Thursday, September 16, 2010

Half-Marathon PR and...19 Miles

We're now in week 'blah blah blah' of marathon training. Yep, I still have no clue how long I've been training. I just train. I do what my coach tells me to do, as I curse under my breath and keep truckin' away. It's been quite an adventure so far, full of misery, pain, and...a PR!

I ran in Waterloo this past weekend for the annual Park to Park Half Marathon. Multiple running buddies had mentioned this race as 'THE' half marathon to do, as it really caters to runners. Sunny, 60 degrees, and FLAT as a buttermilk pancake. Excellent race support. A true 'runner's race.' Perfect conditions to PR. And PR I did. I finally broke my 1:50 shadow; that thing has been following me around for a too long (out, damned spot)...! I barely made it (1:49:47 to be exact), but I did. And I celebrated with a bagel and a six-ounce beer. No Twinkies could be found at the finish line this time. And then we drove home to watch the Iowa Hawkeyes show why they're the 'only football team in the state' (I *heart* Adrian Clayborn, but not in a creepy way like that stalker he had last year).

While I would've LOVED to take it easy this week, I had to get in 19 miles this morning. This is a run I usually do on Saturday mornings, but I'm flying to New Orleans this weekend. And I'm not about to do a 19-mile training run in a foreign land. I can handle shorter distances when I'm visiting unfamiliar territory, but 19 miles is pushin' it. So. I took this morning off from work (I think my work colleagues already suspect that I'm a little nutty, anyway). And I got in 19 SLOW miles of pain, misery, tight shoulders/neck (what up with that, kidz?), and Chocolate Outrage Gu (YUM).

Did I mention that it hurt? And that I just wanted to go home and fall asleep to the b*tch slaps of the Real Housewives of D.C.?

I marched on. I wanted to call it quits at mile 13, but I also wanted to get in this mother flippin' 19-miler done. I don't think I gave myself enough recovery time; I think a couple more days of recovery from the half would've been ideal.

But that's life.

Hey, at least I PR'd on Saturday. And I *think* I have one more long run before I go pre-marathonal (aka TAPER). And at least I get to celebrate this weekend by going to New Orleans. Bring on the hurricanes and naughty food, already. I've got a marathon to run!

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Numb and Drunk

I ran 17 miles this past Saturday. That's the longest distance I've run. Ever. And I didn't pass out. I didn't die. I was able to run the entire time. I got a weird type of runner's high, too. But I'll talk about that later in this post...

Marathon training is 'interesting.' Every Saturday I wake up early to a b*tch slap of a long run. Whether it's 13 miles or 17, I tend to get to a point where pain is pain and 'it' becomes flippin' numb. Actually, my mind becomes numb while my body (specifically my lower abs, trunk, and hamstrings) awakens in pain. My body starts to hurt around mile seven or eight. At about mile 10, I tend to think, 'Well, I've gone this far. Why stop?' Those two sentences tend to dominate my mind on these long runs.

Hey, whatever works...(!) I'll take it.

And about that runner's high: I seem to be getting very loopy later on in my runs. Loopy. Like, drunk. I don't know if this is a type of 'runner's high' or what. It's almost as if I get a little giddy because I'm almost finished with a long, hard run. After this giddiness subsides, I'll get a little pissy. I live in a high-traffic area, and I've started to yell at cars for getting in my way. Kind of like an angry drunk. Yep, and cussing. This happens a few blocks away from my condo; I get so anxious to FINISH the run, that I don't want to stop for a Hummer (R.I.P. obnoxious S.U.V.-military vehicle machine thing) or any other car. I want to be DONE! Hence, the mean drunk 'tude...

In other news, I'm running a half marathon on Saturday morning. My goal is to PR (like, under 1:50. Please. Already). Unlike the Drake Half I ran this past April, I want to feel good and strong at the end of this race. I want to have a kick and not want to die.

And hopefully, I won't turn into the angry drunk at the end of the race. Cross your fingers that I don't become 'that girl.'