Sorry for the lack of blog action as of late. I've been too busy turning myself into a date or a prune by sweating every ounce of hydration out of my person.
Bill and I headed down to my parents' in Maryland for a large chunk of the weekend. With Storm the Shore two weeks away (shit!) we knew we had to get some training in between sleep, tailgates, Navy football and play time with the fam and the friends.
Bill is well on the mend from a foot booboo and wants to stay that way so we lugged the mountain bikes down with us to get some time in the saddle. I hadn't sat on that saddle since the finish line of the Equinox almost two months ago.
POP QUIZ:
What kind of an adventure racer am I? Circle all that apply.
A) The awesome kind.
B) The short kind.
C) The lazy kind.
I know you leaned toward A but, in fact, the correct answer is both B and C.
We headed down to a small park about 20 minutes south of my parents' digs near Annapolis. Only one real trail -- a 9.5 mile loop. We thought it would be boring and, based by the quality of the riders and bikes in the parking lot when we rolled into the park bright and early I was worried I was in for a day of hot mess technicality.
Instead, an awesome roller coaster of buttery single track, some short climbs, tight turns and only a few rocks and roots. I always forget that the Wissahickon, my usual riding spot, is one of the more technical spots to bike within a few hundred miles.
It was pretty stellar. We did a lap and a half and then found ourselves unable to stay away from the awesome -- we headed back to the park the next day for a few more hours of riding.
Bill likes to mountain bike, a lot. He also happens to be pretty good at it -- pushing the pace and the more technical, the better. This park was a bit beneath the technical junk he prefers so we decided to make the ride a bit more of a challenge for the both of us. I'd get an 8-minute head start on the first lap and then the last one to the end had to buy gas and Wawa hoagies to get us through the ride back to Philly.
I was off, zooming the best that I could up and around switchbacks, through tight turns, wedging between trees and splashing through a few streams. I could ride the whole thing -- only had to unclip when I'd go around a turn to find another rider zooming right toward me.
So yeah, I suck at mountain biking. Just past the half-way point I heard someone come up behind me, fast. It was Bill. We rode together for about two miles and then he was off, making it to the parking lot almost 20 minutes faster than I did.
I was a drippy, muddy, sweaty mess as we sat in the parking lot for a few before heading out on the trail again. Sweating so much that the sweat was actually rinsing off the mud on my legs. How damn nasty is that?
My new bike shoe make my feet look extra gigantic!
We rolled back to Philly at around 9 p.m. and I was up again at 8 to meetAbby for a longer trail run in the Wissahickon. As we chatted about whether our run counted as marathon or adventure race training, my new found obsession with The Hunger Gamesand whether we should really try to race the Philly marathon or just make sure we cross the finish line I found myself basically melting.
My entire person turned to sweat. I had a small pack on with about 60 ounces of water that I was chugging. It might have been more efficient just to dump the water directly onto my person. Every few minutes I'd grab the sides of my shirt and wring them out, sweat leaving a trail behind me. My hair looked like I'd gotten caught in a downpour. My shoelaces were so drippy they started whipping my ankles as I meandered along the trail. Blisters? I got them on my feet, thanks to the fact that my socks were so wet that I wrung them out when I got home.
How effing disgusting is that? On a scale of 1 to 10, please leave your score in a comment. Personally, I think it's a 9.
I don't weigh myself a lot, maybe a few times a year to make sure I don't have a tapeworm or that I haven't secretly been eating Big Macs and tubs of Crisco in my sleep, so I am not entirely sure what I weigh at any given point in time. But, I hopped on the scale once I got home from our 17.5 nasty (and, for me, sort of painful) trail miles.
I weighed 2 points less than I ever have in my adult life.
Not good. Kidneys, I apologize. Heart, I apologize to you, too.
I spent several hours sipping on blue-flavored Powerade, lemonade-flavored Nuun, water and chocolate milk. I never felt entirely terrible or death-like -- I just felt like the most dehydrated person in the tri-state area.
When I got on the scale this morning I'd put on five pounds. I felt fine today -- not sore, not dehydrated, not particularly tired, so I guess I didn't do any real damage.
On Saturday I laughed so amazingly hard during my run. Absolutely the hardest I've ever laughed while running. The hardest I have laughed in months. Wait, that's a lie. The other night Bill and I almost drowned in our tears of laughter thanks to this:
Anyway, on Saturday I was running in the park, plugging along at a relatively hard effort, clomping along on some double-wide trails. A girl and a guy were walking along a bit in front of me. I got closer and closer, sounding like a herd of elephants breathing like a herd of Darth Vaders. I was loud. I got closer to them and, as I was just a few feet behind him, "On your left."
The woman spun around and, at this point, was about three inches from my face.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!," she screamed.
Not expecting this reaction, I became scared to death so I joined in.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!," I yelled.
They hadn't heard me, and my apparent ninja self, coming down the trail. And I scared the crap out of them. And then they returned the favor.
"I thought you were going to stab me," the girl said.
"I am not a stabber, I promise!" Really, lady, it is the city and all, but even I don't live in that kind of fear.
And then I started laughing and laughing. And they did too. I laughed so hard I had to sit on a rock so I didn't tip off the side of the trail.
Eventually we were all on our way. I spent the rest of my run yelling "On your left!" the second anyone came into view. Scaring two souls in one run is enough.
The race ended up going a bit better than I anticipated, so here's how I trained just in case you want to know.
ALERT: I have done one 50k and didn't really know what I was doing. So please don't actually think that anything below comes from anyone with actual knowledge of running or the distance, okay?
About 90 percent of my training was done on trails that I am fortunate to live near. This turned out to be amazingly helpful on race day because the course was similar to what I trained on and gave me a bit of a confidence boost.
I decided that since I am Garminless and not much of a gadget person that my training would be done primarily by time instead of mileage. About 2 1/2 months out I started focusing more on running than mountain biking. I was at the tail end of training for a longer adventure race so this wasn't ideal but I didn't care.
For about six weeks I'd run between 7 and 9 hours a week. Usually a two-a-day on Monday, an hour on Tuesday, 90 minutes on Wednesday, another two-a-day on Thursday, an hour on Friday and then two to three hours on Saturday followed by an easy 30-minute run on Sunday.
As race day got closer I worked up to about 12 hours a week with long runs a minimum of three hours with a longest run of just over 5 hours. I didn't taper too much. I am sure there's a helpful science to the taper but I find myself eating too much and getting too nervous when I seriously taper. The week before the race my long run was about 90 minutes and I did a few more hours over the course of the week.
One thing that I was picky about was gear. I used my race-day hydration pack (the Nathan Intensity vest) constantly, for every run. I even wore it to work. Except I didn't. I switched between two pairs of Cascadias and raced with the newer pair and I only ate and drank what I knew would be available to me on race day.
In summary, I ran a shit-ton and didn't try anything new on race day.
Real specific, right? Ha, I guess this post is just as useless as the last one after all.
Where was I? Somewhere in the woods around mile 10, I guess.
I ran and ran, and smiled and smiled. Suddenly, a crowd! The aid station at mile 12.4 was just ahead and it was packed. I heard someone yelling my name from far away. Genny! I told her I'd probably wear a grey shirt and orange shorts and she managed to spot me from about 100 yards away. I was impressed.
Maybe I should have used more energy to run and less to smile.
She had Gatorade! And, even more importantly, she had Skittles. Lots and lots of Skittles. I stuffed several dozen of them into my cheeks. So amazingly delicious! The rainbow of fruit flavors never tasted so good. Maybe Skittles will sponsor me.
I was like this hamster, only slightly taller and with less fur. And with Skittles instead of Cheerios.
And then, just ahead, stuffing his face almost as quickly as I was, was Red Shirt! I grabbed some peanut M&Ms and sprinted (ok, shuffled) off, figuring I'd put him behind me for good. He continued to scarf down snacks as I ran past.
The route took us to a slow, wide, gravel climb. We'd merged with the 50 milers by this point so I actually had people to attempt to pass and to run away from. After a steep descent we squeezed onto the narrowest of trails with a rock wall on one side and a drop into water on the other. This part was an out-and-back so we all channeled our inner mountain goats as we tiptoed through carefully in attempt to keep our own footing without smooshing runners on their way back off the trail. Most people were kind and there was more "excuse me please, thank you, you go ahead, have fun, top of the morning to you, don't fall, good job, hooray for you" than pushing and shoving. Nice!
A few meters later I found myself at the 15.1-mile aid station. I couldn't believe I was half-way done, right where the Mom and Dad were supposed to be. Uh oh. I checked my watch and realized that I was about 50 minutes ahead of schedule. I told them I'd be there at about the 3 1/2 hour mark and I was only about 2 hours and 40 minutes in. Hmm. Do I wait? What if I never see them again? What if they get here and think the course has eaten me alive and start to worry?
Then Red Shirt pulled into the aid station right next to me, gulped down some water and sprinted back the way we came. I hesitated for a moment and then took off after him.
This part of the course was my favorite. We worked our way almost all of the way back to the aid station where Genny was before veering off up a long, technical climb. The race directors apparently imported every rock in the East Coast to this part of the course. It was more of a scramble than a run and I chose my footing carefully as the route rose well above the river.
The view at the top probably was spectacular but I didn't get a chance to look around. People were everywhere. The entire population of the D.C. metro area apparently decided to spend the gorgeous Saturday morning at the top of this trail and I used up a bit of patience waiting for hikers, their cigarettes and their miniature pot-bellied pigs (ok, I only saw one pot-bellied pig, but isn't that one too many?) to move to the side to let runners through.
I worked my way up and over the climb and found myself back at the 12.4 mile mark that had magically morphed into the 19-mile mark. There was Genny! Holding more Skittles! Really, she's sort of the best. She told me that my parents had just left that spot, confused as to where I was and where they were supposed to find me. I chowed down on more glorious Skittles and some Pringles while she called my parents who were, fortunately, still in the parking lot. They hopped out of their car and ran over to the trail.
"You just ran 19 miles!" my Dad said.
"You sort of smell," said my Mom. "But you look happy! And you aren't bleeding like a lot of the other people going by, so you have that going for you. And you are going faster than you thought you would!"
I waved and told them I'd see them at the finish. It was right around the corner after all, wasn't it? Only 12 miles to go. Easy.
Except not so much. I realized that I essentially had a half-marathon to go and that suddenly seemed very, very far. And Red Shirt was so far ahead. And sweat was stinging my eyes. And the next aid station was 7 miles away. And I no longer had the fun part of Dog Days Are Over stuck in my head. Instead, on repeat, I had the part where she slowly wails like this: IIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiyeyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee nnnnayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ooweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yoweeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Terrible.
And I still had 11 miles to go. My hands started tingling. I looked at my fingers, swollen, red, shiny and disgusting. I flapped them around a bit like that was going to get the fluid out. I realized I looked ridiculous and started to giggle.
"My fingers look like Snausages," I thought, and started to laugh. Hard. So hard that tears came out. I couldn't see where I was going. "Oh my God, what if my fingers actually turn into Snausages?" I was clearly a bit dehydrated, my electrolytes were a bit off -- marathon brain was starting to kick in.
Somewhere in a part of my brain that should have remained covered in cobwebs there was this:
Snausages replaced Florence and The Machines in my head. Dear God. What's wrong with me? Snausages? I've never even had a dog.
I continued on and started to feel a bit better, fortunately. That was the only time I felt low during the entire race. About five people passed me, including two women. Marathoners started to pass me on their way out on the course. Fifty-milers started to pass me as they drove toward the finish, holding a pace that I'd be happy to keep on an on-road 13.1. But I felt fine and decided to pay attention to myself instead of the people passing me. And slowly I began to reel in people ahead of me. Not a ton of people but I passed more than passed me over the last 10k.
I walked a few steep climbs, ran the descents and the flats. I stared at my feet, glancing up only occasionally. And then, A SNAKE! A DAMN SNAKE. Not a big one -- maybe two feet long, skinny and green. "I don't want to ever see any more snakes ever again!," I yelled out loud to no one. Apparently snakes don't read my blog and therefore don't know that I hate them.
The trail zigged and zagged and I finally found myself at the aid station at mile 25.5. I ate and drank as much as I could as quickly as I could and was on my way, passing a few people in the process. I was mostly staring at my feet, making sure that I didn't trip over anything or, more importantly, step on a snake.
I'd glance up every so often to make sure I wasn't about to slam into a tree -- something red off in the distance. Red Shirt! There he was, about 100 yards ahead. And he was going nowhere. In fact, he was barfing into a bush while hopping around grabbing his calf with a cramp.
Hmm. What to do? Ok, I really gave it no thought whatsoever. "Man, that sucks!," I said. "The aid station is only about a quarter-mile behind, you should probably go back."
The place for me in hell gets more and more special every day. I ran on, glancing over my shoulder a few times to make sure Red Shirt wasn't sneaking up again. I could see him off in the distance but he never caught up.
Wahoo! Me: 1, Red Shirt: 0.
Skipped the last aid station with 2.5 miles left to go. For a second that seemed like an obscene amount of distance to cover. I slowed to a walk for a few steps and then realized I would rather run.
I checked my watch. Five hours 15 minutes with a bit more than two miles to go. I couldn't believe it. I'd been nervous about not meeting my goal of 7: 12. And I'd loved every step. I never hit the wall. I started to, but, thanks to Snausages, I manged to bust through it. I thought about how, in road marathons, miles 22 until 26 have always been basically unfun. 50ks, where have you been all my life?
My feet hit the flat paved trail leading to the finish line. A volunteer told me I had less than 400 meters to go. Really? I picked up the pace, smiling. A lot. I broke through a small cluster of trees and the crowd was yelling. My parents and Genny should really be Laker Girls or something -- they are pros at cheering.
Genny took a picture of my Mom taking my picture. Except
Mom managed to miss me, somehow, and took a picture
of the grass instead.
Notice Genny is actually near me and my Mom
is several feet away. Apparently I stunk.
What's more awesome, my hairdo or my crooked race number?
I was going to crop out a lot of the grass and zoom
in on myself but then I realized my eyes are closed
and that my hat is weirdly balanced on the top of my head.
I ran across the line and looked around, grinning like a dork. 5:35:53, good enough for 12th female out of 105 and 63rd out of 332 overall. Fine by me.
I tend to exaggerate, a lot. But, sincerely, I think this might have been my favorite race ever. Possibly better than Boston, better than New York, as rewarding as 24-hour adventure races. The fact that it was well-organized and that the course was gorgeous didn't hurt either. Good race shirt, arm warmers ... the stuff given out cost as much as the entry fee. Well-stocked aid stations, a course so well-marked that even I didn't get lost. A very good introduction to the 50k distance, to say the least.
I might sell my bikes, give away my adventure racing gear and throw out my road shoes -- I am thinking I might spend the rest of my racing life running 50k after 50k.
The North Face Endurance Challenge Washington D.C. 50k (fortunately the whole name wasn't on the race shirt ... would have taken up the whole thing) was sort of fantastic. I want to do it again immediately.
I've never been less stressed before a race, ever. I had to work a full day on Friday. And the day was sort of crazy. As I was running around the job attempting to help eliminate some of the crazy I kept thinking the following thought: "This time tomorrow I will be running 31 miles. All at once. Hopefully. And instead of getting ready I am dealing with (insert a crazy situation of your choice here)."
Finally it was time to go.
The ride to Northern Virginia took forever and ever. Traffic in that area is so amazingly terrible. If there was ever a World Championship of Tailgating I am absolutely certain that some bobo from NoVa would win. Anyway, I finally pulled into the hotel just as my Mom and Dad did. I think they were more nervous than I was. My lack of nervousness almost made me anxious. I packed up a small bag, mapped out where my parents would meet me along the course (at the 15.1 mile mark) and I slept like a lump.
We made our way to the 7 a.m. start about an hour early. There were six races over the course of the weekend (50 miles, 50k, marathon, marathon relay, 13.1, 10k and 5k) and the 50-miler wackadoos had started two hours earlier.
The morning was beautiful -- a bit on the cool side and the misty Potomac River made a sweet backdrop to the 332 runners preparing for the day ahead. Basically my own personal playlist of running favorites was being pumped through a sound system. What a great morning!
Then I made the mistake of looking around. The crowd was amazingly fit. Lots of muscles and little fat -- I felt lumpy and slow and I hadn't even made it to the start line yet. Great! Nerves started to kick in. What if I am last? What if I don't finish? What if I hate it? What am I doing? Do I have to pee again?
We were called to the start line right on time. And then it was time for Dean Karnazes to officially kick off the race. So not necessary. Just let us run. I am sort of not a fan -- a few years ago I only made it through the first few pages of his book before I began to gag a bit. But, the dude can absolutely run far quickly.
Feeling pensive, lumpy and slow.
The Machine and I listening to Dean Karnazes yammer.
Do you know he just finished running from L.A. to New York?
I do because he mentioned it about 8 billion times.
At least the guy seems to like his job.
I lined up toward the back of the pack figuring that if I DNFed it would be on my own terms, not because I was trampled out of the gate. We were suddenly off -- no start gun, no ready set go -- the crowd just started moving forward. Or maybe I was just too far in the back to hear what was happening. I waved at my Mom and Dad and the field trickled across the start line.
Play Where's Waldo with this picture. But instead of finding Waldo find Laurie.
The first mile or so was around a flat field and then onto a wide gravel trail. I was keeping a comfortable pace and slowly worked my way past a bunch of runners. The course turned left and after another mile or so the single track started. And so did some shoving and pushing. Grr. It wasn't terrible and I tried to stay out of the way but a few people were bloodied by falls before we were 30 minutes in.
Eventually the crowd began to thin out and I found myself in the company of only one other person. We talked a bit (it was her first 50k too) until she took off like she'd been shot out of a cocaine-fueled rocket. She ended up coming in 5th, I think. What an overachiever.
I was all alone in the woods and I was loving it. I slowly worked my way up the first climb -- it was short, but it was steep and lead to a screaming downhill. I let it run and hoped I wasn't beating up my legs too badly too early on. At the bottom I actually passed a few people and started to feel not entirely incompetent. I stuffed handfuls of chips and M&Ms into my face at the second aid station (I'd skipped the first) and continued on my way.
The time ticked by and I felt like I wasn't working amazingly hard but I didn't want to push it, either. I didn't want to STB in the first 10 miles and have a miserable time for the remaining 21. Gus, Shot Blocks and Stinger Waffles, Peanut M&Ms and water fueled my way. It got a bit hilly but, fortunately, reminded me of the terrain in Wissahickon Park. The hills were similar to those I'd trained on but with fewer rocks and roots most of the time. Hooray!
On my way down one hill footsteps came up behind me, fast. "Passing on your right!," the runner behind me yelled. We were on 2-foot-wide singletrack with a sort of serious drop off to the left. I didn't feel like falling off a cliff so I didn't move, I just picked up the pace. Plus who the hell passes on the right? Apparently the a-hole in a red shirt flicking sweat all over the place right behind me does.
The hill leveled off and I pulled over to let him pass. Red Shirt got in front of me and basically slowed to a walk. Sir, please know that I wanted to beat you with sticks at that point. We were dumped to on a flat fire road and I took off, hoping to never see him again, ever. Except I didn't push hard enough and he did the exact same thing on the next downhill. Instead of telling him he was being a weiner I decided to be passive-aggressive and vowed to myself that I would absolutely finish before him. Except just as I had that thought he decided to sprint away and I soon lost sight of him.
Well, shit. And then, actual shit. Horse poop everywhere. It was unavoidable and I was mostly amused and partially disgusted. That's when I got a song stuck in my head, a song that would stay there for the rest of the race. Thankfully, I liked the song -- Dog Days Are Over by Florence and the Machine. Most of the time what was stuck was the part that goes like this: "The horses are coming, so you better run."
Ok, Flo, I will. I picked up the pace a bit. A shoutout to the horse poop for triggering my race inspiration. I actually started to feel sort of great. I had no idea what mile I was at -- six, eight, ten? I had no idea what my pace was either. I just knew I wasn't even close to being done. Fine by me because, Red Shirt aside, I was loving my day so far.
The giant mug of red wine I decided to have with my dinner of Cheerios and mac & cheese (they weren't in the same bowl) and two days of waking up before 6 a.m. are knocking me out. Plus this post is already too long. Plus I have to go try and get my race shoes to stink less before the entire house smells like mud and feet and funk. So you will just have to come back for the exciting conclusion.
I need to find races that start at midnight -- I am terrible at going to bed early. It's about 11:15 right now and the 50k starts in 8 hours. I am wide awake. Twenty minutes ago I was tired but now that its actually time to sleep, not so much.
My Mom and Dad and my friend Genny who I have basically known since the dawn of time (or, the first day of 5th grade) are nice people and are thus coming to cheer me on and throw Pringles and Stinger Waffles in my general direction. Genny is doing the half that is part of the race series on Sunday so of course I am going to stick around and return the favor, so its two nights at the scenic Hampton Inn in Dulles, Virginia, for me.
Genny ran my first-ever half-marathon with me almost 10 years ago. The race was the Philadelphia Distance Run (which was unfortunately sold to the Rock and Roll franchise a year or two ago meaning that a fun local race that used to cost $40 is now a giant monstrosity that costs $110 and features a Poison cover band at the finish line). That race was the Sunday after September 11, 2001. More than a handful of runners who registered for the race died that Tuesday ands what I remember most about the start was that, instead of a starting gun, the mayor of the city read the names of those runners.
Anyway, we finished a bit under two hours and I loved every step. A few days later, inspired by Genny and prodded by Bill, I registered for the Philadelphia Marathon, my first.
And it only took me 9 1/2 years to up the distance again. I wonder how it is going to go. I have no idea how long it is going to take, what the crowd will be like, how I will hold up. I'd like to finish in less than 7:12, the average finishing time from last year, but I have no hard goals other than to, hopefully, cross the finish line.
I think my parents know what to expect even less than me -- three of the aid stations are crewed so I've packed a bit of stuff for my parents to haul around for me.
"Are you going to want to talk to us?" asked my Mom.
"Uh, I don't know," I responded.
"Will you just run by real fast and grab stuff?"
"No, I think I will probably stop and eat a bit, I guess. I really don't know."
"I don't know either."
My Mom, not a morning person, seemed a little less horrified about the prospect of waking up at 4:50 in the morning when I told her that I'd likely slow down enough to actually say hello and that I'd actually be easy to find as the distance is capped at about 300 runners. Not the usual "Where's Waldo" that my parents have become used to when spectating at some of the more massive road races I've done.
Ok, time to sleep now. Or time to watch "Say Yes To the Dress." I love hotels, they have cable. We get five stations at home.
I always thought I hated snakes but never really had an encounter with one to prove my theory. Until Monday. Bill and I went for a rather warm run in Yellow Creek State Park. The run started out fine for the first 12 seconds or so. Bill led the way and I was about 4 or 5 yards behind.
And then he yelled "Snake!" and jumped to the side. Before I even saw what he was talking about I apparently jumped in the air 88 billion times. "The less time I spend on the ground the less chance I have of actually touching the snake," I told myself as I jumped and jumped.
After I started jumping slightly less I remembered I had my iPod so we could time our run and also video any rogue snakes we stumbled upon.
Seriously, the thing was about five feet long. And scary. And it hated me and wanted to eat me, I just know it. I sort of wanted to punch it in the face but I try to be kind to nature and the snake was, after all, just being a snake. Hanging out, enjoying her Memorial Day, probably hustling down the trail to get to a barbeque, planning on having a few beers, maybe set off some fireworks.
But seriously, snake, please never come near me ever again.
Fortunately the rest of the running I did while visiting Bill in the boonies were uneventful and snake-free.
Actually, the title of this post should be "How to Train for a 50k?"
With 3 1/2 weeks to go until my first 50k I just now, as in, uh, five seconds ago, realized I have no idea how I am supposed to be training. For road marathons I spend hours coming up with an exact training schedule with tempo runs, track workouts with explicit rules and spits and long runs that I refuse to deviate from.
A 50k trail race, though? I've basically just been running. A lot. Before work, after work. Both. I am either getting ready to run, running, showering after a run or doing laundry thanks to the piles of nasty running clothing I seem to be producing by the ton. I am hoping to hit between 55 and 60 miles this week and then gradually work my way back down until it's time to race.
So far I've been liking the training. I generally run alone in the park but thanks to a recent attack on a woman I've had company for all of my trail runs. Having people to chat with and/or to push the effort is doing wonders for my mental health and my pace. Go figure.
I've been doing one or two road runs a week at what feels like a 10k pace in attempt to keep a bit of speed in my legs but otherwise I have no plan other than to get up early and run. And if the real world doesn't get in the way run again after work. And to avoid booboos and over-use injuries along the way.
Anyone else have any 50k experience or have any ideas of what I should be doing for my last few weeks of training?
Unrelated: I am addicted to this game.Best worst timesuck ever.
On our way home from a weekend trip to Maryland this weekend we swung by Susquehanna State Park for a few hours on the trails.
The change of scenery was sort of nice -- the river one one side, woods or open fields on the other. As an added bonus trails were rated much the way ski trails are -- green circles for easy trails, blue squares for intermediate and double black diamonds for the most difficult. We kept expecting to find ourself dangling off the edge of a cliff but no such luck.
Plus a large portion of one of the trails smelled like feet and/or Italian cheese.
Good exercise, though, and Bill had to read a trail map, hopefully dusting off his navigation brain for the Rev3 that is in, like, three seconds. As an added bonus it was supposed to snow and rain all day but instead it was sunny and 40 degrees. Hooray!
Bill didn't let me slow down enough to
take a proper picture.
This week was supposed to be a low week for adventure race training -- I've been trying for a minimum of 12 hours a week for the past month. This week looked like it would be closer to 9 hours -- I knew I wouldn't be heading out for a long trail run or ride after Sunday's duathlon, meaning that my usual 3 or 4 hours on Sunday would be cut in half and I knew that Monday wouldn't amount to much training-wise as I had to be at work early and stay late.
But, fortunately, my brain decided to step up to the plate this week. I got in a quick ab and lifting session on Monday, managed to drag my non-morning ass out of bed on Tuesday for a 45-minute trail run. I'd planned on getting home from work, having a beer or two, flopping around the interwebs and having dinner with Bill, but had an unanticipated bout of motivation when I got home and headed to the trainer for an easy 45-minute ride that quickly turned into a 120-minute ride when I decided to stay on the bike.
On Wednesday morning a 16-mile trail run with Abby was penned in. However, the weather, and our own ideas of what constituted sane training, prevailed. Instead of hitting the trails, my family room looked like this at 6:30 in the morning:
Half of our six bikes in the family room -- one for Bill
to ride after work (hiding in the back), one for me,
one for Abby.
Fortunately I don't have to go into detail about the three hours Abby and I spent on the trainer as she did it here.
For the rest of the day my legs felt a bit lazy but I was satisfied with getting in a decent chunk of time on the bike, even if it was on the trainer.
Bill fled from me before the crack of dawn on Thursday -- a 9 a.m. flight to Clearwater for Phillies spring training, a.k.a. an excuse for a bachelor party. I was half-nice and drove him to the train station that would take him to the airport, as opposed to being all nice and taking him the entire way to the airport. On the way back I ditched the car a few miles from home and headed into Wissahickon Park for what I'd hoped would be a 90-minute run -- thanks to Monday's long day I could afford to go in a bit late to work.
The weather was pretty much fantastic (mid-40s, sunshine), the park was empty (except for a few bulldozers sadly digging up a trail for no reason I could figure out) and I was pissed I had to eventually make my way to work.
After chowing down on some newfound electrolyte chew thingies for breakfast (they were sort of delicious, sort of worked and I sort of should have paid attention to what I was eating because I tossed the empty package at the first trashcan I ran past... no idea what brand or what flavor) and falling into a steady pace I glanced at my watch and realized that I was more than 45 minutes in. A fun time was being had by all so I decided to skip cooking an actual real breakfast at home in exchange for an extra half-hour running.
Ready for rocks and water. Also I think
I am wearing two different socks.
Most of the trails were in sweet soft shape because of the rain the day before and my legs actually felt less tierd and more energetic as I continued on. The iPod shuffle gods were in tune with my mindset and kept presenting happy morningtime songs as the minutes and miles ticked by.
One section, however, had been particularly drenched by the rains the day before and had decided to cease being a trail and start being a river, giving me the chance to splash around before making my way back to the car. I tried not to run anything over as I zoomed home, repaced the planned-for omelet with a glass of milk and made it to work at an acceptable time.
Following two days of multi-houred weekday training sessions, this run completely reminded me that I like training for hours. I love running on trails, slowly feeling stronger, climbing into bed before midnight and actually being tired. I also freakin' love running with an iPod that takes pictures with a poke of the finger
Happy Wednesday. I have two things to share that will drastically change the course of your life.
Thing One: I finally got new trail runners. I took a mental health day from work yesterday and after Bill and I finished an out-and-back on our road bikes (and in the sunshine) we stopped at the Bryn Mawr Running Company, located not in Bryn Mawr but in Philadelphia, of course.
I recognized the owner/guy who helped me find shoes right away -- he'd helped my friendKate try on every pair of shoe for sale at the expo for the Philadelphia Half Marathon/Distance Run/Rock N Roll/Whatever It Is Called Now. She must have tried on 15 pairs of shoes and he was helpful, nice and patient. I am a sucker for good customer service so I remembered him.
I tried on no less than 787 pairs of shoes and finally settled on -- drumroll, please -- another pair of Brooks Cascadias. The new version seems to have eliminated the gripes I have with the older version I've been running in for the past few months. The recycled laces on the old pair are tubular and come untied if I looked at them weird, blinked or took a step. I ended up locking them closed with plastic clamps to keep them from coming undone -- a bit of a pain in the ass. The new pair, however, still have recycled laces (yay, Earth) but they are flat and, miracle, stay tied!
The new shoes also have a wider tongue and strategically placed eyelets equating to a snugger fit -- the old ones always felt a bit shifty. Wore them on my hill repeat trail run today and they felt decent. Plus the running store dude gave me a 10 percent discount. Sweet, because once I settled on the Cascadias I briefly contemplated ordering them online from REI to take advantage of Bill's discount but I knew that would be a dick move. And the running store dude's move ensured that I will be back there whenever REI doesn't have what I am looking for.
Thing two: My cat Vivian likes to eat spinach. I think he is a vegetarian at heart. Whenever I am making anything with spinach, which is a lot of the time (best vegetable ever) he is all over it like it's a raw, juicy hunk of slimy fish. Weirdo.
Sunday marked my first race of the year --the Chilly Cheeks 7.2-mile trail run in random Reading, Pennsylvania, also known as the land of sloppy, messy trail runs that occur rain, sleet, snow, shine, hail, plague or locusts.
We woke up to 20 degrees and sun and bundled in too many layers before making the hour drive to the Reading Liederkranz. The first time we came to a race here, we thought they were kidding. On the side of a hill in the middle of nowhere is a 125-year-old members-only club that celebrates all things German through singing, beer, dancing and bratwurst. And, logically, through all things trail running.
A giant German Apline mustachioed beer stein for
your viewing pleasure. A two-year-old could take
a bath in this thing.
In addition to an established schedule of four annual trail runs, the Liederkranz became home to a 12-hour ultra in 2010. Finish a lap? Get a German beer. A mix of serious runners (I think the winner last year did 75 miles, although I could be making that up) and people who ran for an hour and then dropped. I am considering adding this to my 2011 race calendar.
Anyway, as for Chilly Cheeks, I had zero goals (what can I say, I am ambitious) other than to finish without booboos and to get in a solid training run to start to prep for a spring season of a longer race or two (hopefully).
It was cold, but not bitter, so I shed a few layers just before heading to the start line. Bungeed my old Yacktrax to my trail runners (I think I've officially run the trax into the ground … might be time for something different) and kept on a pair of thick mittens. This turned out to be one of the smarter race decisions I’ve made.
Does he look ready to go, or what?
Squinty in the sunshine, pre-race.
We stood around freezing at the start for a while and then, eventually, we were off. The first 100 yards were downhill on road. Clacking and tapping of Yacktrax and Microspikes cut through the quiet and then took a sharp right and began bushwacking up a steep hill. Chaos! Fun! This race was billed as being both manageable because it’s not too long and tough in terms of terrain. The bushwack certainly proved the later as several hundred runners picked and pulled their way up the 50 yards of unblazed course.
Two seconds in I realized that the line I was on was filled with sticks covered in thorns. All around me people were dropping F bombs and worse as they grabbed onto the nasty pricks in hopes of pulling their way to the top. I, however, had mittens of magic and was thus able to yank myself up the hill without uttering even an “Oh, gee whiz” as my fingers remained thorn-free.
At the top there was a quick sprint through a field and then we were dumped onto some narrow singletrack. Fortunately I was in the right group of people pace-wise – I don’t think I could have passed anyone and it didn’t seem like anyone was breathing down my neck to pass me. We wound around for a bit before hitting what felt like a monster climb. Managed to run the whole way but my lungs started to burn a bit from the biting cold. We had been warned before the race that the downhills would be harder than the uphills. As we hit the first real decent I, unlike some of the people around me who tried to bomb down and soon found themselves faceplanting and sliding into trees, decided to play it conservatively and slowly picked my way down the snow-covered rocks and roots.
On and on we went. I passed a few, got passed by a few and I knew that my pace sucked (I still haven’t accepted the fact that a trail running pace isn’t the same as a road-running pace) but I couldn’t go any faster and everything was starting to hurt.
There were a lot of sharp turns, tight, tight singletrack (hardly wide enough for one person between some of the trees) and tons of slipping and sliding. People would topple over, laugh, get up and keep on going.
Eventually we hit a steep downhill. In good conditions I think it would have been tough to pick my way down while remaining upright. In snow and ice, I thought it would be nearly impossible. So, I sat on the top of the hill, pushed off and, with my magic mittens steering me along, glissaded Laurie-style to the bottom. It worked, mostly – hit a rock or several and now have a bruise or two in places inappropriate to photograph and post on a blog.
I was in a group of entertaining people taking the race seriously enough to push each other but normal enough to have fun. We encouraged each other along and helped each other up as we slipped along.
Suddenly a conch shell horn blew through the Reading hills, letting us know that we were close to the finish. We sprinted across a field, ducked under a guardrail (well, I ducked, everyone else around me was tall so they went over it) and then scrambled up some rocks and junk before a flat sprint to the finish.
I got passed by a woman 15 yards from the finish. Grr. My time was slower than my personal worst 10-mile time on a course 2.8 miles shorter. But the whole thing was so damn entertaining, silly, challenging and worth it that I couldn’t care (much) less.
They gave us pancakes, eggs and coffee at the finish and then we headed inside for beers and banjos.
Rocks and junk. And magic mittens. And a lady who looks like she wants
to punch me.
Instead of punching, she passed me.
The top says "Where 'Coldplay' isn't just a lame band."
Plus nekkid cartoon man running. I will wear it to church.
A post-race beer tastes better than a post-race medal.
Banjo! Guitars!
How random. How fun. A perfect way to start to 2011 racing.
I don’t have anything else officially on the schedule for this year yet. Two longer events penciled in (I hope to put them down in pen soon) for March and April but I am still looking for something that fits into February. We are now going to be away for the race I had my eye on the last weekend of the month and I haven’t found anything else yet that looks fun enough to pay for.
After putzing around the house for most of the morning I headed out for some hill repeats followed by a few trail miles. The hill repeats turned into just a hill repeat -- I'd forgotten what a monster this hill was. Hadn't been on it for repeats in probably 6 or 7 years. When I first started running my roommate at the time would drag me to the bottom of the hill and make me run up it five times. It was terrible. I hated every second of it. But, it got me in decent shape fast.
I've been pretty lumpy since the New York Marathon and am now getting back into training mode so to the hill it was. I lasted through two repeats. My legs felt great, my heart rate felt fine (what do I know, though, I don't use a monitor) but my lungs felt like they were turning to ice. It sort of hurt and I gave up after two before ducking into the trails for a few miles.
I wasn't expecting to see snow! Apparently Philly got a few inches on Friday or Saturday. I was away so I missed it actually falling and by the time I got back to the city the streets and sidewalks were clear so I didn't realize it had snowed.
Snow? Yay!
Snow makes me smile.
I had fun slipping up the uphills, sliding down the downhills and crunching along the flats. One tiny drainage stream that is usually nothing more than a glorified puddle actually had a little something to it so I found myself completing the last two miles with sopping wet, chilly feet. I am not sold on Goretex trail runners so I guess this is what I get.
Supposedly more snow is coming mid-week. I think I might suck it up and head to REI tomorrow night for snowshoes and/or cross-country skis.
Also, I just registered for my first race of the year, a 7.2 mile slog through the trails of Reading, Pa. I've never done this specific race before but therace company usually puts on runs that are challenging, silly and fun. I am glad to have something officially on the calendar. Actually, I think this run will be the earliest in the year I have ever raced. I am not remotely in race shape but hopefully this will help me start to get there.
I don't have a year-end total of how many miles I've run, how fast/slow I have gone, average heart rate or elevation gain. I did take pictures from time to time though. 2010 was a pretty good year for me in terms of playing outside...
On New Year's Day I watched Bill bobsled ...
... and then followed it up with a cross-country ski.
The next day we skied at Lake Placid. Year is off to a lovely start.
I slogged to the finish of the Boston Marathon with a smile on my face.
Marshmallows outside of a ...
...tipi! We celebrated our second anniversary in style.
My best cheerleader (although my mom and dad are pretty good too)...
...cheered me on to a solid finish at a beach duathlon.
My brother-in-law Kevin did the tri. Had a successful day as he didn't have to be rescued from the ocean like many of the athletes did.
Followed one duathlon with another. Did OK but, thanks to my beer gut, the chick behind me here passed me in the last half-mile.
