Last time I alluded to one of the annoying things about a
February marathon. Here’s the other, more serious one: the weather. I live in Washington DC, not
northern Minnesota, so I can’t complain. Or rather, I shouldn’t. But I’m going
to anyway.
Because I had my biggest, most important workout scheduled
for the weekend Snowzilla decided to invade the East Coast.
 |
| Yea, it's pretty... but it's not all about looks, people. Where can I train?? |
I rearranged all my workouts, moving my last big workout (a
long run with most of the miles at goal marathon pace) from Sunday to Friday
(pre-Snowzilla attack). I figured, after my big workout, I’d be content and
relieved to be on the treadmill the rest of the weekend, glad to be done with
the monster workout before the monster snowstorm.
Except the content feeling never came, because Friday’s
workout went terribly.
It was slow—way too slow. I ran a loop I have always hated
(Hains Point) because my go to route (Beach Drive) is only open to runners on
weekends. The wind seemed brutal, my gels were solid rocks, and my stomach
didn’t want to handle anything. But those excuses don’t seem to justify why it
went so poorly. I was desperately trying to talk myself back into it, to not be negative, to put the last bad mile behind me and try to get back on a
reasonable pace for the next one, but nothing seemed to be working. My legs
just would not go faster.
The redeeming quality of multiple Hains Point loops was that Kerry
had again offered to help out, and she could jump in for
a mile here and there. And once again, I owe her eight zillion thank yous. I
wanted to give up. Brutally. Alright,
running demons, you win, I’m done. I knew I shouldn’t give up on the
workout—even though I was going WAY too slowly—because I needed to get in a
workout somehow. There’s no making up this one (we’re too close to the race and now all the roads are covered in snow),
so slow was better than nothing. I knew that and kept reminding myself of it, but
it didn’t matter. It was Kerry’s presence—and her bright vest coming around the
bend like a neon angel—that made me not.
When the struggle fest was over and I finally warmed up
inside, it seemed all hope had been sucked out of me, by the wind, by the
demons, by my evil watch for telling me splits I didn’t care to see. I wanted
to run much faster for this workout; I wanted to prove to myself that my goal
pace for the marathon is possible. If I hit it in this workout I’d be ready,
just like before CIM. Once again, I needed proof I wasn’t being bat$#*!
crazy about my goals. But this was slower than the marathon pace workout I did
over Christmas, which I also declared as too slow at the time. And it was
slower than this workout pre-CIM.
I started to think I’m being completely nuts. I’ve actually
adjusted my outlandish goals from the beginning of the season to be ever so
slightly more realistic, and now even those seem entirely delusional. I started
thinking about all the people who warned me to just to enjoy the LA race, not put
too much pressure on myself, not go for some crazy goal only to end up upset. That
approach isn’t me, but during and after this workout, giving in suddenly
seemed logical and inevitable. Maybe I
shouldn’t be going for a PR; I’m not in shape to anyway. Why stress about it?
Man, the demons know exactly what to say to bring you down.
I know my goals aren’t always rational or logical, but going for them anyway is
what I love to do. I remember this same workout from last season. It also went
poorly, only much, much more so. (In fact, every marathon pace workout from
that season was a disaster.) I didn’t have time to complain about it,
because I ended up hurt instead, but I do remember the day after that terrible
workout I was talking myself back into believing my ridiculous goal was still
possible. I had less to go on then. Where did that Teal go? And how do I get
her back?
After spending the remainder of Friday in a total I Hate Running
Funk, I woke up Saturday and tried to find a glimmer of hope, a small piece of
evidence, that I’m not crazy to still chase my ambitious goal.
For starters, I am in better shape than ever before. I can’t
base everything on one workout; everyone has bad days. The rest of this
season’s workouts (and the half) have been slightly faster than past seasons.
So that’s good.
But how much faster? Not enough. I never hit the pace I want
to hit on race day in a long workout. I relied heavily on the fact that I had
run 16 miles at 6:12 when I attempted to run 26 miles at 6:12 at CIM. I
don’t have that this time. How the fudge
can I expect to go faster for longer?? But I think—perhaps similarly to not
basing everything off one workout—I need to stop comparing everything to one
race. CIM was the best race of my life, obviously, but that doesn’t mean that
to have another great race everything has to align in exactly the same way, right? (Not necessarily a rhetorical
question, as I seem to be having a hard time convincing myself of this.)
But as I
searched through my logs from previous marathons, I found my glimmer:
Before the season I ran CIM, I rarely (i.e. never) hit
marathon pace in workouts. I almost always ran faster on race day. (Boston 2014 is the only exception.) Also, my workouts where I tried to hit goal
pace used to be shorter than they are now. So I had much farther to go on race
day and I still ran faster.
Part of me feels like that was another lifetime ago. That
was some other Runner Teal—can I really still do that?
But part of the reason I was super bummed after Friday’s
workout was that it drained some of the Trials excitement out of me. Listen,
I’m a running super nerd: I am so excited
to line up with my idols, I can’t wait to see the men speed by me, or to get a
live account of the women’s race as we do our out and backs on Figueroa St. I am still beyond
thrilled to be invited. BUT I’m also excited to race myself—literally, to race
against myself—and to try to get this big PR I’ve been dreaming of. When I
think it might not be possible or that I shouldn’t go for it, I get really
bummed and it steals some excitement from the whole enterprise. Because no
matter what those demons are trying to tell me, I really do want to go for it.
Snowzilla dumped its snow and moved on, up the East Coast.
Yet it continues in my head. I got walloped with two feet worth of cold reality
this weekend, and I still feel like I’m sitting in a blizzard of negativity and
reasons to give up. But I have a little morsel of hope, providing just a little
light and warmth: I’ve run faster in
races than in practice before. It’s years old and fading fast… but I’m
clinging to it, as the storm rages on.
 |
| Trudging forward. |
Dream big,
Teal
P.S.- Gratitude update: I’m still healthy. At this point last time I was dealing with a season-ending injury, but so far I've made it through, into the taper, in one piece. And that is HUGE. So no matter my mental demons, I’m incredibly grateful for that.
