Days 1 & 2, Week 5: Terie's Tips for Marathoning

So I ran a little marathon yesterday.

Overall, it was a great marathon.  I wasn't running for time; just running it to get my 20-mile training run in and then have a 6.2 mile cool-down and grab a medal for it.  Mentally, it was the easiest 26.2 miles I have ever run--I started in a great state of mind, largely because of one reason:

FREE SHOES AT MILE 21.

Brooks is the sponsor of the TC Marathon, and they were offering a free pair of Brooks Levitate (a new shoe) to anyone who ran a faster pace between mile markers 21 and 22 than they had for all the miles prior to that.  I felt good at mile 21 so I took off and ran that mile like a bat out of hell.  Well, maybe not that fast.  More like a tired marathoner with a small yippy dog chasing her on a run.  Nevertheless, I did manage around an 8:50 pace during that mile (and was averaging around a 10:10 before that)  so this little marathoner is getting FREE SHOES.

I was also in a great state of mind because it was my 25th overall marathon.  Kind of a big deal to me, anyway.

Now, I could give you a mile-by-mile recap of the race, but a) BORING and b) if you follow me on Facebook and Instagram (mrsebiology) you pretty much already got that.  Instead, in honor of my 25th marathon, let's throw down some marathoning tips for you that I've picked up along the way:

Tip #1: Always take a selfie on the 5:30 AM shuttle bus to the start line.

Tip #2:  Always make sure to wear a fashionable throw-away sweatshirt before the race so you can be the envy of everyone huddling in the parking ramp to stay warm.

Tip #3: Signal the official start of your marathon with a selfie in the port-a-john line.

Tip #4: Always bring your own coffee pot with you to the hotel so you can down 2 cups of your own coffee pre-race and then be able to legitimately take the port-a-john selfie mentioned in Tip #3.

Tip #5: Always be polite and pull over to the edge of the road when recording a video in the middle of the race.  Later you can watch all the annoyed faces behind you of all the people having to dodge and weave around you, wasting their energy.

Tip #6: Never be afraid to let your emotions show on the course; marathoning can be very emotional.  For example, here I am expressing my surprise at seeing a photographer on the course.

Tip #7: Running in the rain can ruin a good pair of running shoes.  Wear an older, crappier pair so you won't be worrying about destroying your best pair of shoes.  This will allow you to pose for photogs whimsically, unfettered by running worries.

Tip #8: Always have a fantastic finish line photo.

Because learning is fun, here's what you should have learned:

• 25th marathon!  Woot!
• Seriously, that was an easy 26.2 miles.  
• My knees, however, would disagree with the "easy 26.2 miles" part from above.
• The important parts of a marathon are the bling and the race photos
• Just like FAQs, I'm horrible at writing marathon tips.

Tomorrow's workout:  It's up in the air.  Depending on my knees, it's either weights or some 800m repeats...we'll see what they decide.

Twin Cities Marathon 2013: If you don't hurt, you're not getting your money's worth.

Goofing before the marathon.

I have to stop being upset about my finish time for yesterday's Twin Cities Marathon.  4:19:54 official time; 4:15:55 my watch's official time.

I wanted a 4:10.  But I guess I didn't want it bad enough.

Let's do a little review of the miles, shall we?

Thoughts during miles 1-13:

"Yeah!  Alright!  I can do this!  I am so maintaining a 9:30 pace!  I know I said I would start at 9:44, but I am feeling awesome right now!"

Thoughts during miles 14-18:

"OK, not feeling so awesome.  But I can still do it.  I may not hit a 4:10, but a 4:15 would still be doable.  My quads are really starting to feel like blocks of wood, but I've felt this way before.  I can stick it out."

Mile 18.6 or so.

Thoughts during miles 19-21:

"My God I can't feel my quads.  Still busting out a 9:30 pace.  I'm really freaking tired.  I have to pee.  I'll use that port-a-john.  No line-BONUS!  God, it feels good just to sit down.  But gotta keep moving...."

Thoughts during miles 22-26.2:

"AIEEEEEEEEE."  (It's at this point I got sharp stitches in my back right below my rib cage on either side, as if someone were stabbing me with a knife.  It got hard to breathe and I had to stop and walk several times. It's when I stopped to walk that my left foot decided to keep trying to charlie horse on me.)  "Alright, you can run for a little bit before the pain starts again.  Push push push AIEEEEEEEE."


The last 5 miles were pretty much miserable for me.  What made it more miserable was that a lady got in my face when I was walking off a back cramp and told me to "dig deep."  You can imagine my response.

At least I crossed the finish line feeling as if I had nothing left to give.  No more gas in the tank.  It was all I could do to run the last half mile towards the finish.  And when I crossed the line, my legs seized, hurting so bad that I was whimpering slightly as I wound my way through the finishing medals, fruit, photo opportunities, and finisher shirts. The only comfortable position I could find was squatting oh-so-ladylike near the ground, which I did at my earliest convenience by a wall near the State Capitol (St. Paul) lawn.  So there I was, squatting near a wall, keening every now and then like a madwoman.

But, like Frank Shorter says, everyone hurts after a marathon.  "And if you don't hurt, you aren't getting your money's worth."

But I finished.

And my time, while decent for me, isn't what I wanted.  I feel I should have, could have done better. I have been replaying what I did wrong over and over again since I crossed that finish line, and here's what I have come up with:

• Not enough quad strength work.  I focused on upper body tons and did a lot of stuff for calves and hammies, but neglected my quads for the most part.
• My tempos weren't long enough.  6 mile tempos aren't cutting it for teaching me endurance at my race pace. I think I need to do some longer (10-12 mile) tempos at race pace for more specificity in my training.
• I skipped a few long runs.  I could tell.  Next time that will not happen.  Less racing on weekends and more training.
• I was sick all this week-and my lungs weren't 100%.  I was still coughing up multi-colored crap the night before the race.  I think the back-stabbing pains were from breathing heavier and taxing those muscles.  It must have been that or someone had busted out a voodoo doll of me without my knowledge.
• I mentally collapsed at mile 21, knowing that I had a 3 mile uphill ahead of me.  I was tired and freaked out.  Next time more sucking it up and keep on keepin' on.
• I should have stuck to the plan and raced the first half at 9:44 and then sped up to a 9:30 for the second half.  The excitement and adrenaline and the crowds got me all worked up into a "starting too fast" frenzy.  Total rookie mistake.

I just feel shitty that I had to walk.  But I should focus on the positives:

• My official time is 15 minutes better than my first marathon.  If you look at my watch time, it's almost 20 minutes better.  That alone should have me jumping for joy.  If I could jump right now; my quads are a tad sore today.
• I finished.  I didn't give up.  The thought of quitting never crossed my mind.  (The thought of how the hell I was going to make it for 5 more miles did, however.)
• I busted out a freaking awesome nearly 9:30 pace for nearly 21 miles.  Twenty-one miles.  I have never run that far that fast ever in my life. 
• This was only my second marathon.  I must remember it took me 4 half-marathons before I broke the 2 hour mark.

That 4:10 finish is in my sights.  I've signed up for the Glass City Marathon in Toledo again at the end of April, 2014.  It shall be mine.

How to get sick and get well 6 days before your marathon.

I have a marathon in two days (!).  So, of course, I managed to get a sinus infection six days before it.  I am freaking awesome that way.

Here's how to get sick before your marathon:  Race every weekend before it, running an obscene amount of miles.  Also run 20 miles one day and race a 15K the next, forcing yourself to don full-length compression sleeves afterwards.  Then clean your entire house, getting a big whiff of cleaning chemicals and making your sinuses vulnerable to infection.

Here's how to get better in 6 days:

Monday: Wake up feeling like someone took a bristle brush to the inside of your sinuses.  Scream "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo" as loud as you can when you get up.  Go cycling in the pitch dark, and then sinus rinse when you get done.  Sinus rinse again before you go to bed.  Don't take any meds because you want your body to handle it.  Find a back-up marathon to run in case you can't run on Sunday.  Cry yourself to sleep.

Tuesday: Wake up with creeping congestion in your sinuses.  Sinus rinse in the morning and before bed.  Take ibuprofen to combat the mounting pressure in your face.  Complain profusely about the fact that you are sick to anyone who will listen.

Wednesday: Congestion hits you full-force.  Sinus rinse in the morning, afternoon, and night even though the package clearly states not to do that when your sinuses are blocked.  Take ibuprofen during the day so you can't feel the pressure in your face rising so much that your teeth feel like they will pop out of the top of your head.  Get called into a 2-hour meeting when your congestion is at its worst and get questions rapid-fired at you.  Seriously consider not running your marathon, actually going so far as to almost cancelling your hotel reservations.  Complain again to anyone who will listen.  Break down and take NyQuil just so you can sleep.

Thursday: Wake up to find your congestion has magically disappeared.  Wonder suspiciously where it went. Sinus rinse in the morning and at night.  Break down and take some DayQuil during the day.  Realize that you may just be able to run your marathon.  Go home and pack.

Friday: Sinus rinse just because you're in the habit of doing it now.  Get up and realize you have parti-colored stuff coming out of openings in your face-and that this is a good thing.  Write a blog post about your sick experiences this week.  Realize that you will definitely be able to run your marathon, although you may have to spit, hack, and blow your nose for 26.2 miles.

 Now that this whole sickness thing is out of the way, I can focus on my marathon goals.My ideal goal is to run this thing in around 4:10.  If I cross the finish line anywhere near that number I will break down and cry immediately afterwards.  On the flip side, if something happens during the race (i.e., spitting and coughing slow me down), I will be happy with a 4:20.  If things go horribly awry (there is a hill that spans 3 entire miles at the end of the course!), then I will settle for crossing the finish line in an upright position.  Other goals I have include: running the entire thing, not having to stop at a port-a-john, and not having to poop at any time during the race.

Oh, and having fun.  And being able to smile whilst in mile 26 at what I have just accomplished.

Random post-marathon thoughts.

• Why does my piriformis actually feel better after I ran 26.2 miles?
• Speaking of all things butt and lower, none of my lower leg issues (Achilles, extensor tendinitis, shin splints) bothered me during the marathon or afterwards.  That week off during training worked wonders.
• After looking at how I placed in my age group and gender, I am stupidly feeling bad about how I finished.
• As bad as I feel about how I placed, I am still stoked I ran the whole damn thing.
• I am having training withdrawal.  I wander the grocery store aimlessly in search of energy gels I no longer need and check the weather for runs I will not do. (for now)
• I have to get back on the eating right wagon.  Two days of post-marathon celebratory eating is enough.
• I am deathly afraid of getting a stress fracture or injuring myself by running too soon.  
• I am ecstatic that I am going bike riding for tomorrow's workout, albeit very slowly.
• I can't wait for my first Ragnar.  I am going to reverse taper up to it.
• I am glad I went to work the day after my marathon; today my muscles are only a little tired rather than a lot tired.
• Walking down steps is still a challenge sometimes.  Note for Twin Cities:  Do uphill AND downhill training.
• The only way to get the BO smell out of my trusty white base layer I wore for the marathon is to burn it, so then it smells like smoke.  Well, what's left of it will smell like smoke.

Most of all, I am sad that I can't run right now.  

Thursday is my first post-marathon jog.  I can't wait.

I promise after this post I'll shut-up about my first marathon. Maybe.

Note:  If you are tired of hearing me blather on about my first marathon, please stop reading and go about your regularly scheduled life (if you even bothered to click on the link to this post, that is).  Consider yourself warned.

So I ran my first marathon yesterday.  It rained the entire time I was on the course.

I'm a little tired today.  But my race made every frozen-water-bottle-banging-on-the-concrete pepper-spraying-myself-up-the-nose getting-all-wind-ragey wishing-it-wasn't-so-damn-cold-I-have-to-wear-4-layers I-just-gave-myself-tendinitis-with-tight-shoelaces long run worth it.

I drove to Toledo, Ohio, on Saturday morning/afternoon to run the Glass City Marathon yesterday, which is the flattest marathon I know about.  Toledo is also home to my unofficial official sponsors Jackie & Beth, who put me up in their house for the weekend, transport me to the race in the wee hours of the morning, haul my tired butt home afterwards, and must suffer through my endless running talk.  Jackie is also to thank for most of the pictures you'll see in this post, because she kicks ass with a camera.

Let's start with the play-by-play, shall we?

The race started at 7 A.M., so we got there (wisely) at 6:15.  The sun wasn't even up, and the traffic was already crowded.  Luckily Beth is a smart cookie and we parked on a deserted (at the time) side street and walked over to the start.

I give this marathon two thumbs up.

Unlike last year when I ran the half, I got there in enough time to use the bathroom and warm up properly.  I was strangely not very nervous while waiting for the gun to go off, probably because I have started this race there 2 times already as a half-marathon participant.  Which, you see, became a problem in my first few miles.

See how I kept speeding up and then slowing down?  I had to remember I WASN'T RUNNING THE HALF MARATHON.  It was hard to do when you were swarmed with people running the half all around you until mile 8, where the marathoners and half marathoners split and go in different directions.

My splits were all over the place, and it was driving me nuts.  Also, even though I went to the bathroom 3 bajillion times before the race, I really had to go at the end of mile 4.  As I waited in the port-a-john line, I decided to just scrap everything regarding a time goal and just run how I felt.  I was scared of bonking.  I was scared I would have to do you-know-what during the race in a spot where no port-a-johns were in sight.  I was scared of being one of those runners that is there but not there at the end of a race and has to be gently guided to the medical tent.

I was scared of failing.  So I decided to just run it how I felt and see what happened.  Actually, I decided to run it according to how my quads felt, since that is primarily how I gauge my level of fatigue.  Along with my Garmin, my quads are the boss of me.

Anyhoo, after the call of the wild port-a-john was answered, I dashed off at a slower pace, but worried I would soon take off again too fast for me and my quads.

And that's when I saw the 4:40 pacers ahead of me (who had passed me whilst I was relieving myself):

David & Chase, my awesome 4:40 pacer buddies.  They're in orange in the middle.

As I approached them, I decided to catch up and hang with them for a while, making sure they would slow me down so I would have enough energy to finish.  And hang with them I did--from a little after mile 8 all the way until mile 21 thereabouts.  As you can see below, we weren't exactly maintaining our 4:40 pace the entire time (10:40 min/miles):

I feel a little to blame for that.  Sometimes I was out in the lead, and, with my legs wanting to go faster, I think I may have accidentally pulled the group along.  But David, wise pacer that he is, pulled us back every now and then, which gave us some much-needed breaks.  

By mile 13 my quads were a-hurtin'.  But running with that little band of people clustered around Chase and David--about 5 of us, all first-time marathoners--helped pull me along and forget about my whining quads.  I didn't want to be the one who fell behind.  I didn't want to look like a wimp.

I didn't want to fail.

Mile 20 and onward was uncharted territory to me; I had never done one continuous long run longer than 20 miles during training.  But the group was there, pulling me and all us first-timers along.  David and Chase were cracking jokes, giving us mini-sight-seeing tours, everyone talking about the steepest hill they'd ever tackled.  They even let one of us (I think her name was Janet) hold the pace sign so her family could get a picture of her with it.

It was just after mile 21 that I started to pick up the pace and move past my beloved 4:40 pacers, my running security blanket.  There was a water stop around that time (there were water stations about every two miles, almost all of which had the most delicious oranges at them; between the oranges and me eating my gels just like I had during my long runs, I didn't bonk, thankfully), which I ran through.  I ran through all of the water stations, because I learned during my first half that if I stop and walk, my quads will take over and remind me just how tired I am, which makes it hard to get going again.  If I do that at every water station, then I am doomed--I keep slowing down until I am doing more walking than running. 

Anyway, I ran through the water station after mile 21, and this time didn't slow down to let everyone in the pacing group catch up to me.  I was tired, but feeling good.  Not super-fantastic, but good enough to start picking up the pace and getting into the finishing groove.  From this point forward, it was just me and the music, focusing on finishing, running the mile I was in, and spotting landmarks that told me I was getting closer to the University of Toledo campus--closer to the end.

When I hit mile 26 my quads were no longer speaking to me.  But I was elated.  I was going to finish.

I wasn't going to fail.  And I had run the entire damn thing.  After I crossed the finish line and got all my bling, I turned around to look at the finish line and started to tear up a little.

And then my quads started to seize and I had to keep moving before they locked up like engines without oil. So much for having a reflective, poignant moment at the finish line of my first marathon.  I was also soaked to the bone and went in search of all things dry and warm.

As you can see from the last two miles, I had some gas left in the tank I didn't know I had.  I think I could have pushed the pace a bit more, but, really, I just wanted to have fun.  I didn't want my first marathon to become a vicious, agonizing memory that needed to be excised like a boil.  Don't get me wrong--it was no picnic in those last 4 miles.  But I finished strong, with the Jackie and Beth cheering section the best sight I had seen in 26.2 miles:

Busting out a 9:45 pace in the 26th mile.

I even managed to keep smiling right after my finish....

...until my quads started seizing.

Just kidding-it wasn't that bad. But I was hurting.

I had a very hard time getting in and out of cars yesterday.  I had a hard time going up and down stairs yesterday and today.  Today I even went to work, and am feeling much better just because I moved around.  My quads are on the mend, and my IT bands are as taut as they can be.  The blisters that formed between the toes on my left foot are subsiding.

But it was all worth it.  I ran the entire time.  I finished strong and to the cheers of friends.  I didn't hit the wall.  I didn't have to do you-know-what on the course or in a port-a-john.

I proved to myself I could do it.  It was a great first marathon.  

My Marathon Goals. Or Contingency Plans. Or Whatever.

I ran a 2 mile run on Tuesday and a 3 mile run today.  Both were at pace.  Both were very short and very weird.  Weird because they were so short, but also weird because I don't have to dress up in all sorts of blinking lights and reflective vest-ages anymore due to this whole "where Earth is in its revolution around the Sun and that 23 degree axial tilt as the Earth rotates on said axis" thing making the sun appear to rise above the horizon earlier than usual.

But I scientifically digress.

My marathon is looming.  Loom loom loom.  Sunday Sunday Sunday.  I keep trying to sabotage myself, like buying multiple pieces of new training gear this week such as shoes and running capris and skirts and crazily thinking, "MAYBE I SHOULD WEAR THIS FOR MY MARATHON!"  I am also driving my husband bonkers, waking him up at 4:45 AM just to talk because, for once, I'm not busy running in the dark and have nothing better to do but because my alarm went off at the regular time I am wide awake. My taper madness knows no bounds, it seems.

When I'm not busy being tapering madly, I am thinking about my goal for this marathon.  Actually, I have several marathon goals:

• Try to maintain my time goal. (10:00/mile)
• Try to not think about my time goal when I realize I probably started too fast and this is my first marathon and I shouldn't really have a time goal anyway, unless that time goal is specifically for former fat chicks who smoked 2 packs a day for 16 years.
• To cross the finish line without suffering a crippling horrific injury.

• To hang out with the 4:30 pacers and then try and gradually pass them if my legs are feeling good.
• To stay behind the 4:30 pacers if I am not feeling strong and make friends with my fellow back-of-the-packers until we reach a point of friendliness that we leave the course and hang out at the first bar we pass.
• To wear my Camelbak and look like a total nerd (or draw other running nerds to me as they ask where I got my SWEET backpack).
• To not lace my shoes so tightly that I give myself another case of tendinitis by mile 19.
• Not to cry.
• Not to walk.
• To try and get a few molecules of water in my mouth as I try to drink and run through water stations.
• Not to sit down in the middle of the course and beg for my mother (who would just tell me to suck it up, buttercup).
• To remember to eat the gels I bring with me before they start handing them out at mile 17.
• Not to snot rocket until I get onto the bike path.
• To set my Garmin to show me my pace after each lap rather than my instantaneous pace so I don't get all kooky over numbers.

So some of those goals are really contingency plans in disguise; at least I'm preparing for contingencies.  But my main goal, as trite and overused as it sounds, is to have fun and enjoy the experience.  I will be stopping to take pictures.  I will crack jokes with other runners.  I will try and remember to shut off all the annoying beeps on my Garmin.  (That reminds me of one more goal--actually bring and wear my Garmin.  Remember, it is the boss of me.)

But I will mostly try and remember that I can do this.  I can finish.  Dammit, if Oprah can do it, so can I.