Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Don't Bring Around a Cloud to Rain on My Parade

Like any normal runner (or person, for that matter), I check the weather before I head out. During the spring and summer, I tack on 10 degrees to the temperature and then dress for that weather. During the fall and winter, once it drops below 55 degrees, I know I need my gloves (since I already have meh circulation in my hands).

After years of careful calibration, I know which layer combination (or lack thereof) of clothing for every temperature range and weather condition.

It's also how I know when to puss out and run inside on a treadmill.

This past Sunday, it was 22 degrees outside. Weather.com said that felt like 6. With a 23 mph wind coming from the WNW.

Now, I have run races with an 18 mph wind coming off the ocean. I have run them in 90 degrees with crushing humidity, and I have run them in 42 degrees with sheets of rain falling from the sky. I have run when it's so cold that my sweat freezes in my hair.

That's how I know that when it's 22 with a 23 mph wind, my ass is running on a treadmill. But please understand: I hate the treadmill. I can usually top out at 3 miles (4 if I really distract myself). Part of the reason I run is to connect with my surroundings and appreciate the (quiet) sound of my feet hitting whatever ground I'm on. Treadmills are proof that God is vengeful and wants us to suffer. But Mother Nature is worse. Much, much worse. She is malicious and ruthless and takes extreme joy in blowing an arctic blast headwind off of icy water when all you really want to do is stop running and eat a cheeseburger. It's not suffering. It's degradation.

So, I was surprised to see that one of my friends, a newbie-ish runner, actually braved the hellish weather on Sunday and actually ran outside. Didn't she see my posts about avoiding it via the treadmill?! I mean, if someone's like, "Wooo! Seven miles on a treadmill!" aren't you a little suspicious?

Then I remembered that every runner needs to run the gamut of terrible weather (no pun intended). You need to run on the most awful of days, and brave the harshest conditions (within reason - for safety) for a couple reasons:
1. When you're running the race you trained for, and you start to revert back into that dark, internal hole of "Fuck this shit", you can remember that you got up early, got dressed, and ran. Maybe it was raining. Maybe it felt so hot you thought you were running on the goddamned sun. Doesn't matter. You got up and did it. And if you can run on the goddamned sun, you can finish this goddamned race.

2. Until modern science proves otherwise, you can't control the weather on race day. And chances are, the weather conditions you decline to sack-up for will be the exact conditions you have to run in. Period. The summer of 2010 was like, 90 fucking degrees every day. Training was brutal. So I didn't do it. Because my logic was: my marathon is in the midwest, in October. Not a chance in hell it'll be over like, 65 degrees. It's more likely to be 40. And then the weather report in Chicago rolled out, and every day around the marathon was gorgeous, temperate 65, but marathon day was fucking NINETY. NINETY DEGREES. So now, regardless of what season my race is v. what season I'm training in, I run. Because NINETY DEGREES.

3. You need to learn what gear you own that sucks in what conditions, and what gear you better own, or you're going to be one overheated/hypothermic mofo. Lululemon pants make my butt look good, but NEVER run in the rain with them...they weigh about 91039893849 pounds all wet. Learned that at the half marathon in Central Park in a steady, soaking rain. I have 3 different weights of long sleeved shirts.  I know which sports bras I can wear for different distances before they start to chafe.

This morning I woke up to get my run in, and the weather said, "35, feels like 26, 10% chance of precipitation, wind is 14 mph SW". So I put on 2 pairs of tights, 2 heavy long sleeves, gloves, the works. And about 1/2 a mile in, it started snowing. Snowing.

So I trudged on, knowing that during whatever mile of whatever race I'm doing in Florida in 6ish weeks (!!!), when I want to stop and just have a beer instead, I can think back and say, "I fucking ran in snow. I fucking ran 7 miles - IN A ROW - on a treadmill. I can finish this race." And when my newbie friend is in the crushing, evil cold of her February half, she can think back to Sunday, when she wanted to punch the wind in it's face, but she finished nonetheless. And she'll keep on going and finish her race, too. Because let's face it: the miles aren't always that sunny, but they always do make us stronger.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The Individual Marathon. Seriously.

As I write this, I'm rolling out my sore hammy - my nice little "remember those hills during the BAA Half" souvenir. But when faced with memories of soul-crushing races, I did what any normal runner would do: I signed up for more races.

The Gobble Gobble Gobble 4 Miler, on Thanksgiving, is my next race. I love running on Thanksgiving, because it gets a race in on a non-Sunday (so it's like a forced tempo run), and it gives me the ability to absolve my 3rd piece of pie.

I also caved and signed up for the Jingle Bell 5K in December. Even though I despise 5Ks. Despise. I even think one of my 2013 resolutions was "no 5Ks". Or was it "no marathons"? It gets hard to remember this late in the year. But, I have these candy cane socks. And red under amor. Might as well put them to good use.

Then the following is what transpired in my head during one of my post-BAA recovery runs:

"A 4-miler and a 5K to close out 2013. This should be enough.

The past 2 years, I've run that 10K at St. Pete's Beach when I visit Ma 'n' Pa Boots in Florida. The course is flat and fast, and I typically place unusually well for my age/gender because...well...the South.

OK, so a 10K to kick off 2014.

Wait. 2014? I'm getting married in 2014. I also enjoy lounging on the couch/hibernating most of the end of the year...through February or March. How am I going to stay motivated to run through the New England winter? Which is when I'm going through most of my dress fittings...

Doesn't St. Pete's Beach have a half marathon, too? Maybe I'll do the 10K on Saturday and the Half on Sunday. That sounds a little nuts, but I can pop off 6 miles, and if I keep my base, I can probably swing both.

Wait. St Pete's has a 5K on Saturday, too. I think I remember there was something at the expo...maybe a hat trick? A 5K, 10K, Half? Man, that would be fucking hard but really fucking badass. I've never gone for a hat trick before! This should be rad."

So, I went to sign up for the St. Pete's hat-trick, and found out this year, they have upped the ante. Since a 5, 10 and half are so close to totally 26.2, they added a 3.8 mile beach run Saturday night. The "Individual Marathon".

What. The. Fuck.

So now, the schedule looks a little like this:
Sat 8 AM - 5K
Sat 10 AM - 10K
Sat 5 PM - 3.8 mile beach run
Sun 8 AM - Half Marathon

Somehow, 3.8 miles on the beach threw me for a loop. Running on the beach aggravates all my nagging injuries. It'll screw up my rest schedule between the Saturday AM events and the half. After all my years of Ultimate tournaments, I know the worst thing you can do to your legs is give them a bye, let them cool down, and then try to shake the cement out. What the fuck kind of distance is 3.8 miles, anyway (the math makes sense, but, come on.)?

The truth is, I'm scared of the Individual Marathon. And I like it.

I haven't been scared of a race in years. I don't even think I was scared of my first marathon, because I was too naive and excited. I mean - how do I even prepare for this? How do I train? Good luck typing, "multi-race weekend training plan" into Google. I mean, if the internet doesn't even think this is a good idea, what am I even doing?

I finally found a plan that will get me most of the way there (it's designed for the 3 races - I have to take what I can get). It involves double sessions of running (like a 4 mile AM run followed by a 3 mile PM run). I move it closer to my long run day over a span of 8 weeks, until I run my double session Saturday with my long run (10 miler) on Sunday.

So, the girl who can't even drag her sorry ass out of bed in the dark right now and run when it's 30 degrees will not only have to drag her sorry ass out of bed, but then drag her sorry ass out after work, too. Really? Really. The girl who slacks hard on marathon training plans is going to start running marathon volume (35ish miles a week) with 5 runs a week? Really?

The great thing is: I'm scared. Scared of that deep, black pain of racing when you're unprepared for a race. The agony of your brain and your legs battling about when to stop. The fear of running by Ma 'n' Pa Boots and crying out, "What the fuck was I thinking?!" (which will probably happen regardless of how much I train, really).

The fear of that pain consumes all my excuses. Every time I'm on the fence about going out for a run, I think about running 13.1 miles with a day's worth of lactic acid in my muscles because I wasn't prepared for a 10K/5K/4M. And the searing, shooting, gnawing pain, mentally and physically needed to get through this, let alone trying to get through it via half-assery. And then my running shoes are magically tied and ready to go.

I hope this motivation-by-way-of-fear lasts. I hope that my legs can sustain this beating. And I hope that I can bask in the fruits of my labors by crossing 4 finish lines in under 48 hours.