Race Report: Pittsburgh Marathon

In the final days and weeks before the Pittsburgh Marathon, the familiar doubts returned. Was I really ready to run an Olympic Trials Qualifier?? The big three worries were:

1. The hills. I obviously knew about Pittsburgh’s hills all along and trained for them as best I could. (Was it enough???) I tensed every time someone mentioned them, especially when a few days before the race Gwen Jorgensen (Olympic gold medalist in the triathlon, now committed to the marathon) mentioned how hilly the half marathon course was (which was serving as the US Championships and shared the first 11 miles with the marathon). I considered those first miles to be flat and the hill she mentioned around mile 10 didn't even register on my map. Gwen’s sentiment rekindled my fear of the hills and made me more then a little worried I was being naïve.

Pittsburgh Marathon elevation.
The half marathon splits around mile 11 (before the giant hill).

2. My fitness. I struggled in crucial marathon pace workouts: could I really run faster and farther than I had in practice?

3. My toughness. I worried that I wouldn’t be tough enough to push as hard as I’d need to in the end. Ever since Baby, I’ve missed my A goals by ten, twenty, thirty seconds. I feared I’d give up on myself (hadn’t I given up during those major workouts?) and that I’d miss it by a hair. I wondered if I lost the grittiness essential to achieving this ambitious of a goal.

In the two or three weeks before the race I tried to really hammer the only thing left to hammer: my positivity. I came up with arguments against all those points: I had trained on hills, I had conquered harder ones (I hoped??) in Charlottesville. If I ignored the marathon pace workouts, almost all my other workouts and races pointed to being in similar shape to pre-CIM, where I qualified for the 2016 Trials. And I used to (way back in 2012 and earlier) run faster in races than for marathon pace workouts, even at crazy hilly Charlottesville. Over and over I told myself that I am tough and that when I put these big goals out there, I don’t back down easily. I thought about when I said I’d run sub-3 and did. And when I said I’d qualify for 2016 and did. Sure, I had plenty of examples of goals I set that I did not make, but I was telling myself those were the less important ones. The ones I really cared about, I didn’t give up on.

And I reminded myself that I was lucky to be going for this at all. I had originally wanted to run Boston but didn’t have a qualifying time at registration time and wasn’t accepted as an elite. (Which made perfect sense once I saw the depth of the women’s elite field this year!) When Boston turned out to be totally awful miserable weather, I was glad I wasn’t there. I had felt called to Pittsburgh and knew this was God’s plan for me. I was healthy and the weather seemed mostly okay. I had an incredible opportunity that I did not want to waste.

As I kept reminding myself these things and reading over my cache of motivational quotes, I was amazed to realize the positivity thing was working. I really started to believe. I’m going to do it. I’m going to qualify.

Until Saturday, the day before the race, when everything came crashing down. We had arrived in Pittsburgh the day before and that night Baby had gotten sick. She woke up every hour coughing and sniffling and struggling to go back to sleep. By morning, everyone was tired and cranky and desperate for another shot at rest during nap time. But Baby refused to sleep in the hotel room, so we packed her in the car and drove the course while she slept and I tried to tell myself the hills weren’t so bad. I started worrying I would wake up sick too (I feel a little funny… am I congested? I think I have a sinus headache coming on…), but even more than that I worried this weekend was turning into a disaster. Poor Husband was taking the responsibility for sick Baby, no one was sleeping, we’d driven hours to get here (as had my Dad), and it was likely going to rain on race day, which seemed like a suckier situation for the spectators than me. I have to do well or this whole weekend will be a horrible memory.

Race morning I woke up sick-to-my-stomach nervous, like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. Am I always this nervous??? It was just a race, but it represented months of work, months of sacrifices by people other than me. I have to do this for my family, all my supporters who believe in me. I can’t let them down. Baby was still struggling so no one had slept again, but I reminded myself that I never sleep the night before a marathon. I only ate two thirds of my breakfast I was so nervous, which I don’t think has ever happened before.

Once I got to the elite athlete area I sort of calmed down. I wasn’t thinking too much ahead, just going through the motions of what I needed to do (i.e. go pee nine thousand times). The superstars warming up for the US Half Marathon Championships distracted me a bit. At least I don’t have to compete against them. I did have to run twice as far up far larger hills, but whatever.

THE RACE

My plan was to run the first half around 6:15 pace. To nab a qualifier, I needed to run under 2:45, or 6:17 pace. I don’t typically/ever recommend going out fast in a marathon or trying to bank time, but because of the nature of the course (a flat first half and a hilly second one) I figured to have any shot I needed to at least be on pace or slightly ahead for the flat section.

Despite my typical strategy of constantly obsessing about over/under (That mile was 3 seconds fast, the one before that was 2 seconds slow, so now I’m 1 second under) I tried my best not to freak out about a second here or there. The first mile was 6:12: A little fast, but that’s okay. Just relax into it. The next was 6:16: Okay, right on. The next few miles were a hair under 6:15 and I tried not to scrutinize every second and just kept telling myself I was running exactly according to plan.

Another pre-race fear was that I wouldn’t be able to do it alone; when I qualified at CIM I had a pacer and a big group to stick with, a crucial advantage I wasn’t sure I could qualify without. I hoped there would be some women at Pittsburgh with the same goal and we could work together. About 2 miles in, I found myself beside Devon Yanko, who I remembered from the pack at CIM. (Back then she had talked with the pacer about how she owned a bakery and, being obsessed with baked goods myself, I couldn’t help but remember that fact.) Maybe she’s going for the same goal today. When I asked, she said yes but with a noncommittal “we’ll see” shrug to it. She’s just being humble. (She’s seriously an ultra-running badass.) “Great,” I said. “Let’s try to work together.”

With Devon Yanko, around mile 6.

We ran the next couple of miles side by side and I was glad to have someone to run with. Maybe I won’t have to run this whole race by myself! Around mile 6, we caught up to another woman and I told her to jump in with us: “We can work together!” I was trying to be nice/desperate for company on this mission, but I’m not sure it came off the way. I wasn’t sure if she happily said, “Good, thanks!” or angrily said, “I’m good, thanks.” Maybe I pissed her off by implying she was in need of help? I self-consciously debated this as we crested a bridge, but she tucked in with us whether I annoyed her or not.

I knew we were slowing as we went up the bridge; it was a hill after all, but considering what we had coming, it was a minor one. I reminded myself how great it would be to have company to work with, but when I saw the split (6:25) and thought again how that hill was barely a blip, I couldn’t help but pick up the pace. Suddenly I was alone. Oh man it’s going to be embarrassing if they catch me later. (“Now how about you jump in, you idiot who went out too fast.”) But I trusted sticking to my race plan was my best shot, so it was back to going for 6:15s, alone or not.

At mile 8, I got to see Husband and Baby cheering. It was another reminder of all they do for me and how much I wanted to succeed and celebrate with them. So far, things were going well. I’m doing fine. I’m executing my plan. Just stay relaxed and calm and get to the hill. I was running with a couple men and hoped they were running the full so we could work together for a while. But when we split from the half marathoners around mile 11 only one guy was left. I lost even him soon after. Alone again, naturally. 

As I crossed the next bridge, I noticed the woman up ahead looked a lot like Clara Santucci, who had won the race in 2014 and 2015 in the low 2:30s. Pre-race press mentioned her as going for the win. Am I really right behind Clara Santucci?! I debated this for a while—maybe it’s someone else, was she wearing white when I saw her at the start?—and soon enough we were over the river and heading up the big hill.

When driving the course the day before, I realized the hills weren’t so much steep monsters as long, slow slogs. They weren’t the kind of hills where you’re huffing and puffing and nearly puking at the top, but just where you’re slowing and it’s hard and, man, it sure would be nice if it were flat again. I expected to lose thirty seconds or so, but hoped to put a metaphorical pin in it, just try to run 6:17s, and not worry about the thirty seconds until after mile 20. The course doesn’t go back down that hill until mile 23, so it was important to not freak out about being over pace, but just settle back in and trust the time would be made up later. I didn’t want to stress myself out or overanalyze my pace too early. At mile 20 I’d give myself permission to start pushing. Wait until mile 20: that’s when the race will really start.

The top of the hill, mile 13.

My split for the hill mile was actually only twenty seconds slow—Woo hoo! Better than expected!—and at the half I was a hair under 2:45 pace. I had been certain I would already be over at this point, so I was feeling good. Just maintain. Take it one mile at a time and don’t freak out over a too slow split. It rolls in this section, but every up you get back. Mile 14 was slow, but—told you!—mile 15 was fast. 16 slow, 17 fast. Around mile 15 I passed Clara—what?! She must be coming back from something. (Something I apparently tell myself pretty often and which is often apparently also true.)

Trying to catch Clara (white shirt). Mile 14.

Somewhere in mile 18 the pace on my watch was hovering in the 6:40s and I was telling myself it must be wrong: the buildings are throwing off the signal. Except we weren’t anywhere near downtown and there weren’t any tall buildings. There was a woman up ahead that I had been chasing since about mile 16. She’s not pulling ahead any more so I must not be slowing that badly… Oh but that guy did just blow by me, maybe I am slowing. I reminded myself that the pace often slows in these miles not because you can’t maintain it but because you lose focus. Focus. Get to 20 miles in one piece, then it’s game time.

Focused on one mile at a time.

Mile 18 was still a little slow. So was 19. Just get to mile 20. I passed two women in the twentieth mile, but it was another uphill slog. I had memorized the splits I needed to hit for miles 20 and 25; they would serve as my checkpoints. All I cared about was getting to the clock and seeing where I was.

Mile 20, 2:06:21: exactly thirty seconds over. Okay, this is what I prepared for. This is what I knew would happen. I need to average 6:10s from here to the finish and I’ve got it. The downhill is still coming, that will help.

What also helped, though I had no idea at the time, was that I was so busy looking at the clock on the course that I didn’t check my watch split. Mile 20 was a 6:40, the slowest of the day. When I run an unexpectedly slow mile in training, it often derails me. Oh my gosh, I can’t do this, I’m falling apart! And then, inevitably, I do fall apart. Because as soon as you accept that you’re slowing, falling apart, failing, it just snowballs.

Fortunately (thank you, God!) I had no idea how slow that mile was. I wrongly thought I lost a few seconds here or there between halfway and 20 miles and it added up to thirty seconds, not that I was slowing more and more with each mile. Blissfully ignorant of my unraveling, I refocused on my goal for the next mile, and with the help of a downhill, hit it dead on: 6:10. I’m certain it would not have been that fast had I known my mile 20 split. (There’s an argument to be made here in favor of running by effort and not your watch, but I won’t make it because I am--admittedly--terrible at doing that and check my watch every other block. Maybe someday I’ll learn...)

The doubts were starting, but I was executing my plan. Thirty seconds over at 20 miles is fine. Thirty seconds is doable. Still got the downhill to go. I knew there was one more uphill before that crucial downhill but I couldn’t remember where it was. Does the uphill end at mile 22? I made it to the 22-mile marker (a 6:15 mile, gotta push a bit more!) and saw my Dad cheering wildly. I knew by his enthusiasm he understood how close I was. He also said I was in sixth place. That would win me some money, so I tried to use it as motivation. There were no women in sight and I had no idea if any were on my tail but I also wasn’t sure I entirely cared. I no longer worried about being embarrassed if someone caught me. I just wanted that sub-2:45.

Mile 22. Fighting my way towards the finish.

The demons got louder. And the last uphill had not ended at the mile 22 marker.

When does this hill end? Where is this stupid downhill? I’m not going to make it. I’m going to miss it by a hair.

No! Don’t tell yourself that. There’s more left, there’s more left. It’s better to push for thirty minutes then be disappointed for six months or whenever you get this chance again. When will you get this chance? You’re healthy and fit and not sick (despite Baby’s best efforts) and the weather is good. (The forecasted rain had never materialized.)

But I can’t, I’m not going to do it. I’m going to miss it. I need to run 6:10s and I’m not.

I was trying to cycle through my mantras to find one that would work but couldn’t. The devil on my shoulder was yelling that I wasn’t going to make it. Just accept it. You’ll miss it by a bit. You’ll have to find a way to recover and not act like it’s the end of the world. So the weekend will be a bust. Just get over it. Once again I had written my goal (<2:45) on a bottle of champagne to have ready to pop when we got home. I had done it to prove to myself I truly believed I could run that time, but I had also just used an incredibly old bottle of cheap Andre, so: how much did you really believe in yourself? You didn’t even bother buying a nicer bottle. If you miss it, you can just throw that stupid bottle out. Who cares. (When even champagne choices are fodder for negativity, it’s not a good sign.)

But even as I bargained with myself, trying to find a way to make missing my goal not seem so bad, the angel on my other shoulder was trying to prevent me from accepting it. It’s not over. It’s not over. There’s more there. Don’t give up. You can still make it. Believe, believe, believe. I started praying, out loud. “C’mon, God. Help me do this.”

Mile 23: 6:17 pace. Another not-6:10.

Then, the downhill. Oh sweet mother of God, the downhill. I was flying. Still praying that it was enough. I just let my legs do whatever they could. Go as fast as you can, take every single second you can get. Flying down the hill, the angel gained some ground in his arguments with the devil. The pace on my watch read under 6 minutes. This is what I needed. Thank you, God. I can still do it.

Mile 24: 5:48 pace. (Certainly the fastest mile I’ve ever run in a marathon.)

Okay, I made up the 30 seconds, I’m back on pace. (I was actually 11 seconds under, but I didn’t know it.) Now I just need to run 6:17s for two miles and I’ve got it.

But when the road flattened, the suffer fest resumed. The pace on my watch hovered in the mid to high 6:20s. And suddenly that stupid devil was back in the lead. Well, you’re not going to make it. You have to accept it. You’re going to miss it by a couple seconds. You’ll have to find a way to get over it.

No, don’t give in. It’s not over yet. The prayers became more frequent. “C’mon, God. Help me do this.” Over and over. “C’mon, God. Help.”

I knew I had more in me; I just couldn’t seem to tap it. Yea, I’m tired, yea, my feet hurt, but this is it. (“If you had one shot, one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted…”) There’s more there, c’mon. Still my pace was stuck in the 6:20s.

There was a fluid station around mile 24. At that point, I was (hopefully) going to finish this thing before any Gatorade would actually make its way to my muscles, but studies have shown that just swishing Gatorade in your mouth tricks your brain into thinking fuel is coming, so it lets you speed up. I grabbed a cup, squished some around and tried to spit it out. But my capabilities were so limited at that point the Gatorade instead just dribbled out of my mouth and down my front, like I was a baby who didn’t yet know how to eat or drink. I must have been some kind of sight: muttering prayers to myself as I foamed at the mouth.

“C’mon, God. Help.”

I have to do this for Baby, for Husband, for all they’ve put up with this weekend, this whole season. I want to celebrate with them, not wallow. I HAVE to make it. I was desperate to get to mile 25, the other split I had memorized to see where I was.

Mile 25, 2:37:19: Dead on. (Later analysis would show that mile 25 was 6:28, another split I’m glad I didn’t see.)

Oh my God, I can still make it. It’s not over. One more mile, push push push. I still felt like I had more but couldn’t tap it. C’mon, do it for your family.

“C’mon, God. Help. Help. Help.”

The thing that’s always cited as the best evidence that it’s our brain slowing us down (not our muscles/heart/lungs) is the end sprint. If we slow down because we have absolutely nothing left, our muscles are spent, our fuel depleted, our body incapable of pushing any more, we wouldn’t be able to speed up no matter what happened. But when we get close enough, when we see the finish line, we find another gear. Which tells scientists that our fatigue is (mostly) in our mind. In Endure, Alex Hutchinson writes, “Science has confirmed what athletes have always believed: that there’s more in there—if you’re willing to believe it.”

I knew this and was reminding myself I had science on my side. There’s more there. But still, I was not speeding up. Oh my God, I’m going to miss it. I have zero seconds to spare. C’mon God, give me something. Help me go faster.

I don’t know at what point that prayer was answered, maybe when I finally could see the 26-mile marker, when my brain finally let up the emergency break. All of a sudden I was all-out sprinting. I have to do this, I can make it. Sprint sprint sprint.

The end sprint.

Husband was cheering wildly in this stretch and I knew from his voice he knew how close I was. He said later that he’d never seen me like that, never seen that kind of a sprint from me or that look in my eyes. “Desperation and I would even say fear,” he said. Uh yeah, I’d say fear too. I was scared out of my freaking mind.

C’mon, everything you’ve got, for Husband, for Baby. This. Is. It.

Scared out of my freaking mind.

The turn for the finish comes just after the 26-mile marker and I could finally see the clock, but I couldn’t make out the numbers. Oh God, please don’t say 2:45. Please say low 2:44. Still sprinting, still praying. Does it say 2:44:50 something?! Oh my God, I’m going to miss it. 

Willing the clock to have enough time left.

No, no! It says 2:44:20 something. Oh my God, I’m going to make it!

I did not let up until I was under the banner and the clock and then, OH THANK YOU GOD, we did it.

Thank. You. God.
(The clock on the right is for the half.)

2:44:36. An Olympic Trials qualifier and sixth place.

I didn’t break down in tears like at CIM, because I was so gutted I could barely celebrate. By the time I got through the crowded finisher’s chute (the half was finishing too) and realized I had walked a few blocks past the elite tent, I felt so sick I had to sit down. I convinced a police officer to let me out of the barriers so I could sit on the curb but he in turn convinced me to go to the medical tent, which I accepted mostly so I could get a ride back towards the elite tent. I knew I was fine, just depleted, and the doctors confirmed that. I finally made it to the elite tent but I still could not wrap my mind around it. Did I really make it??

Even days later, it doesn’t seem real. I knew it would be a dramatic fight to the finish and I would have to be relentless in those final miles. But for all my pre-race talk about belief, now that I've done it... I can’t quite believe it.

Dream big, 

Teal 

Taper Time To-Dos

With fewer miles and shorter workouts, what are you going to do with all that extra time during the taper? A few suggestions:

1. Rest

This is obviously the number one thing you’re supposed to be doing. Run less, rest more. Sleep in, go to bed earlier. Curl up with a good book (I highly recommend Deena Kastor’s Let Your Mind Run, it helps a lot with #5, below) and—if at all possible—procrastinate any to-do items until after the marathon. Spring cleaning can wait until… never, right?

2. Freak out about the weather

Just kidding, don’t do that. (Good luck not doing that.)

3. Plan any last minute details of race weekend

And by that I mean plan where you’re going to celebrate afterward. Around this time is when I start imagining all the junk I’m going to eat post-race, mostly of the cupcake/donut/ice cream variety. (If you have any suggestions of good Pittsburgh bakeries/ice cream shops/burger and beer places, let me know!)

4. Visualize your race

Don’t just picture the cupcakes; also picture how you’re going to earn those cupcakes.

I wrote about visualization before and it’s a relatively simple way to get mentally prepared. Imagine running well of course, but don’t pretend everything will go smoothly. Know that it may be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I got an unexpected comfort from reading over an old race report. I remember the race going well, because it ended well, but I wrote that it was the hardest race I had ever run. I'd forgotten some of the struggle, but knowing I struggled and still succeeded was comforting. Recognize that in your visualizations. There will be moments of doubt and fear and wanting to drop out. Mentally practice moving through those moments. Feel yourself struggle and then see yourself pulling out of it and succeeding.

5. Build the mental arsenal

Keep looking for things that will help you pull yourself out of those tough spots. I’ve spent the last week or so writing down every encouraging quote or thought I have. I plan to scroll through this arsenal race weekend with the hope that I can memorize the most powerful to rely on during the race.

One of the quotes that really hit me was “The only thing standing between you and your goal is the BS story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it.” Every time I think about all the reasons I believe I can make my goal, the old stubborn demons try to pop in and tell me why I can’t. In the Believe I Am Compete Training Journal, Lauren Fleshman writes about making a case for yourself. She suggests writing down all the negative chatter you tell yourself before a race and then coming up with an argument against each one (even if it’s an argument you only wish you could believe). Memorize the big ones and repeat them to yourself three times in a row every morning and night. (The repetition will help you believe, even in the shaky ones.) Deena Kastor suggested a similar strategy in the I’ll Have Another podcast: come up with three reasons why you’ll achieve your goal and remember them when the going gets tough.

I always sign these posts “Dream big” but in the days before a race, my mantra is different: Believe. Believe in God, believe in yourself, believe in the potential God has given you. Believe you’re capable of much more than you know. Believe in the training, in the miles and hard work accumulated. Believe in the taper, in the way your body is soaking up that rest. Believe that when it gets tough—seemingly impossible—you’ll find a way through and prove it wasn’t. Believe and don’t stop, because as soon as you stop the race is lost… but if you keep believing, who knows what will happen. 

Adding one extra piece to my race day attire.

(Note: There won’t be a post next Friday. I’ll be focusing on #1 on this list, but look for a race report in two weeks!)   

Dream big (and believe!),

Teal

Training vs. Racing

Recently, I remembered a question Oiselle had posed to Twitter a while back: “Do you prefer training or racing?” (Turns out I misremembered it. It was actually whether you’d rather run, race, or recover. But no matter, my inaccurate memory got me thinking.) I responded racing, but what made me consider it recently was that I’m not sure that’s true. I think I prefer training. I realized this because the training for Pittsburgh is wrapping up and I’m kind of bummed about it.

I love racing, but I also love the rhythm of training. (Which is a good thing, considering racing is only a few hours and training is a few hours every day for months.) It may seem like a monotonous routine of getting up early, scarfing down oatmeal, running, stretching, and amassing a heck of a lot of stinky laundry. But I actually love it. (Well, except for the laundry.)

 

Would I rather be training...

Even on the most exhausting days, I rarely wish I could run less. I always wish I had the time or energy to do more (or a body that could handle it). So when the taper comes, and with it the reduced mileage and shorter workouts, I get sad that it will be months before I’m back in that rhythm again. The race is exciting of course, but before (and after, as I recover) I’ll miss the reflective time I spend pounding the pavement, the satisfaction of a tough workout completed, the fulfilling soreness of a high-mileage week.

And of course, with less time spent running, there’s more time to agonize: am I ready? Did I do enough while I could? (Which is something I grapple with Every. Single. Season.)

On Sunday I redid the workout from a few weeks ago and, disappointingly, it went basically the same, only slightly worse. I was upset for a multitude of reasons: that I had another shot and I failed, that I sat out the 10K for no reason, but of course mostly that I didn’t get the confidence boost I needed. I expected the workout to lift a weight off my shoulders, to give me evidence that I could really do this. And truthfully maybe the weight wouldn’t have been totally lifted, but only shifted slightly, eased a bit. Instead, the weight of doubt grew a little heavier. I wasn’t sure I could carry it around for another three weeks until the race.

This week @thepacinglife posted a quote: “If the problem you’re facing can be solved with action, you don’t have a problem.” If my problem if that I want to run an Olympic Trials Qualifying time, then I know exactly what action I need to take and in three weeks I have the opportunity to take it. (Emphasizing that because we should be grateful when we have these opportunities.) The issue for me seems to be that it’s three weeks before I can take that action. I have to wait to see if I will. Like many eager, type A runners, I’d rather still be doing something that feels like I’m progressing/working towards it, still putting that metaphorical hay in that barn.

Instead all I can do these next weeks is wonder about it. I’m working on my mental game, reminding myself of all the other evidence I have from the rest of my training and racing this season. And really that is the action that I need to take now: to let my body rest while my brain wraps around the task ahead.

Still, I’d rather be working on my physical than mental game. I’d rather be training than wondering.

... or racing?
[Photo Credit: RunWashington]

But when someone asks why I run, why I put so much effort into training, I always say it’s to race. My motivation comes from trying to see what I’m capable of. I won’t know until race day and the excitement of the challenge is in the not knowing. And in putting all that hard work—physical and mental—on the line and finding out.

I guess what it really comes down to is, like many runners, I love training and I love racing.

I just hate tapering.

Which do you prefer: training or racing?

Dream big,

Teal

Readjusting

One thing I'm admittedly bad at is reading too much into one workout. When a major one goes poorly, my confidence tanks. On the other hand, a good one is sometimes all I need to carry me through a big PR. It’s a lot of pressure to put on myself, but sometimes that works: knowing that I have no option but to succeed. Sometimes, though, it doesn't.... as evidenced by a recent marathon pace workout.

I prefer to run my last marathon pace (MP) effort 3-4 weeks before the marathon. But this season, I had my heart set on racing both the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler and the Monument Avenue 10K, which are four and three weeks out from Pittsburgh, respectively. I didn’t want to run the MP the weekend before those races either, because that would be three hard weekends in a row (and that’s gotten me into trouble before). So I decided to do the last MP six weeks out. When I planned this all out, I knew thinking I could hit that pace that early was ambitious, but I’m nothing if not ambitious. I figured if it went well that early in the season, I’d really be set to race well at Pittsburgh. And because I stubbornly wanted to do those other two races, I didn’t see a way around it.

The problem with this run is that I really, 100% needed to nail it. I usually gradually work my way down to marathon pace over the course of the season; I just don’t retain the speed over the off-season to jump into goal pace right away (though most plans assume you do it that way). For example, this season I wanted to do four MPs (each a few weeks apart) with the following goals:
8 miles at 6:30
10 miles at 6:25
13 miles at 6:20
16 miles at 6:17 (OTQ pace)

I needed to nail that last one because (a) even if I nailed the others, it’s the only chance I gave myself to do a long effort at goal pace, (b) I didn’t nail all the others (the 13 miler was actually 6:29, though I had a cold that day and it was crazy windy), and (c) I get a lot of confidence from this workout: running 16 miles at OTQ pace was the best evidence I had going into CIM that I could qualify and I relied on it heavily. I’m not sure I can convince myself to go after an OTQ without it.

Well, I didn’t nail it. I averaged 6:21 pace, which is faster than the windy 13 miler and a hair faster (but much longer!) than the 10 miler (actual pace for that was 6:22), so most people will probably think I’m insane in how much this run disappointed me. I went in believing I could do it and, though I was obviously struggling, I don’t think I ever fully gave up on myself. I told myself I’d make up time on the downhills, but I didn’t. With a few miles to go, I was still trying to calculate a way I could make it: Just run the last two miles at 5:50 pace! (Told you I was ambitious…) But I didn’t pick it up, even slightly, even in the final mile. I just didn’t have it and I don’t have any excuses, really, which makes it harder to get over than the 13 miler.

… Except, of course, the major one I stubbornly refuse to accept: that it was too early in the season to expect to hit this workout.

Instead, I spent days fretting about what I would do. I worry that I’m in over my head trying to run so crazy fast on a hilly course. Why the heck did I pick Pittsburgh? I started looking for other races to do (something flat for crying out loud!), maybe even a week or two later. But of course I ran up against the same problems that made me pick Pittsburgh in the first place.

I know I sound crazy with all this, but I really want to prove to myself I can run at OTQ pace for a long chunk. I didn’t used to be quite so anal and, looking back now, I see that I was often able to run faster in races than during these workouts. But I keep coming back to CIM. Again, I know it’s problematic to keep comparing everything to that season, but I know how crucial running 16 miles at goal pace was for my confidence. And with a harder course and no pacers, I’m going to need all the help I can get.

So I fretted and fretted about this very bad run, until finally my stubbornness unclenched slightly and allowed some logic to seep back in. If I’m going to compare everything to CIM, I need to be fair. And six weeks out from CIM, I ran 13 miles at 6:18 pace, six seconds off my goal pace. This workout was six weeks out from Pittsburgh, and I ran 16 miles four seconds per mile off my goal pace. That’s both farther and faster at the same point in training. If I give myself another shot in a few weeks, I might just be able to shave off those seconds, just like I did before CIM. (Three weeks out I ran 16 miles averaging 6:12—OTQ pace at the time.) Which means I need to try again.

Trying again in a few weeks means admitting that I can’t do everything I wanted this season: I’m going to have to skip the Monument 10K and redo this workout that weekend. I’m surprisingly disappointed to miss out on the 10K; it's only a 10K after all. But I was hoping for a chance to PR at some distance this spring, and my 10K PR is probably the softest PR I have. (It’s actually from the first part of a half marathon.) I was also looking forward to running a big hometown race and all the “It’s not RVA without the 10K” signs around town have seeped into my subconscious. But racing Cherry Blossom and having another chance at this workout make more sense for my marathon prep than doing a 10K. The good news is that not racing Monument means I’ll be able to cheer on Husband instead and try to give back a little bit of all the support he gives me.

And after all that desperate Googling for other marathons, doing just the opposite—finally signing up for Pittsburgh—got me surprisingly excited, because I got to do so as an elite, which comes with travel assistance and other perks (like another personalized bib!). Maybe it seems silly and insignificant, but sometimes someone else believing in you, based on some time you ran in what seems like another lifetime, helps you believe in yourself.

I was so bummed after this workout that I avoided writing about it in my log until this morning, but writing this all out has helped, as did looking back at other seasons and accurately assessing what I’ve done in the past. (So I encourage you to journal or keep a log. Even if you don’t share your neuroses, stubbornness, and ambitious plans that flop with the world.) I’m embarrassed how much this workout threw me off, but I need to be realistic about where I'm at, understand that I can't do everything, and prioritize what will help most for the marathon. And give myself another chance to see what I can do with a few more weeks of training.

Moving on... 

Dream big,
Teal

Planning a Season

With two years since the Trials and two years to get back, it’s time to make a plan and get after it. Here’s how I approach planning a season.

Step 1: Pick a goal

Last week marked two years since the 2016 Trials. Thanks to an assortment of photo apps, I was reminded on a daily basis of the lead up, race day, and the celebrations after. Not so surprisingly, it made me realize (a) how awesome that experience was, (b) how glad I am I got to share it with so many people, and (c) how much I want to do it all again.

In the past few weeks, randomly and for the most fleeting of moments, I’ve thought: Maybe it’s crazy to try and go for a qualifier this season. Maybe it’s still too soon. But then I think: why the heck not? I want back in, all in, 100%. Last season I struggled to be patient knowing I wasn’t ready to go for it yet and dreamed about “next season.” Well, that time has come, so quit hesitating: this spring’s goal is sub-2:45. 

Step 2: Pick a race

Deciding what I wanted to do was easy; where I wanted to do it was harder. For whatever reason, there never seem to be as many marathon options in the spring as the fall. I didn’t have a qualifying time for Boston, I had too many bad memories of training for (and not racing) Grandma’s, I didn’t want to travel too far (the London Marathon is certainly on my bucket list though not in my budget), and I wanted a race that might have some good competition around my pace. I kept considering the Pittsburgh Marathon and rejecting it because just mentioning the race prompts a comment about its hills. I qualified in 2014 thanks in part to a perfect course, can I really do it on one much harder? But the timing (May 6) is perfect, it’s drive-able from where I live, and there are usually a couple of women in the 2:40-2:50 range. In the end, Pittsburgh won because I kept coming back to it: something was drawing me there, which seems to be how I often make running decisions and goals.

Step 3: Make a plan

After the major details are ironed out, it’s time for specifics: I open Excel and plot out all my workouts, long runs, easy days, off days, and miles until race day.

Some people can be intimidated by seeing it all spelled out and feeling like they have to stick to the script exactly. For the record, I NEVER completely stick to the plan I make. Sometimes I need to take an extra day or two off here or there or I decide I’m feeling more zonked then I should and cut back a little. Or I’m feeling in need of some speedier paces, so I switch from a tempo to a track workout. (I did exactly that just this week.) I used to print my plan out, but I no longer do that because keeping it on the computer makes it more flexible: the 21st century equivalent of just penciled in and easily modified. But even though I know it might change, I still like having it all spelled out: seeing how the workouts will progress in distance and pace gives me a sense of hope that my goals are possible. Here’s what I want to do and here’s how I’m going to do it. But if knowing all the details ahead of time stresses you out, it can help to have a coach who gives the workouts in smaller chunks and helps you readjust as necessary.

I start with what I’ve learned from the past. My CIM plan forms the backbone of my current plan, since I know the progression worked for me and left me injury free. I check to make sure I’m not making the same mistakes as before Grandma’s. (Looking back, I’m pretty sure I know exactly which three-week block did me in). I also look to notes I took after Richmond (more 20 milers!) to remind myself where my weaknesses were last time.

I write in the races I want to do in the buildup; this season it’s Rock-n-Roll DC Half, Cherry Blossom, and Monument 10K. Everything major (workouts, races, off days) gets color-coded because it’s pretty because it’s easy for me to see when two hard efforts are too close together or there aren’t enough off days. I add in some workouts specific to the race I’m running: this time it’s more hill workouts and not shying away from hillier routes for pace miles.

A snapshot of three weeks of CIM training--the season I qualified for the 2016 Trials--9, 8, and 7 weeks until the race. The top line is the mileage for the day, below is a quick note on the pace or workout. Asterisks mean I adjusted something (about halfway through the season I realized I needed more days off), races are blue, track workouts are peach, tempos are red, marathon pace workouts are purple, and off days are grey. The first week is a down week after a couple of weeks around 70 miles per week.

Then I take the rest of life into account: I often have Baby duty all day Tuesday so I make sure that day is stroller friendly. (But it should be noted, here and everywhere, how much of a superstar Mr. Runnerteal is for taking Baby duties all the other days.) A big workout fell on the day of Baby’s first birthday party so that got moved, because first birthdays are, um, kind of a big deal. It's good to look ahead and see how the tough workouts are going to fit among everything else going on--work assignments, travel, weddings--and adjust so you're not completely draining yourself.

Once I have most of the workouts in place, I add in the rest of the miles in a way that I’ve learned (through much trial and error) works for me: I aim for a 16-week buildup with peak mileage in the 70s, I take one day off a week (usually the day before my longest run), I usually have a mid-week medium long run that gets up to 15 miles (easily my favorite run of the week), I sprinkle in lots of easy days, and I take down weeks (cutting back my total mileage and long run) every 3-4 weeks. Then I fiddle around until the progression makes sense, so that I’m never jumping up by too much. (A 10% increase in weekly mileage is the old standard, though Runner’s World has a more nuanced calculator based on more recent research here. I aim for around 10% but fudge that rule a bit.)  And I finish with basically the same taper I’ve done for years because it works for me and I’m too scared to change it (nor do I see the point).

Finally, I put pace goals next to each of the major workouts so they progress, optimistically but possibly--just possibly (*fingers crossed*)--realistically to the pace I need for 2:45.

Step 4: Get to work.

This season I’m aiming to put up a blog each Friday so you can follow along on the road to another OTQ attempt. If you have an idea for a post or something you’re curious about, let me know in the comments below. This post was inspired by such a comment, so thanks!

Dream big,
Teal