Riding the marathon (training) high
So how does one follow up running a marathon and shaving roughly 35 minutes off your best time? Run another one of course! Two weeks later. With no training in between. That the boat I found myself in as I agreed to go forth with my previously laid plans of running the Tobacco Road marathon Jenny, another close friend , and several members of our local running club.
I left home around 4:30 am that morning wondering exactly what I had gotten myself into. I reason that I had run unexpectedly well in New Orleans, and while this marathon was still going to be hotter than I would have liked, it wouldn't be as bad as two weeks ago. Maybe I could even shave another few minutes off my time! The excitement of possibly smashing my latest PR taking the place of coffee as I drove. Well before the race I arrived at his home and we set off for the site, each revealing that we weren't sure if we could keep the pace we really wanted. I had full confidence in him, less so in myself as I sat and ate a dry pop tart in the parking lot, start / finish line of the race in full view. (In New Orleans Philip discovered those nasty, dry little pastries are just about the perfect carb fuel for running a marathon.)
After the usual pre race pictures and bathroom breaks we made our way through the crowds and down to the start line. We watched the elites take off at blazing speeds, and as always I was not failed to be impressed by the speed and fluidity of these amazing athletes. Inside of two minutes we were taking off for the start of our own marathon and while I can't speak for everyone else, I know I was moving less like the gazelle-like elites, and more like I should be spouting the line Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! as I both awkwardly and heavily shuffled back and forth to get moving.
The first few miles along the course were beautiful as we took off on the trails. I mentioned this fact to Jenny as we weaved through other runners, and she gave me the look reserved for idiots that mention how beautiful a course is during the first few miles of a marathon. In general the first few miles went by smoothly as usual, and then we came to the first the turn around. As we rounded the box the had set out and headed back I remarked that my legs felt heavy and listless. With 15 miles to go, I knew I was in trouble. Jenny blessedly pointed out that we were going up hill, and when I looked out far enough I could see that we were indeed going up a long incline that I hadn't noticed on the way down. (No wonder it was so easy for the first ten!) Knowing that it wasn't necessarily my tired legs, but that they were having to work harder on the incline, gave me a mental shot in the arm as I pushed forward.
We continued on, hitting the 13.1 mile marker at the exact pace we anticipated, which made me a little nervous. My racing style is to go out hard and fast. knowing I'll fade closer to the end. Being "right on target," halfway through the race made me feel like I was a little behind. None the less, we both kept pace with the group pace leader, who has to be one of the nicer guys I've ever met, spewing jokes and encouragement along the way. He even handed me the pace flag when I joked that I wanted to hold it for pictures coming across the line.
Around mile 18 I started to fade, alternately bursting forward and slowing down, while Jenny stayed strong. By mile 19 she had taken the lead and I was struggling to find strength in my legs and motivation in my head as the hills became longer and more pronounced. I passed a friend cheering us on the course (how these people get from location to location so quickly to cheer us on is still a mystery to me) and I managed to croak out the question of how far ahead Jenny was. Her answer? "Ummmmm...a long way."
I pushed through the last few miles, never fully stopping until mile 25 when I saw something thats haunted me since my early 5k race days. The dreaded end-of-race hill. I stopped and stared at the sight of it, stupefied, for at least a full four seconds. Leaving a few choice words at the bottom of the hill, I plunged forward, determined not to walk or stop again until the finish line.
Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward until I saw what had initially been the first water stop on the course. Reminding myself that I wasn't to far off from the finish line I raced ahead only to hear my name called once more along with some additional encouragement from the same friend who had been on the trails earlier. (Again...if anyone can explain this to me I would be very grateful.) I coasted through the last couple of turns and headed across the marathon finish line for the second time in as many weeks. This time just a few seconds faster than New Orleans, giving me a new PR. I greedily accepted the NASA inspired space blanket to warm up and along with the help of the aforementioned friend I had driven to the race with. (He had finished the half sometime ago.) I don't know that I've ever hurt or felt so bad after a race as that day, feeling unable to walk or even speak for the most part. BUT it was worth it. After untold bottles of water, a shower, 2 slices of pizza, three cartons of chocolate milk and a couple of beers I began to feel better and wondered what was the next step for me in racing.
There was a 10k next weekend, why not do that? I didn't expect to make a good showing, but it'd be fun to say I did it. I showed up to the race with friends from our our running club, (this time Jenny was a pacer) and just decided to see what I had. I blew my best 10k time out of the water by five minutes, and placed second in age. Wondering what sort of marathon training witch craft this was, I once again joined my blonde pony tailed team mate and signed up for a 5k the next weekend, just to see what would happen. While it was it was a hard run, I shaved another 25 seconds off my PR, again without having run in weeks. (Aside from races.)
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| Like many things about the marathon, even the fuel is disgusting |
After the usual pre race pictures and bathroom breaks we made our way through the crowds and down to the start line. We watched the elites take off at blazing speeds, and as always I was not failed to be impressed by the speed and fluidity of these amazing athletes. Inside of two minutes we were taking off for the start of our own marathon and while I can't speak for everyone else, I know I was moving less like the gazelle-like elites, and more like I should be spouting the line Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! as I both awkwardly and heavily shuffled back and forth to get moving.
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| Kind of like a mental Lance Armstrong |
We continued on, hitting the 13.1 mile marker at the exact pace we anticipated, which made me a little nervous. My racing style is to go out hard and fast. knowing I'll fade closer to the end. Being "right on target," halfway through the race made me feel like I was a little behind. None the less, we both kept pace with the group pace leader, who has to be one of the nicer guys I've ever met, spewing jokes and encouragement along the way. He even handed me the pace flag when I joked that I wanted to hold it for pictures coming across the line.
Around mile 18 I started to fade, alternately bursting forward and slowing down, while Jenny stayed strong. By mile 19 she had taken the lead and I was struggling to find strength in my legs and motivation in my head as the hills became longer and more pronounced. I passed a friend cheering us on the course (how these people get from location to location so quickly to cheer us on is still a mystery to me) and I managed to croak out the question of how far ahead Jenny was. Her answer? "Ummmmm...a long way."
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| Ok, so just take this wormhole to mile 16 and wait to cheer them on there |
Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward until I saw what had initially been the first water stop on the course. Reminding myself that I wasn't to far off from the finish line I raced ahead only to hear my name called once more along with some additional encouragement from the same friend who had been on the trails earlier. (Again...if anyone can explain this to me I would be very grateful.) I coasted through the last couple of turns and headed across the marathon finish line for the second time in as many weeks. This time just a few seconds faster than New Orleans, giving me a new PR. I greedily accepted the NASA inspired space blanket to warm up and along with the help of the aforementioned friend I had driven to the race with. (He had finished the half sometime ago.) I don't know that I've ever hurt or felt so bad after a race as that day, feeling unable to walk or even speak for the most part. BUT it was worth it. After untold bottles of water, a shower, 2 slices of pizza, three cartons of chocolate milk and a couple of beers I began to feel better and wondered what was the next step for me in racing.
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| In Soviet Russia, blanket wears you! |
For the next week every time I would see runners outside training and working hard all I could really think was Suckerrrrrs, I don't need any of that training to get better! I proceeded to register for another 5k race the following weekend. And then the marathon high began to wear off. While my time still better than my previous PR, the race wasn't faster than last week's, and it hurt a lot more.
I realized then that my body had been working off borrowed time and it was time to get back to training. Unfortunately, school and work were beckoning me, and I had signed up for a race the next weekend months ago. Knowing I wasn't going to have much, if any time to train, I decided to suck it up and head down to the Medoc spring races to see what happened.
Stay tuned for the results and race report from the infamous mountain, coming soon!
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