Holy Tennis Ball, Batman!

So, I've had this recurring problem over the last few long run/walks with very tight hamstrings.  Not being the sort of person who freaks out over the littlest twinge or ache, I just figured at first that it was a symptom of, you know, pushing my body to do a freakin' marathon.  I figured it would get better over time.  For a few weeks it didn't feel like it was really getting worse, and it really only bothered me on the really long distances.  And during my 18-miler I realized that my hamstring would relax when I ran but would tighten back up once I started walking.  Well, if walking fast.  It probably should have dawned on me that there could be something not right with my walking stride, but it didn't. 

Anyway, after yesterday's go, I was left with another really tight hamstring.  It hurt to move certain ways.  I've always been pretty flexible, but I could barely bend over and touch the floor.  I stretched.  A lot.  And then I went to the internet to see what else I could do, because by that time I'd finally connected my hamstring tightness and lack of hip flexibility to my slow walking pace yesterday morning.  The last time I tried to go for speed, I was walking well over 4mph, and yesterday I couldn't seem to get to 4 at all, let alone beyond.  That's not the effect of a few missed workouts.  That's something wrong.

So I found some stuff on the internet suggesting sitting on a tennis ball to kind of roll out the knots and tension in the hamstrings.  And although we've never actually gone out to play tennis, we do own rackets and a can of balls.  So I sat on a tennis ball last night, and it seemed to help a little.

When I woke up this morning, I could tell a difference.  It still hurt.  Actually, it hurt worse.  Like you feel when you've had a really deep tissue massage to relieve some really knotted up muscles, and afterwords you feel like somebody's beaten you up?  Yeah, like that.  And by this afternoon I was having little muscle spasms in my hamstrings that hurt like a bitch.  I was still unable to bend over and touch the floor.

So I came home and sat on the tennis ball some more.  After a while, I remembered that my sister had a ton of balms and rubs for sore muscles, and got up to ask if I could use some.  I got up, walked a couple of steps, and miraculously the tension in that entire side of my body suddenly unwound.  I could touch the floor.  Of course, now my back, hip, shoulder, and neck are kind of sore now because apparently my hamstring problems have caused all sorts of other tension and imbalance. But it's absolutely better than it was earlier!

I was more worried by my pace yesterday than I even wanted to admit to myself, but I'm feeling more confident now.  I'm going to nurse my hamstring back to 100% and pay closer attention to it so I'm not derailed on race day with a hamstring injury.  Maybe some pre-race massages are in order.

Yay for tennis balls!

Marathon Training, Week 16? Is that right? I've lost count.

4 weeks until race day.

4 weeks is not a lot of time.  That's becoming very, very clear to me.  Kind of freaking me out, actually.  One 20 mile long run to go, one 12-miler at race pace, and then I'm on taper.  And then it's race day.  Crazy.

Anyway, went out today for a 12 mile at race pace.  It didn't go as fast as I hoped.  Certainly not the "race pace" I was hoping for.  I'm not upset about it, but it does make me nervous.  Granted, I run on a trail with LOTS of hills, and the marathon course is very flat, so likely I'll have an easier go on race day than I have on any training run.  The first few miles were right on target race pace, but my splits got worse towards the end.  I could make all sorts of excuses about why my pace didn't hold up, but that's not helpful.  I ran more than I have been (yay for having fun running!) and thought I was keeping a really good walking pace.  Looking at the data, though, my walking pace was NOT up to par.  My running speed was typical, and yes, I did run more than the original plan of 1/4 of each mile, but it wasn't enough to make up for an unusually slow walking pace.  I think that means that I need to do some serious walking over the next four weeks.  Apparently I've neglected that part of my training in my excitement over learning to run.

Still, though, I just keep telling myself that my only goal is to finish.  I don't care if I'm the last one over the finish line as long as I get my participant medal. 

Fun run?

Today, I ran.  Not for speed, nor for distance.  I didn't turn on my GPS.  I didn't time myself.  I had no distance goal.  I just ran.

And it was fun.

A couple of weeks ago a coworker lent me a book he'd just finished reading:  Born to Run.  It had been sitting on my desk, untouched, ever since.  I don't read much anymore.  I like reading, but there are so many other things I fill my time with.  I don't generally have time available while in an environment suitable for reading quietly.  But last night I was kind of bored and decided I might as well start reading.  I was feeling pretty good about my 18 mile run on Sunday morning (which went great, by the way -- perfect temperature, cloudy sky, moderately windy, and my pace was good despite the fact that for the last few miles my hamstrings were painfully tight, which is why I didn't go for 20) and, apparently, in the mood for reading about running.

I should have been asleep by 9pm at the latest.  I finally finished the book at 11pm.  And although I then went to bed, I was actually chomping at the bit to put on my shoes and go running.  Which, you know, is weird, because although I've been doing more running than I ever though I'd willingly do, it's not been my favorite thing ever.  It's been uncomfortable and hard, and I've only been doing it because I felt I was afraid I couldn't finish the marathon fast enough otherwise.

But all day today I thought about getting off work and putting on my running shoes and just hitting the trail to see what would happen if I ran just to run.  No iPod, no MiCoach, no timer.  Just grab my water bottle and run as long as I felt like running.  I'd never run just for the sake of running before.  I wanted to know if my overweight, out of shape body could actually have fun running.

So I did. 

I parked my car, tied the car door key to my shoe, put everything else but my water bottle and phone in the trunk, and started running.  And for the first time ever, I wasn't thinking about how much time or distance I had left, what my pace should be, or how to spread the effort over the distance.  It was just one foot in front of the other, head up, only focused on the moment. 

Since the trail is marked off in 1/4 mile increments, though, I can tell you that I ran about 5/8 of a mile, walked about 1/4 mile, and then ran the entire remainder of the 1 1/2 mile loop. 

I was back at the parking lot before I had a chance to get bored.  I was relaxed, the way I used to be after a really long walk.  Despite the fact that it's been months since I ran more than 1/4 mile in a single interval, I didn't feel exhausted or even that sweaty, to be honest.  Finally, I had run without my brain babysitting my body.  I had actually enjoyed the run.

So thanks to Jason's book recommendation, I finally feel like my head is in the right place to finish up my training and line up at the starting line.  And yes, I know that I didn't suddenly gain the miraculous ability to run farther and enjoy it more just because I read an inspirational book.  I know that my ability to run has improved because, well, I've been running.  Duh.  And it's not that I didn't know how to enjoy running before.  I just never thought about the fact that, you know, I could.  Or should.  Because until last night, this was never about running.  This was about pushing myself through to the end of something, just to get to the end, just to prove that I could stick it out through the drudgery.  It wasn't supposed to be fun.  I assumed it was supposed to be hard and uncomfortable.  I assumed that people who say they love running really mean that they love the results they get from running.  But today I learned that even I can actually enjoy running.

And I've decided that, outside my weekend long runs, I'm abandoning a training schedule.  I'm going to stop worrying about how many miles I should or shouldn't be putting in per week.  I'm going to forget about speed work or interval training.  No more number crunching.  I'm just going to go out each day and run whatever distance I feel like running that day. 

Just for the fun of it.

Marathon Training, Week... whatever

Five weeks until race day.

I've neglected blogging something awful, I know.  Luckily, I've only neglected my training a little.

As of my last blog post, I'd just finished my first 12-miler in record time.  The following week I did 10 miles, also in record time, shaving 5 seconds off the pace I'd averaged the week before.  I was feeling awesome about my progress and all that.

And then it got hot.  And I got promoted, which meant my schedule changed and I had to start doing my runs in the morning instead of at night.  When I did my 14-miler the following Saturday morning, things went fine until about, oh, mile 11.  By that time the sun had come out and it was in the upper 80s and my body just... died.  I spent the last three miles dragging myself along the trail at, like, 3mph.  Dying.  I had plenty of water and cramp-buster shot bloks, but none of that mattered.  I'd never tried exerting myself that much in temperatures that high, and it sucked.  But I finished.

The next week was another "easy" 10-miler, but the heat was still a problem.  My pace wasn't good.  I struggled through it.  I was starting to feel pretty down on myself for not being able to keep up in the heat, even though I know it's just a fact that heat decreases a body's ability to function.  Still, it's discouraging.

So the next week I headed out for my first 16-miler, a little unsure of my ability to finish.  I started out strong and tried to stick it out, but after 12 miles it was killer hot again and I knew if I kept trying to push through another 4 miles I'd end up passing out or puking.  So I stopped at 12.  Amazingly, I again made record time, shaving off a full 14 seconds per mile from my best long run pace up to that point.  Still, I was disappointed that I didn't make my distance goal. 

I thought about trying to do 16  miles the next week instead of the scheduled 12, but the heat was even worse and I only made 8.  Okay, I can't totally blame the heat, since I know I could have gotten my ass out of bed earlier to get things done before it got really hot, but I was getting discouraged and really down on myself for "screwing up my training schedule."  Besides that, the new work schedule made it so that Kourt and I couldn't go to the gym together anymore.  I told myself I'd go right after work, but even if I took gym clothes with me I found it far too easy to go straight home instead.  So my weekly workouts have been seriously neglected, and I felt like my failure to keep myself motivated and active was negatively impacting my long runs, and was only exacerbated by the heat wave we've been having. 

So two weeks ago when I headed out for what was supposed to be 18 miles, despite the fact that I was really worked up mentally over the sad state of my training program, I took to the trail absolutely determined to get to at least 16 miles even if it was the slowest 16 miles ever.  I had a later start than I intended, but weather.com said it was only supposed to get up to the upper 70s by noon and that rain clouds should be here by then.

Weather.com lied to me.

I should have known better.  I should have put on sunscreen.  Yes, snow-white-complexion here left the house for an 18 mile run/walk with zero sunblock on.  In capris and a sleeveless shirt.  It was 87 degrees when I hit mile 16, and there was barely a cloud in the sky.  Those 16 miles sucked something awful.  But you know what?  I did it.  I did all 16 miles.  Of course, I spent much of the last several miles of that distance trying to creatively maneuver my shirt to try and minimize the sun damage to my arms, because at that point I knew I was totally fried.  Extra crispy.  The only lucky part was that I'd finally settled on headgear -- a visor -- so my face didn't burn.  But my arms and shoulders and the back of my neck were pretty badly sunburned.  Not to the point of blistering, but still really bad.  And although it looked on the trail like my legs were still paper white, when I got home and took off my running capris it looked like I was wearing red knee socks.  I honestly felt like I could have made the last two miles, but I was afraid of burning any worse.  I've burned to the point of blisters before, and wasn't going to go there again.  As it was, the sunburn took the better part of a week to recover from.

At this point we decided that since we hadn't been working out consistently on our own and hadn't seen our trainer in a while, we'd start seeing him every week to try and get back in a groove.  Despite the few weeks of lackluster effort, my strength hadn't really suffered.  And it felt good to work out and leave feeling like he'd kicked our asses.  So last Sunday morning I headed out for what was supposed to be 12 miles at race pace, thinking I was good to go.  I did remember sunscreen this time.  But still, the heat was unbearable and I only did 8.  And my pace wasn't what I'd hoped.  This time I am chalking it up to the heat, though.  And I was totally pumped to be really good about getting to the gym after work this past week until I went to a potluck at a friend's house Sunday night that ended with Flaming Dr. Peppers and a lot of puking.  It turns out starting the week off with a killer hangover is really, really bad on your body.  The worst of the hangover only lasted a day, but I've not been right ever since.  I've been just... exhausted. 

If there's one lesson this training process has reinforced, it's that it only takes one little hiccup in a plan, one tiny setback, to throw me into a downward spiral of low self-esteem and avoidance.  If I "fail" once, I become afraid that the next attempt will be worse, so I start sitting on my ass to avoid having to face more failure.  This heat and change in schedule and lack of consistency in my training program have made things harder, and the harder they get the more I want to just stop.  I've not been tracking my food (although I haven't gained any weight through this, luckily) and have just felt like a quitter, really.  But I know the pattern, and despite the fact that I haven't been able to shake myself out of it I knew I needed to somehow just jump back in and get in one good workout to prove to myself that all was not lost.

Friday, then, we met with our trainer.  He put us on the assisted pull-up/dip machine, which we haven't used as part of our strength training routine since sometime last Spring.  The last time we used it, we had it up to the maximum weight (which is a counterbalance, so the more weight you put on the machine the easier it makes the exercise) and I could do maybe 5 or 6 pull-ups and 12 or so dips.  He set it at the maximum again, and this time I breezed through 17 pull-ups and 27 dips.  Between sets he had me doing burpees, which I haven't done in a while either and struggled with before, and I was doing them like a boss!  For the first time in over a month, I was reminded how much stronger I am and how much more endurance I have.  I left the gym feeling like I could do anything!

Tomorrow morning I'm slated for 20 miles.  The forecast says the temperature should hold steady in the low 70s pretty much all morning.  I'm going to bed early so I can hit the trail early and avoid as much sun as possible.  I have just over a month to go, and I know I can't let the last month's setbacks continue to affect me.  I'm confident that if I push hard this last month to stick with my training plan, I'll be fine.  I won't have lost as much weight as I hoped by race day, but that's nothing to beat myself up over.  Spilled milk and all that.  I just want to cross the finish line, even if I'm the last one to cross.  And I can't change what's already happened.  No amount of beating myself up over missed miles will make up that lost ground. I can only go forward.