I was concerned.

When I got onto the bike path - the final 5ish miles, I was just spent. I didn't know where I was, I was so tired that I couldn't even think about what the distance would be at home (which is one of my tricks to getting through stretches of the unknown), and my stomach was grumbling. While I was eating literally anything I had left in my pouch, this girl goes powering by me. Not like...oh, running a couple minutes walking a couple minutes...full on 5-K pace. So here's the thing: I'm a back-of-the-packer. When you're not trying to Boston Qualify, you're hanging out in the 4ish hour and beyond, you are not at 5-K pace at mile 21. (For reference, my 5-K pace is somewhere in the low 9s...and I was running 13:40s at mile 21). 

I think the final straw was the 5-person relay team aspect. I mean, I get it. Marathons take a lot out of you: 18 weeks of training, grueling mileage and speed work, the time commitment, the wear and tear on your legs. But...really? 5 people? That's like...a little over 5 miles a person. That's not even a 10K. So take your fresh legs for the last 5, and get real. I love my fellow runners, and I would never belittle someone whose goal was different than mine...but I was really insulted that these people are flying through this marathon course, picking off all the people who dedicated 18+ weeks to training and really experiencing and appreciating the marathon as a personal accomplishment. I think relay teams are great - just during a relay event. It is what drove me to decide I will never run this race again. [/rant]

The one plus of the bike path was the sporadic views of the lake:

So I kept on. I saw Joe a little after 24, and the first thing he said to me was, "You can still PR." I had been watching my time tick by on my watch, calculating how many minutes I had left to PR (to that point, my best time was 5:18:07 at Baystate in 2009) - dividing that time by the mileage I had left, and then comparing that to what my mile splits were to that point. So yes, I knew I could PR. I was hoping I actually would - but in past races, I have become complacent with only a couple miles to go, thinking I could dog it, and then tacking on unnecessary time onto my finish. So I tried not to think about it. My legs didn't really care, anyway. They were dead and achy. 

After Joe handed me more water bottles, I croaked, "Run with me". I was so lonely on this path. I had no one to talk to, I didn't know where I was, and the finish could have been in New Hampshire for all I knew. So like a champ, he ran-walked with me. He let me run ahead when we saw one of the course photographers, so that it would be a picture of just myself. He stayed with me through about 25.75, and then told me the rest was mine. I moaned and started jogging on without him.

I turned a corner, and someone yells "You only have a quarter mile from here!" I was like A QUARTER MILE?! And my legs forgot about the 25.95 they had gone, and I started to run.  I got onto the sidewalk, that I knew led to the finish line, and I was ready. I started picking people off, one by one (I think I accidentally elbowed an old man - sorry!) and saw the banner that said ALMOST DONE that was attached to 2 hay bales. I knew I had PR'ed - I only had a little bit to go, and I was in the 5:13 zone:


So I cranked. Oh God, it hurt so bad and was so euphoric at the same time. 

They said my name as I crossed the finish line. 5:14:41. I PR'd by 3+ minutes. I felt great. 

I got my medal and met my entourage to give them all the biggest hugs, ever:



I really have to give a shout out to my friends and my sister for making the trek up to Vermont with me, and were my support system - not just on race day, but since I started reevaluating running last May. These guys keep me going through the exhaustion and the pain:


After I finished a large Ben & Jerry's ice cream, I sat down to take my sneakers off. Around mile 7, I had realized I forgot to put the anti-chafe on my feet. I cursed myself, but I never felt any pain, which was a win. So I nonchalantly start peeling off my socks, to find this gem (warning: it's pretty frikken gross):

So after a trip to the med tent to fix it up (thanks to those poor medics who touched my feet AND THEN had to deal with the blister) - we were headed to the bar! I got my celebratory beer (aptly named the Ayinger Celebrator): 

I made it about 5 sips in and then......


All in all, it was a great weekend, and a fun race. I have 136 days until Newport (let the countdown begin!) but for now, I'm focusing on resting and recovering (and reading about how to break through that wall). 

Special thanks to Val and Tim, who documented Burlington awesomely - I swiped a bunch of their pictures for this post. 

The quest for 4:59:59 begins again on July 8th! 









Saturday, May 26, 2012

Happy & Meditative

Miles Run this Week: 1 (!!!)
HOURS until Burlington: 21

Well, I'm here. The second I got to the hotel room, I changed into my running clothes and started doing the quad workout my "trainer and coach" gave me to do before a test mile.

I realized that I had made it about 7 minutes into that mile.

The first 4ish minutes I was just holding my breath (figuratively), waiting to feel the pain or any tweaking, or any sign that I was going to meet my doom.

Then around 7 minutes, I looked up. The sun was setting over Lake Champlain. I was running down a road I didn't know. And it hit me: I'm here. I made it. 365+ days in the making. I'm running in Burlington. 


I finished my mile, and the doom never showed up.

So now here I sit, alone in my hotel room, listening to Bon Iver and doing the quad workout again. And I feel calm. Running is what I love to do. It has seen me though some of my darkest moments. And I have trained and thought about this weekend for months and months. And now I just have to get out there and do what I love to do.

I picked up my Bib at the expo and signed up for a pace group.

While I've been training for a 4:30 finish, I signed up for the 4:45 group, just in case. I'd rather make it through 15 miles a little slower and drop the hammer on the last 10 if I'm feeling good than burn myself out or flare up my right leg and DNF.

Come to find out, there is a couple that is getting married at the end of the race, and the bride is also in the 4:45 pace group. If that doesn't make you burst into happy tears, nothing will (of course, if you're already on the verge of bursting into tears at a moment's notice like I am right now, I guess this is a no-brainer).

My biggest fear of not finishing and being pushed into a black hole of depression is gone. Running is what pulls me out of those places, not what puts me in them. When I was so broken at the end of Chicago - it wasn't running that put me there, it was myself. Every time I go into one of those ruts, I'm the one who got me there. Running has been what gets me out.

I have nothing to be ashamed of for this race. I have trained my ass off (literally - I fit into a size medium women's shirt today at the expo. Really.) There will be no depression. I can say from the depths of myself that I worked as hard as I could, and that I should be proud that I have stuck to this training plan, if nothing else.

The race was supposed to be the crowning achievement, the product of all this hard work. But when I was visiting my trainer-coach, she said, "This is a good place to be. You never performed at this level before, so you opened something up in your body. We'll figure out what it was, and how to control it, and from there, you can get to a whole new level of running."

I have pushed myself to my limits. Maybe tomorrow my limits come sooner than the finish line, and that's OK. Because I'm not done as a runner. And I have challenged myself in a way that I can take this and run with it, as a real marathoner. As a runner.

Tomorrow I'll have live tweets from checkpoints on the race course (automated): @Running_Boots. You can  also get race info from @RunVermont.

Be back later for a before-bed-check-in!

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Keeping Positive

Miles Run this Week: 0 :(
Days Until Burlington: 3 (!!!!)

My GU Gummies are purchased. New headphones are ready. Playlist has been fortified. Race plan has been turned over to my entourage. In less than 72 hours, I will be at the start line for the marathon.

I'm still nursing my IT band - I literally have not run at all (except for the bus when I'm late) in almost 2 weeks. I got a massage on Tuesday to loosen up my glutes and hamstrings in hopes they will release the death grip on my ITB.

For the past 10 days, I have been scared. The thought that I will only get 5 miles into this race makes my insides churn. I have felt a little helpless and hopeless, knowing that only time can heal an injury like this, and not knowing if I have enough of that. I've been waking up every day, hoping that day is the day I can spring out of bed, feel no pain, and know that I can dominate this race. I want to able to cash in on all my training since last May (last May! I've been prepping for this for over a year!). Every morning I wake up, feeling a pinch or a soreness somewhere else on my right leg, and immediately feeling let down. I'm disappointed in myself. That my brain let me think it was OK to fly down those hills. In my legs for not taking advantage of all the other work I was doing to strengthen them. In my core for always being weak.

I've been talking and blogging about this race for...what seems like forever. And now, I'm only a couple days out, and I'm unsure if I can actually put my money where my mouth is.

This was the race to redeem me from Chicago. To silence the sympathetic, "Well, you finished the marathon" replies after I didn't do what I wanted to do. And now there will be the sympathetic excuses, "Well, you were hurt. You still finished, but you were hurt." There is a possibility this will be my first DNF. The possibility of that raises chunks in my throat and my eyes to immediately tear up.

So this morning, I woke up. My leg is still sore from the massage. Then I realized that where it's sore are the places that it's always sore: my hip, my glute, my hip flexor.

I listened to my marathon playlist on the way to work. And then I made a decision.

My ITB is going to be fine. It's not going to hold me back. It had enough time to heal.

At this point, being negative will do nothing but continue this fear spiral I've been on.

I can honestly say that this is the first race I've been this prepared for. I ran the miles. I'm eating the carbs. I printed out the race course. I know exactly what I'm going to eat and when. Now I just need to believe that my legs are ready, too.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

We Are Family

Miles Run this Week: 0
Days Until Burlington: 12

With Monster Month over, capped by a 20 mile peak run, my focus is on resting and carb loading (properly...which *apparently* doesn't include beer. Total sham.)

The rest part typically comes in the form of the "taper" - meaning I curb my total running mileage to let my legs rest and recover from a helluva month prior. Last week my long run was supposed to be 13 miles (as opposed to the 16-18-20s I've been doing).

Supposed to be.

In my unbelievable 20 miler, where I CRUSHED miles and felt like I had the power to flip over cars, I ran...nay...I RACED downhill from Brighton for the last 2-ish miles. Like a FOOL.

My IT band decided to rain down wrath on me last week. Like...circa 2004 knee pain wrath. So, I rested Monday - Wednesday. Thursday was a 6 miler...I made it 5 before searing pain. So I rested Friday and Saturday. Sunday I headed out for my 13 miler, got to 5.1, and my right leg was done. DONE. No stretching. No weight bearing. Done.

So as I hobbled home, I started to panic. This is the first time I've really trained for a race like this. I've read a nutrition book. I've printed out the course map and the elevation profile to plan water stops, food pick ups, and arrange my playlist for the tough parts.

And now my IT band decides it's mad at my knee, and I can't get above 5 miles? No. Nonononono.

I have had season-ending injuries before: a stress fracture in high school sidelined my entire senior year of soccer. I've had this nagging IT injury in my knee all through ultimate. I was carried off the field my last game as a senior because of this pain. No. Nononononono.

Instead of bursting into tears (which is really all you want to do if you think you're watching your goal creep away), I put an SOS up on Facebook.
"Quad/knee/IT band can't make it more than 5 miles at a time :( Limping home...anyone have rehab suggestions so I'm good to go in 2 weeks? Really worried..."

While running is absolutely an individual's event - how you do is up to you, and in the end, you're really only racing yourself - the running community is more expansive and supportive than any team I've ever played on.  I have reconnected with people from college over our love of running. I have been inspired by coworkers and women in my running group that have tackled races with strength and grace. Even as I interact with Members of Rue, I always find fellow runners, and we stick together - regardless of geography or whether or not we have even met. 

The outpouring of answers and support from my little question-turned-digital-support-group gave me another reason to love running. I have bonded with these women, even if we barely knew each other 10 years ago when we met, over the common feeling of empowerment. Instead of using running to isolate myself, it has enriched my community. In times where is seems women's propensity to tear each other down is at an all-time high, I belong to a sisterhood of support, encouragement and thoughtful dialog. Rather than feeling like the only person who has ever botched her training on the 20 miler, I saw that it's actually a common pit fall, and that it's something that many have overcome. 

So equipped with this knowledge and a lot of painkillers and ice, my outlook has improved. I'm even Smiling While Running

Friday, May 4, 2012

Fueling the Monster

Miles Run this Week: 4.0
Days until Burlington: 23

One of the most common phrases in running is "hitting the wall". The "wall" usually shows up at a totally inconvenient time in a race - usually about 75% of the way through - so you have juuuuust enough left to do that it seems like eternity and virtually impossible to finish, but you've completed so much you just. can't. quit. 

Hitting the wall, in science, means that you've depleted your sugar stores, and your brain is trying to save yourself. Knowing the science-y angle makes it all the more appealing to stop what you're doing. 

Usually I hit the wall at 4 miles in a 10K. You hear marathoners perpetually hitting the wall at 20. 

I "ran" 20 miles 2 weeks ago...and hit the wall at 14 miles. I clawed my way to 17, but I couldn't scale that wall anymore after that, and had to walk/gimp 3 miles home. It was a very humbling blow. I haven't been excited about running for the past two weeks. 

I have hit the emotional wall. I'm tired all the time. I am trying to squeeze running in during really weird times, not being able to follow my schedule to the letter. I feel tremendously guilty because I know that all these missing miles can add up to missing my goal time. That makes me want to run even less. I try and tell myself that I'm training harder and more often than I ever did for Boston, Lowell or Chicago. But it's nagging at me.

I have another 20 miler this weekend. I had to push it out to Sunday because I delayed my speed workout (guilt guilt guilt). After a rough 14 mile "rest" run last week, I'm terrified I can't tackle this 20 miles. April into May is my "Monster Month", which is the 4 weeks of training that is marked by a bunch of levels of intensity: you run faster, or you run just an assload of miles (which in this case, can be these 20 milers). 

I'm wracking my brain to figure out what I can do better. I've been so consumed by running since February, I'm tried of thinking about what percent of carbs I should be eating, or what kind of protein I'm eating, or the fact I'd rather chug 6 beers than 6 bottles of water. This is the absolute worst time to be worn out from training. This is when I need it the most.

I sincerely believe that these long runs are less about the miles on my legs, and more about preparing me emotionally and mentally for running as fast as I can for over 26 miles. Sure, I've finished marathons before, but this time, it's not about just finishing. It's about toeing that start line, knowing that I have prepared myself for beyond just the finishers medal. It's about pushing my body to a level of performance it has never achieved. It's about taking that disappointed, broken runner from Chicago, and pulling her up onto her own personal podium of 1st place Amy. 

The other reason I have these long runs is to figure out what works and what doesn't. During a 4+ hour run, I can see how dehydrated I get (very) and how hungry I am (not at all...which is bad). 

A couple months ago, I went to a seminar at Landry's Bikes that was hosted by chef Biju Thomas and Allen Lim, who were Radioshack and Team Garmin's chefs while they rode the Tour de France. One of the points they brought up is how your body responds to things like GU. Basically - you can't break it down easily, so your body pulls in as much water as it can, resulting in stomach aches and dehydration. While they were talking about it for cyclists, I got that creeping feeling....it's happened to me, too. (This epiphany led to me buying their book and has started a new awareness of eating natural, whole foods. Which is a totally different post.)

So I started diluting my GUs in water. I don't have the horrible sick feeling I used to....but I don't think my body is getting the fuel it needs to power through 20 miles. 

While I run to lose weight (or now, to maintain, because I'm so close to my goal!), there is a tipping point when you're tacking endurance events. Usually, less food and calorie depletion is met with joy and welcoming....until you hit about 2 hours of pain. And then, you better have been stuffing your face this whole time, or you're going to end up sitting under a tree, 3 miles from home (6 if you take your loop), throwing a tantrum and eating as many crackers as you can, wondering why you can't hack it. 

My GU water, while chocolate-y, doesn't cut it.

So while I've come back completely defeated two weekends in a row after my long runs, I am so glad it happened during the Monster, and not during the race. This weekend will be honey packets (easier sugar source for the body to breakdown) and homemade peanut butter (less sugar and no additives) on crackers (salt and east to breakdown). And maybe I'll kill the 20 miles. Maybe I'll find something else I need to do.

But these long runs are a lot like regular life. You think something's going to go a certain way because of all the prep you've been doing around it, just to find out there are factors you never considered. And you can crush under that pressure of failure, or you can re-calibrate and try again, until you've figured out all the pieces. 

So this Sunday, I'll throw on the outfit I plan on running the race in (because I also need to know where I need to watch out for chafing...which is a whole other monster), and pack up my little pouch with my fuel and water and my charge up iPhone, and try 20 again, knowing that in 3 weeks, all the work will come to some sort of result (and hoping it's the one I want).