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!

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.'

Bring it.

Yep, September is rolling around. The long awaited month-before-the-marathon is approaching, and it is, in my esteemed coach's words, 'the toughest month of marathon training.'

Bring it on, kids.

This week has been strange. I had a 'short' 5k race this past Saturday in Sherman Hill. As the name indicates, the quaint neighborhood is full of intense hills. And although it was advertised as a 5k, it was really 2.86 miles. Lame. I finished first in my age group (again, bring it), but there was no time to celebrate, as I had to get in another seven miles immediately following my race. Who knew that seven miles could be more gruelling than a 14-miler? Seriously. It's crazy how mentally challenging it is to continue running after a race.

On Monday, my coach 'gave' me an easy day of six miles. And then I met with him on Wednesday. My face-to-face training sessions freak me out a bit. And they kinda pump me up. Oh, the paradox of running! Anywho, the plan was to run 3x10-minutes at tempo pace with a two minute jog between each. I was able to put in negative splits at my interval pace.

Yep, bring on September.

I'm ready.

Week Blah Blah Blah of Marathon Training...

So, it's August. Mid-August, to be exact. State Fair time. And where have I been? No, not in the hog barn gawking at large beasts while eating a fried Twinkie and a tenderloin. I've been logging miles and miles of endless pavement and sweat (and more sweat) in extreme humidity.

I *think* I'm in my sixth week of marathon training. Don't ya like how I'm not really sure how long I've been officially training? It seems like my entire existance is centered around my four runs of each week. They look something like this (more or less):

Monday: Speed work. Swoon.
Wednesday: Tempo or Kenyan run. Smile.
Friday: 4-5 mile easy run. La di-da.
Saturday: Long run. Uhhh, okay.
Sunday: EAT.

Monday is track day. I like Mondays. A lot. There's nothing like driving home from the track at 7 AM, completely drenched in sweat and ready for Monday. It's a great way to start off the week.

Wednesday is usually a quick run around the neighborhood. Tempo runs and Kenyan runs are not as fun as track days. I like that Wednesdays are usually challenging, though; I find that the last half mile of the tempo run is the toughest part for me. So, I guess I'm doing it right (at least that's what my coach tells me).

Fridays are easy. I don't put too much thought into these nice, smooth runs. I try to ENJOY these, but I find it difficult not to increase speed in the last mile. Yes, I need to learn a little discipline, folks!

And then Saturday rolls around. Remember those days of running races while completely hungover (and perhaps still intoxicated)? No more partying for this girl. I'm in bed by 10 PM on Friday nights, only to wake up at 5:40 on Saturday morning. After a small bowl of oats and agave syrup, I'm off for a long run. All by myself. In the dark. No one to talk to. But myself.

I think I need to join a group for these long ones. Boredom has started to creep in...

Yep. It's Week Blah Blah Blah of Marathon Training.

Bix Recap

Bix. Bix. Where does one start?

Of course, I raced. As much as I could. And I followed up the race with a beer and a bright yellow-ish Twinkie. Balance, people. Balance.

It all started when we (my mom, aunt, and cousin) woke up at 6 AM on Saturday morning, preparing for the busy morning ahead. While one would assume that this is enough time to dress, eat, and drive nine miles to the race, one would be completely wrong in this case...(!)

My aunt is known to be THE DILLY-DALLIER. Because of this, we didn't park the car until FIVE minutes before a race (BIX) with 12,000 participants. Seriously. Parked about an eighth of a mile away, I jumped out of the car and yelled to my fellow family of runners, "I'll meet you at the running statues!" Hopping puddles and dodging other dilly dalliers (and their 'victims'), I got to the starting line right as the national anthem ended.

Okay. Here we go.

A couple of minutes later, we were off and running. Kinda. If practically walking up a hill is running.

Oh, the Bix got me again.

No, it wasn't the pouring rain that kept me down. Nor the massive, never-ending hills. People. People brought me down. All of the flippin' people running and/or walking slowly. All of those people who should've lined up toward the back of the corral. Just like last year, I was cursing and running on the sidewalks, and then on the grassy boulevard. I saw a few people trip over other runners (and literally fall). And then I saw the glow of Antonio Vega, Ryan Hall, and Lisa Koll, making their final push to the finish line. That distracted me for about ten seconds or so...

My hill training came in very handy for this race; I was able to run "through" the hills, only to be practically stopped by others who (again) practically walked once they got to the top of said hills. At about mile five, I finally got some room and was able to pick up some speed. While I didn't reach my goal of running under an eight-minute mile pace, I did improve my chip time by a few minutes.

And I did partake in the Twinkie. Twinkies just aren't as good as they used to be...

As I waited for half an hour for my other family members, shivering in the rain while drinking beer and gnawing on my crappy Twinkie, I thought about the whole race experience. So weird, when you think about it. 12,000 stinky runners/walkers, as happy as can be, drinking beer and gobbling Ho-Ho's in the pouring rain.

While pissed about my time, I was one of those happy runners. Weird. Running is a paradox.

To Race Or Not To Race...

It was about a year ago when I ran the infamous (and insanely frustrating) Bix 7 in Davenport, Iowa. The Bix is an annual seven-mile race that includes two 'severe hills.' For the second year in a row, it's also the American National 7 Mile Championship (yeah - I'm defending my national title, folks). It's a HUGE race that attracts major elite runners, such as Meb Keflezighi, FAM (the eccentric Anthony Famiglietti - one of my faves) and for this year - Ryan Hall.

Major star-power. Killer hills. Shots during the race (kindly distributed by race fans). Michelob Ultra at the finish line. And Twinkies (seriously).

One would think that these are perfect elements for someone who likes middle distance races and free booze. It's also a fab run for those who like to gawk at elites at about mile three when they're (the physically attractive elites) in their last mile, pushing for the finish line. Last year I almost tripped while staring away at the awesome-ness of Meb.

Yes, it all seems too ideal.

Until you get to the starting line and you don't cross it until 10 minutes later. Behind walkers and those who line up according to their IQ and not their real time. Lame. I'm surprised I didn't get kicked out of the race last year due to cussing loudly while running up one of those 'severe hills' in the first mile, meandering between walkers and those runners who walk in the first mile. Seriously. People. Get with the program.

Oh, but I digress. Obviously, I didn't hit my goal time last year. And this year I'm considering downing a few beers before the race. My mother is running this for the third year in a row; and for the first time ever, my aunt and cousin are also partaking in the 'fun.' So...I could 'race' and try to line-up behind Ryan and FAM. Or, I could get a nice buzz going and continue to consume adult beverages in the form of Jell-O shots throughout the race.

Or, perhaps I could do both...?*

*Do you think I could persuade Ryan and FAM to a couple of rounds? Ummmm. Totally.

And so, it begins...

Oye. Vey.

Yes, the official start of marathon training took place this past Monday, July 5th - a 'holiday,' as I didn't have to work. That's right, folks - America celebrated the Overpronator's first day of marathon training by guzzling cheap beer, eating grilled cheeseburgers (YUM!), and oooooh-ing and awe-ing at fireworks - all while I ran the barren streets of downtown Des Moines, huffing and puffing and trying to run off that demonic chocolate cake I ate the day before...

It has begun. And on day four, I'm still going.

On October 17th, I will partake in the Des Moines Marathon. Needless to say, I am a marathon virgin. Yes, I've completed a couple of 20k's (DAM IT!) and a total of three half marathons, as well as countless 5k races. But the beast of the marathon looms, and I really want to conquer that mother.

But, I digress. I started this week with an easy five miles, followed by a couple of tempo runs and then a nine miler coming up this Sunday. Not bad. I can do this, right?

I think the one thing that will help me conquer the motha is remembering to take it one day at a time. My running coach does not put my entire marathon training schedule online, meaning that I have not seen the entire master plan. I'm only able to see my training plan one week at a time. This is good. My mind doesn't get wrapped up on how LONG the training plan is, nor do I get obsessed about how hard it's gonna be.

Oye. But it's still gonna be hard.