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.