There's just something magical about the first 20-mile run in any marathon training plan, some special cachet that has something to do with that first digit: only six more miles to go!
One of the checkout girls at Bryson's Food Store asked me Friday if I had big plans for tomorrow, and I thought a split second and said, "Yeah, I'm going to run 20 miles," and she blanched. I should not have said that! People take it for lunacy, or (worse) self-aggrandizement Martha helped me through the middle miles but I was all alone on the final six, and of course I could not avoid asking myself (many times) what I thought I was doing. This is hard! But, of course, it's the hard part that will make 26.2 miles a little easier, because the hard miles, the tough runs, hone our edge a little, don't they? Discipline is the whetstone. Already, I am recovering, and everything feels good today. My weight is below normal, my legs are recovering their spring, and I feel that I am getting ready! Why else would a 63-year-old man do such a thing? So that I can stand on the starting line feeling as fit as I will ever be.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
The Indiana Ultra
It would be a rare occasion if a marathon training program went perfectly. In an ideal world, one without rain or injury or the obligations of family and friends and work, running the workouts in a carefully-designed plan - easy runs following hard runs, rest days coming up on schedule - would not be a problem. But that never happens in the real world.
In the real world this week, my Mom celebrated her 90th birthday, and that was an occasion that we simply could not miss. So I compressed the workouts in the first part of the week into two days, Sunday and Monday. As a result, the workout on Monday just did not happen - I could not muster up six "Yassos" (800-meter repeats) the very next day after an 18-mile run, so I simply did the best I could, which was two of them. Then on Tuesday, we headed out early in the morning for a 600-mile drive to Indiana to celebrate this landmark occasion in my Mom's life and in mine. It was a good visit, and we enjoyed visiting with her and with my sister and her son.
Thursday we returned (and by the way, we decided that we would never, ever attempt to drive 600 miles a day again) and I felt as sore as I imagine I would feel after an Ultramarathon: the "Indiana Ultra!" Today I was scheduled to run 10 miles at Marathon Goal Pace (MGP), and I again fell short, mustering up only four of them. But they were good miles, and a little faster than I had planned. What a mistake it would have been to struggle through the complete workout with the Big One looming first thing in the morning: my first 20-miler.
In the real world, we simply do all that we can do to prepare for hard struggles like marathons, and we hope that Prince Hamlet's observation is accurate:
"If it be now, ’t is not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all."
In the real world this week, my Mom celebrated her 90th birthday, and that was an occasion that we simply could not miss. So I compressed the workouts in the first part of the week into two days, Sunday and Monday. As a result, the workout on Monday just did not happen - I could not muster up six "Yassos" (800-meter repeats) the very next day after an 18-mile run, so I simply did the best I could, which was two of them. Then on Tuesday, we headed out early in the morning for a 600-mile drive to Indiana to celebrate this landmark occasion in my Mom's life and in mine. It was a good visit, and we enjoyed visiting with her and with my sister and her son.
Thursday we returned (and by the way, we decided that we would never, ever attempt to drive 600 miles a day again) and I felt as sore as I imagine I would feel after an Ultramarathon: the "Indiana Ultra!" Today I was scheduled to run 10 miles at Marathon Goal Pace (MGP), and I again fell short, mustering up only four of them. But they were good miles, and a little faster than I had planned. What a mistake it would have been to struggle through the complete workout with the Big One looming first thing in the morning: my first 20-miler.
In the real world, we simply do all that we can do to prepare for hard struggles like marathons, and we hope that Prince Hamlet's observation is accurate:
"If it be now, ’t is not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all."
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Rain and More Rain
My 14-mile run went well on Sunday morning. The day was cool and crisp, with a brief morning shower disappearing completely, replaced by blue sky and cool temperatures. Leaves have started to fall in Highlands in some places, especially maple leaves, and the fragrance is lovely - that muskiness of fallen leaves, and a tang of smoke in the air as some folks are lighting fires in their fireplaces already.
But today my plan calls for a hard run - a total of eight miles, including three mile-repeats - and the weather is not as cooperative. It has been raining heavily since midnight, letting up only briefly - the kind of rain that would drench a runner completely in a minute, and would transform running shoes into heavy, sodden, squishing objects with which to slosh through the deep puddles:
Eventually today this rain is scheduled to taper off, and only when it does will I venture outdoors. I have run in heavy rain before - often enough that I am convinced that I am not a wimp when it comes to training - but I have discovered that, unlike a refreshing light drizzle, these conditions are counterproductive to a hard workout. Today it should all be about hitting 8:30 miles, three of them, at a consistent pace and on (relatively) dry pavement.
And so I wait.
But today my plan calls for a hard run - a total of eight miles, including three mile-repeats - and the weather is not as cooperative. It has been raining heavily since midnight, letting up only briefly - the kind of rain that would drench a runner completely in a minute, and would transform running shoes into heavy, sodden, squishing objects with which to slosh through the deep puddles:
Eventually today this rain is scheduled to taper off, and only when it does will I venture outdoors. I have run in heavy rain before - often enough that I am convinced that I am not a wimp when it comes to training - but I have discovered that, unlike a refreshing light drizzle, these conditions are counterproductive to a hard workout. Today it should all be about hitting 8:30 miles, three of them, at a consistent pace and on (relatively) dry pavement.
And so I wait.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Big Bearpen X 3
This was my last day for hill repeats - eight miles, and I ended up going up to the summit of Big Bearpen three times, a gain in elevation from 3850 to about 4250. My legs were like jelly when I finally finished (9.41 miles later), but the view, as always, was spectacular, especially looking off to the North at Whiteside Mountain:
And what a glorious day! The cold front brought bright, bright blue skies and cool temperatures. And this view is always worth the climb, even three times.
And what a glorious day! The cold front brought bright, bright blue skies and cool temperatures. And this view is always worth the climb, even three times.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
How Many Miles to Richmond?
Yesterday I ran my longest run so far during this marathon-training plan - 16 miles. The weekly long run is the foundation of the training plan, and it will increase to 18 and 20 and eventually 22 miles, as will weekly mileage, which will top off at a 50-mile week.
For those who do not run at all, or who have never run this far, that must seem like a daunting distance, but we have logged these long runs so many times in the past that there reaches a point, as I said in an earlier posting, where a 10-mile run is considered a "short" run. I don't say this out of egotism - it is merely a matter of perspective. I ran the second to last mile yesterday with my friend Anthony, who ended up with more than 20 miles (his marathon is coming up sooner than mine, and he is a truly gifted athlete). I guess he thought I was going short!
But the last three miles were difficult because my last long run until now was 13 miles. I have found that every long run seems to push the envelope a little more, and when I run 18 miles in a couple of weeks, I will feel pretty good . . . until I go past the 16-mile-mark. To borrow a phrase from Prince Hamlet, those last miles seem to be an "undiscovered country, from whose bourne no traveler returns," but one which we learn to visit a little bit at a time so that on Race Day it will not seem so foreign a place.
A couple walking their dog saw me as I was going into the final mile and said, "Are you still out here? How far are you going, anyway?" I have learned that it is best not to say, exactly - they already know I'm a lunatic; let's not give them a statistic to prove it.
But how far am I going? Being a meticulous planner, I have entered all of my training runs in my Outlook calendar. Since I began this plan on Week One, way back on July 23rd, I have run 223 miles. If I don't succumb to injury, or have a cupola fall on my head, I hope to run 323 more miles until I stand on the starting line - a total of 551 miles to Richmond. Mapquest tells me the actual distance, by road, from Highlands to Richmond is only 455 miles.
For those who do not run at all, or who have never run this far, that must seem like a daunting distance, but we have logged these long runs so many times in the past that there reaches a point, as I said in an earlier posting, where a 10-mile run is considered a "short" run. I don't say this out of egotism - it is merely a matter of perspective. I ran the second to last mile yesterday with my friend Anthony, who ended up with more than 20 miles (his marathon is coming up sooner than mine, and he is a truly gifted athlete). I guess he thought I was going short!
Anthony Lampros
But the last three miles were difficult because my last long run until now was 13 miles. I have found that every long run seems to push the envelope a little more, and when I run 18 miles in a couple of weeks, I will feel pretty good . . . until I go past the 16-mile-mark. To borrow a phrase from Prince Hamlet, those last miles seem to be an "undiscovered country, from whose bourne no traveler returns," but one which we learn to visit a little bit at a time so that on Race Day it will not seem so foreign a place.
A couple walking their dog saw me as I was going into the final mile and said, "Are you still out here? How far are you going, anyway?" I have learned that it is best not to say, exactly - they already know I'm a lunatic; let's not give them a statistic to prove it.
But how far am I going? Being a meticulous planner, I have entered all of my training runs in my Outlook calendar. Since I began this plan on Week One, way back on July 23rd, I have run 223 miles. If I don't succumb to injury, or have a cupola fall on my head, I hope to run 323 more miles until I stand on the starting line - a total of 551 miles to Richmond. Mapquest tells me the actual distance, by road, from Highlands to Richmond is only 455 miles.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Problem Solved
Building a garden shed - a "folly" - is in many ways like marathon training. I began with a good foundation of hills and long miles, and am following a carefully-constructed plan - another 13-miler completed yesterday. But that little cupola on top of the roof has been a problem from the beginning, like gradually realizing that the upcoming marathon includes an unexpected obstacle. It looked good on paper, but I have never built a cupola before, and the sketchy framing diagrams I found on the internet were little help. How was I going to frame this thing in, way up there on a roof coated temporarily with slick 4-mile plastic sheeting?
The answer occurred to me, as it often does, in the middle of a run. I was halfway up Big Bearpen Mountain when it suddenly dawned on me that I could constructed the frame and the little roof in two parts, down on the ground, and then assemble them in place. I even "saw" suddenly how I could join together eight intersecting rafters in a little hip-roof peak.
I even realized how I could leverage it up onto the roof and place it where it belonged.
Many runners have told me before that they have solved all kinds of problems while out on a run. It is truly a miraculous process, and I have solved problems as different as how to express capital reserves in the Town budget to framing a cupola. The solution literally does dawn on you; it is like some some material object you suddenly approach along the road, like a tree or a mailbox: suddenly, it is simply there, right in front of you, unavoidable and plain as day!
The magic of running!
The answer occurred to me, as it often does, in the middle of a run. I was halfway up Big Bearpen Mountain when it suddenly dawned on me that I could constructed the frame and the little roof in two parts, down on the ground, and then assemble them in place. I even "saw" suddenly how I could join together eight intersecting rafters in a little hip-roof peak.
I even realized how I could leverage it up onto the roof and place it where it belonged.
Many runners have told me before that they have solved all kinds of problems while out on a run. It is truly a miraculous process, and I have solved problems as different as how to express capital reserves in the Town budget to framing a cupola. The solution literally does dawn on you; it is like some some material object you suddenly approach along the road, like a tree or a mailbox: suddenly, it is simply there, right in front of you, unavoidable and plain as day!
The magic of running!
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