Race Report: Charlottesville Marathon: Part 2

This is Part 2 of my Charlottesville Marathon Race Report. To catch up with Part 1, click here.

At mile 19.5, we met back up with the half marathoners and passed their finish. I so wished I could stop there. But it was back out to the lonely streets.

Mile 20, alone.
52 seconds behind Orange Shirt.

At this point, I was simultaneously losing hope and trying to talk myself back into it. One part of me was trying to think positive things, but the other part wasn’t believing any of it. I tried to channel Dathan Ritzenhein, who ran the Olympic Trials in January, got dropped from the lead pack, but didn’t give up. He knew anything can happen in the final miles of a marathon, and that someone might come back to him. Someone did, and he closed the gap to come within 8 seconds of third place. (Yes, despite his valiant effort and determination, he still lost.  That part didn’t matter to me, I was focusing on the not giving up. On the idea that anything can happen.) Maybe she would start coming back. As my training book says, the last 10k of a marathon are the miles that poorly prepared marathoners fear and that well-prepared marathoners relish. I was well prepared. It was my time to relish. My dad encouraged me, saying that the last miles were all mine. And here they were, I couldn’t give up. Anything can happen in the final miles. At mile 20, I was only a minute off my 2:52 time goal, maybe I would get it after all. Would I be happy with a PR and not a win? No, I knew I wouldn’t. But my God, I just wanted this to end.

The problem was she was not coming back to me. When we had a long stretch of road I could see her, the Orange Shirt, the motorcade. It was so far ahead, and it wasn’t getting closer. I knew miles 22-24 were flat through woods along a river, before the dreaded mile 24 hill. I couldn’t wait to the get to the river and be rid of the ups and downs for a bit. Along the river I tried to be positive. I was doing ok, considering. If she started faltering, I could overtake her. I felt like I was picking up my pace on the flats, but when I looked at my watch I saw I wasn’t. I couldn’t see her anymore, with the twists and turns through the woods. Now I just wanted the woods to end. Get to The Hill and get this the hell over with. If I could survive The Hill, maybe I could pick it up in the last two miles.

Finally, I emerged from the river and the woods. And. There. Was. The. Hill. It was enormous and she was WAY up it already. But when I spotted her, her arm swing was off. I focused a little more. She was walking! As soon as I realized it, she began running again. But her weakness had been seen. The glimmer of hope grew in my mind. I couldn’t let someone who walked beat me. My sister and fiancée were halfway up The Hill, and they ran down to tell me that she had walked, that she had told one of the guys she was with that her stomach hurt, that I could take it in these last few miles. “The faster you run, the faster you’re done,” said my sister. Okay, this is it, I thought. Once I get to the top of The Hill I give it everything I’ve got.

Except I couldn’t. I tried to run faster and it didn’t seem possible. What seemed flat yesterday on the scope out mission was not flat. I tried to think that every hill was hurting her more than me. I prayed she would walk again. Give me more hope. She didn’t.  I wondered if I would run out of space.

I knew I had to be at 2:44 at mile 25 to be on pace for my 2:52. Before the 25th mile marker, I looked at my watch. It said 2:45. And I hadn’t seen the marker yet. And then it hit me, I might not win or PR. Everything I worked for was quickly fading away. I couldn’t let that happen. I HAD to win. The fire grew inside me. I started reciting Eminem.

I had scoped out the finish carefully. I knew after the 25th marker it was a bunch of quick turns through residential streets. Run a block, sharp left turn, one more block, sharp right. There was slight downhill along a curve and then the finish was close. You still couldn’t see it, but you had to know it was there. That was the time to sprint. I had it all envisioned in my mind. I had to do it.

The final turn.

We turned through the residential streets and she still seemed far ahead but slowly, with each turn, block by block, she was getting closer.  I don’t know how, but it was happening. As we made it to the downhill curve, with about a quarter or a half mile to go, I was catching her, pulling alongside, and then blowing by. Everything in me hurt. I was literally telling my muscles to go, urging them with “c’mon, c’mon” muttered under my breath. I would have screamed it louder if I had the energy. As we rounded the curve, the motorcade was now leading me, I could hear them talking about how I came back. My sister and fiancée were there to see it, screaming their hearts out. My sister was yelling “Sprint, sprint!” and I was so scared Orange Shirt was on my tail I dug even deeper and kept willing myself to go faster. It was more pain than I’ve ever felt during a race. I kept yelling “c’mon” to myself. My Dad was standing at the final turn screaming wildly. I was winning. But I hadn’t won yet. It was still up a slope and through a shoot that would not end. I was running scared out of my mind that she would catch me and I would realize my worst fear of being outkicked. But there it FINALLY was. The finish. And I had done the outkicking.

There was no tape to break (I have always wanted to break the tape, but it will have to be a dream for another day) but when I finished I threw my arms up in triumph. I was so glad to be done. So glad the agony was over. The mental anguish of thinking I might not win, I might not PR, was over. I had done both. (I wouldn’t know until later, but my official time was 2:53:10, a PR by over 2 minutes. Eleven seconds off the 2:52 I had hoped for, but at this point it didn’t matter.) I had set a goal a long time ago of winning a marathon someday, and I had done it.

Heading for the finish, and the win.

Sometimes after a race I wonder if I could have gone faster. At Chicago last fall I held back for the first 20 miles for fear of the weather and memories of the previous year’s disappointment. I ran a smart race and was rewarded with a new PR, but when it was all done I wondered if I could have given more. At the end of Charlottesville, I knew I had no more to give. I left everything out there. It was the toughest race I have ever run. The physical pain of a hilly 26.2 miles compounded by the mental anguish of losing until the last possible second was harder than any other race. It turned out to be exactly the best scenario, what I had hoped for: to be behind, but still in contention, and to kick past to win. But knowing now how hard that was and how much it #@*%! hurt, I’ll be more careful what I wish for. I’ve heard it said that “No one really wins a marathon. You just survive it better.” I understand that completely now.

Afterwards, my family and I went out to eat. The waitress saw my finisher’s medal and wondered if I had run. I said I had, and then, as if on cue, she asked what every nonrunner asks someone who just ran a race: “Did you win?” she questioned, half laughing.

“Yea. Actually, I did.”

Dream big,

Teal 

Race Report: Charlottesville Marathon: Part 1

First, a word of warning. It takes me nearly 3 hours to run a marathon, and close to four months to train for one, so I’m not going to be able to describe the race too concisely. This will be the first of a two-part story of my agonizing and painful journey through Charlottesville.

I’ve told you before why I chose Charlottesville. But I’ll let you in on one more secret, because it’s over now and there’s no harm in being honest, I also chose it because I thought I could win. Last year’s race was won in 2:57 and previous years were over 3 hours. This was my chance to get a moment to shine.

Also, of course, I wanted to PR. That’s no secret, I go into every race wanting to PR. I’m very much of the thinking that you need to be moving forward; I don’t train for 4 months to end up back where I started. Considering the course’s hills, this was a tough enough goal. But it’s a goal that I’m used to chasing.

Going into a race with a competitive goal (i.e. winning) is a completely different ballgame, one that I’ve never experienced. Marathons are massive events with thousands if not tens of thousands of people, some of whom are professional athletes or Kenyans, and my primary goals aren’t my finishing places. Mostly I’m going after time; I cared far more that I finished with a 2:55 in Chicago than as the 63rd woman. I would not have felt any differently if I had finished 64th or 73rd. I may try to out kick someone for an extra spot, like at the Rock-n-Roll USA Half, but in the end, that doesn’t really matter. The only places that really matter are the top three, if not just the winner. For the people behind them, the time and the competition with themselves is what matters.

Leading up to Charlottesville, I tried not to concentrate on winning. I didn’t want my entire experience to be ruined if I didn’t win, especially if it was completely out of my hands. I didn’t know if there were other women out there like me that thought Charlottesville could be an easy win. Maybe they had 2:45 PRs. Come race day, I could run the best race of my life, but that would be a race I would not win. And so I tried not to put all my eggs in that basket. I didn’t write about it here. I told very few people that was my goal. I tried to get myself to stop thinking about it as the do-or-die goal. A good piece of advice going into a marathon is to have 3 goals: (1) your very best, perfect day, perfect weather goal, (2) your realistic goal, and (3) your “I can live with this” goal, when you have a bad day, the weather’s bad, you cramp up. So much can happen over the course of 26 miles, there has to be some room to reassess your goals. I tried to think of winning as my #1 goal, my best day, best-case scenario and PRing as my realistic goal. Goal 3 was breaking 3 hours, and although I considered it to be a time I would most certainly get, the hills added an element of uncertainty.

As you can probably tell from this obsessive blog, I put a lot of pressure on myself going into a race. The days before I am a nervous mess. I was scared of the hills, I was worried about running the entire race alone since the field was so small. I knew that despite how much I tried to back off the goal, I would not be happy without a win. It was one of the reasons I came to Charlottesville. One of the reasons I was torturing myself with these hills. Would I be happy with second place and a PR? No, I knew I wouldn’t. I mulled over the possibilities:

1. Ms. 2:45 comes. She runs away with it from the gun and there isn’t anything I can do about it.

2. Someone sits on me the whole race, biding their time and making me do the pacing and then sprints by me in the end. That seemed like the worst possible option. I am a come-from-behind runner, I can’t handle the stress of leading.

3. I would be far and away the best runner and lead easily from the gun. This seems ideal, but would that make me slow down and not push myself to a PR? Would I be happy with a win and no PR?

4. I would be the person sitting on someone and then pull a come-from-behind win. Perhaps the best possible situation.

Turning these options over in my mind in the days and sleepless nights before the race (and through all the weeks of training) did nothing to help my nerves. I couldn’t predict who would show up and there was a part of me that knew I would only be relieved once the race started and I’d finally know what situation I was in.

Race day was perfect weather. I took my spot at the front and did my normal check-out-the-other-runners around me, which serves no purpose except to intimidate myself. There are many incredibly thin, professional looking runners at every race, and in my eyes, they always seem faster than me.

The gun went off and I was immediately in the women’s lead. Not just the lead for the marathon, but also the first woman from the half marathon or full marathon. I won’t lie, this freaked me out a bit. But I was running a comfortable pace and feeling good. The first miles of a marathon should be easy and feel slow, going too fast here is a dead man’s game. I even slowed down a bit in the third mile, trying to maintain an easy pace. Quickly, I found myself with a biker escort, which appeased my fears of running alone and finding my way along the course, which involved looping through parking lots and parks and along wooded trails. I thought, “Ok maybe this is how it’s going to be: scenario 3, all alone at the front for the whole race.” I saw my sister and fiancée at mile 3, and they looked none too impressed I was in the lead, perhaps because they saw what was behind me and what was coming. I had no idea where the rest of the women’s field was.

We head up the hill.
I'm in blue, with Orange Shirt just behind.

At mile 5.5 we take a turn and run up one of the worst hills on the course. I had spent time studying the course and drove part of it the day before, and I knew this hill and the hill at mile 24 would be the worst. I even remembered this hill from when I ran the first time, way back in 2005. Still feeling good, I headed up it. I heard a group of people coming up behind me, but they sounded like men, so what did I care. (Yes, I can usually tell women runners from men runners, they breathe differently.) But as they passed me halfway up the hill, I saw one of them was a woman in an orange shirt (no fair! her breath was disguised by the group of men!) Out of the corner of my eye, I checked her bib: red meant full marathon, white meant half marathon. There was a moment where it looked white, thank goodness. Let her go, she’s in a different race. But as she passed I saw it again, more clearly, and that bib was red. (How many times did I learn in my neuroscience classes that peripheral vision can’t see color? Don’t trust it!!) And just like that, there went my lead. Orange Shirt continued up the hill, got the biker escort, and built up a nice lead. At mile 7.5, we turn around and head back the way we came, back down the hill. You can see everyone behind you at this point, and the third place girl didn’t look far. My God, I thought, I’m going to struggle to even get 2nd.

Over the next few miles, I just tried to keep contact. I still didn’t know what to think of what had happened and what I could do about it. We were still following the same course backwards, so the others runners in the race were running by in the other direction, shouting encouragement. “She’s right up ahead! You can catch her.” I wanted to scream back, “No, you don’t understand. She just caught ME. She’s running away from me, I’m not catching her.” 

Back down the hill, alone.

So the situation had gone from scenario 3 to either a 1 or a 4. She could keep building her lead and literally run away with it or I could hang on and run from behind. As I began to realize this, I started to gain back a little hope. Her lead wasn’t extending any more. She was in front and I was where I wanted to be, running from behind. At mile 10.5, my sister told me she looked tired and I took comfort in this; she’s going out too fast, I’m going to stay right here, maybe get a little closer but not pass her. Just bide my time until she breaks. Maybe she’ll pull me along to a PR. For a few more miles, I felt good and at peace with the situation.

I was so involved with the competitive aspect, I wasn’t really paying attention to my splits. It was good I had something else to focus on, because my watch was giving me serious trouble. I wear a Garmin, which is incredibly useful because it can tell you your pace in real time; you look down and it tells you at that moment you’re running a 6:33. I usually have it set so it also beeps at the end of each mile and tells me that split. This can be annoying in races, because Garmins are not exactly accurate (and we shouldn’t expect them to be. It’s a GPS on your wrist, it’s not perfect.) In races what usually happens is it will be a little short. So after a few miles, your watch may beep, alerting you to how fast you ran the last mile, but you’ll see up ahead you haven’t yet passed the mile marker. If you go by that split, you’re going to think you’re running faster than you are. Better to wait until you get to the mile marker, and take a more official split there. (Assuming, of course, that the mile markers are accurate.) Having done the former too many times and gotten frustrated late in the race as my Garmin miles and the mile markers grow farther apart, I switched to the old fashion way for Chicago last fall. I turn off the beeps, and hit the lap button on my watch when I pass a mile marker. This requires you to see all the mile markers, but in Chicago I only missed one.

For Charlottesville, I worried about the visibility of the markers, but I decided to do the lap press option anyway. The weird part was some of the early miles were shorter than my Garmin thought: I got to mile marker 2 at 1.95 for example, whereas I usually get to mile marker 2 at 2.05 or something. This made me wonder about the markers, but again Garmins aren’t perfect so I didn’t stress about it. Until mile 7.5 when we hit the first turn around. Without realizing it, I had chosen the lap press option that also calculates a lap every time you pass a point where you previously hit the button. So when I was at mile 7, I hit the button, and when I passed back by that marker going the other direction, it told me a new split, despite the fact that it wasn’t a mile. I couldn’t stop and fix it now, so after that I gave up on hitting the button. I went even more old school and just tried to calculate splits in my head, trying to maintain as close to a 6:30 pace as possible. I knew where I needed to be at 10 miles to run a 2:52. (My goal had been to run between a 2:50 and a 2:52. When my sister and I drove the course the day before, my goal became a 2:52, barring any divine intervention that would allow me to run a 2:50 on those hills.) I wasn’t far off at 10 miles and I knew where I needed to be for the half split as well, so I focused on that.

My view for most of the race.
Orange Shirt is far ahead, with her motorcade.
(Some of the other runners are in the 8k.)

Having studied the map and elevation, I knew there was some significant downhill at mile 12, and feeling on pace and like Orange Shirt wasn’t getting too far ahead of me, I had a good patch for a few miles. I saw my family again, who assured me the 3rd place girl was way back and no threat. Then came the turn at mile 12.5 onto a new out and back part until mile 19. The elevation maps told me this part wouldn’t be too bad, but when we drove it, I began to have my doubts. Running it didn’t help. I savored every downhill, but only for a moment, because I knew I’d have to run back up it. Every uphill was torture. And something in the right side of my butt started screaming in pain. I knew this was from the hills, and I knew it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. How was I going to run another 13 miles like this? Doubts and hatred for the marathon started in. I wanted to stop. I wanted to drop out. I wanted Orange Shirt to drop out. But who would drop out when they are winning? I thought about second place and how I wasn’t going to be satisfied with that. But this race really sucked. Mentally, it was torture. The halfway mark wasn’t there (or I didn’t see it) and there were hardly any markers when we turned into the woods around mile 14. There were lots of turns and the woods prevented me from keeping an eye on Orange Shirt, who now also had a motorcycle at her side, in addition to a couple of guys and the biker escort. At the turn around near mile 15.5 it got worse. Orange Shirt got a chance to see where I was as she turned back, and I think she picked it up. I lost sight of her again back through the woods, but once again the other runners were all encouragement. Third place told me I could catch her. Orange shirt’s biker escort (he used to be MY biker escort!) commended me for keeping it close. But my God, I wasn’t believing it. I lost the guy I was running behind and felt very alone. There were times where I wasn’t even sure where I was going. My butt continued to protest every step. I had no idea what my pace was, but I figured I had to be slowing down.

After the woods, miles 18 and 19 seemed all uphill. Once again, I saw my family who tried to encourage me, but I wondered if they really believed it. I was a good minute behind this girl now and hurting. I wanted to sit down on the sidewalk with my family and just let it be over. But there was still so far to go.

To be continued....

Dream big,

Teal

Motivation

You pretended the snooze button didn't exist. You dragged your butt out of bed while others slept. While others ate their pancakes. You had a feast of protein, glucose, and electrolytes. You double-knotted. You left the porch light on and locked the door behind you. You ran. 5Ks, 10Ks, 26.2 miles. Some days more, some days less. You rewarded a long run with a short run. And a short run with a long run. Rain tried to slow you. Sun tried to microwave you. Snow made you feel like a warrior. You cramped. You bonked. You paid no mind to comfort. On weekends. On holidays. You made excuses to keep going. Questioned yourself. Played mind games. Put your heart before your knees. Listened to your breathing. Sweat sunscreen into your eyes. Worked on your farmer's tan. You hit the wall. You went through it. You decided to be a man about it. You decided to be a woman about it. Finished what you started. Proved what you were made of. Just keep putting mile after mile on your internal odometer. 

-Nike ad

That's an old ad, but I cherish it among my pile of saved running ads. Sometimes before races I leaf through them to get the motivational juices flowing. Just reading them reminds me of all the work I've put in, all the miles, sacrificed sleep, weather woes, endless bagels. My pile of ads reminds me not to shy away from the pain, that it will be hard, and leave you gassed. That the best workouts and races take the most from you, but they give the most back. 

People always ask me what I think about when I'm running. On any given run, that varies a lot. But in a race, I think exclusively about the race. About the pace, the people around me, the scenery, the next water stop/GU stop/place I'll see Team Teal. And when the inevitable "going gets tough" I leaf through my internal store of motivational tidbits. Songs can be incredible distracters and motivators. And in my opinion, hands down, the best running song is Eminem's "Lose Yourself." Just look at the lyrics:

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy

There's vomit on his sweater already, Mom's spaghetti.

If that doesn't sound like carbo-loading gone terribly wrong, I don't know what it is. 

Just kidding. Seriously, the relevant lyrics:

If you had one shot, or one opportunity

To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment

Would you capture it or just let it slip?

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment

You own it, you better never let it go

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow 

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime

If you focus on those words (and the beat) while struggling running, you are almost guaranteed to get back into it. I remember singing those lyrics to myself while running my first Boston. I had just crested Heartbreak and was struggling. Then those lyrics came in my mind. One shot, one opportunity. The excitement of Boston wasn't lost on me, this was my one opportunity. Yea, maybe I run a marathon every six months so this may be a little overstated, but with all the time and energy I invest, I don't want to let it slip at the critical moment. And the thought "this is the last time I ever do this to myself" (insert curse words as needed) is at the forefront of your mind in the middle of a marathon, so this being the last opportunity seems relevant. It's your last one, better go out with a bang. (Don't worry, shortly after you finish you'll change your mind. Another favorite Nike ad that ran the day after the NYC Marathon: "Today you feel like you'll never run a marathon again. See you next year.")

Besides Eminem, my other running mantra is "this is for the record books." I realize, obviously, that my name will never be in any real record book. But what I mean is that whatever I do on that day will be written forever in my log book, online results, runnerteal.com, etc. I won't be able to go back and fix it. I can try to qualify a poor performance, add an asterisk to explain wind or hills or stomach issues, but really the time is all that matters. I think "this is for the record books" in all my tough workouts when my pace is slipping or I feel like throwing in the towel. Whatever happens, I'll have to write that down, set it in stone, and look at it for years to come. When I think about this, it makes me want to stop making excuses and make sure that I give everything I have, so that whatever is written is the best exemplar of my performance on that day. No asterisks. No excuses. 

I know that mantra may not make sense or work for you. But I urge you to find your own, something that inspires, hits home, and is easy to remember and repeat. Obviously not something as long as the opening Nike ad, but something that resonates just the same. Maybe Eminem. 

Dream big, 

Teal 

Science Friday: Increased Incidence of OCD in Tapering Marathoners

Disclosure: There is no actual science involved in this post, just my humble opinion based on self-diagnosis. Consider it a Pseudoscience Friday. 

Before every marathon, once I get deep into the taper, I become obsessive compulsive about checking the weather. (And don't get me started on the hand washing.*) Ten days out weather.com will begin posting its forecast. Ten days is too far out to ever be correct about the forecast, and so it will almost certainly change as the day gets closer. But no matter. As soon as possible, I'm on that site checking for the stats: heat? cold? rain? sun? A couple hours later: any difference? The hard training is done. The carbo-loading has yet to begin. There isn't much else I can do to be any more prepared for the race. Except keep going back to weather.com to find out what the day will bring. 

Weather is the most frustrating thing because it's the one thing we can't control. We can train like never before, rest well, eat well and show up to the race ready to PR. But if the weather doesn't cooperate, all that can be wasted. Even a seemingly slight deviation of ten degrees from ideal marathon temperature (50 degrees) in either direction (down to 40 or up to 60) can increase your time by 1.5-3%. (Adding between ~3-6 minutes to a 3 hour marathoner's time.)  Then there's rain, wind, humidity, snow... the possibilities for a less than perfect day seem endless. There are some ways to prepare. If you know you are running a hot race, for example, you can acclimate yourself to running in hot temperatures. You can lower your body temperature before the race with precooling vests or frozen drinks. But you need to do this in your training, weeks and months before the race. If you don't see it coming, if race day turns out to be much hotter than usual, it's too late for these kind of adjustments. So why would you even want to know? I want to know to get rid of the element of surprise. I don't want to be surprised by anything on marathon morning. Even if I can only know the weather a few days before hand, I want to make any adjustments possible. 

Heat scares me the most. I do not like running in the heat and I don't handle it well. In Chicago 2010, I ran on a humid day with temps around 85. I shouldn't even be complaining, because it was nothing compared to the infamous disaster of Chicago 2007. But the heat crushed me and I ran 15 minutes slower than I thought I would. I went out too fast and literally melted at the halfway mark. In 2011, I decided to go back to Chicago for redemption, and once again, my pre-race anxiety rose along with the predicted temperature. But this time, I was more prepared. I had trained in the summer heat, I drank a prerace slushie (which has been shown to lower your core temperature), and Rusty was on the course to hand me ice soaked sponges. I didn't start off too fast, and held myself back in case the weather reared its ugly head. When it didn't, I was able to stay strong and finish in a new PR. 

I think some would argue the added prerace anxiety of checking (and freaking out over!) the weather would be a bad thing. But I would argue that, for me at least, it's better to be prepared. Even if you only know a few days out, you can adjust what you're wearing, how much you're drinking, and, if need be, your expectations. I think knowing what I was in for helped in last year's Chicago, and I hope it helps this time.

So here we go: as of this morning (8 days away): sunny and a high of 73. I am not so happy about that 73, but Charlottesville does start at 6:30 am (!!!) While that's an issue for other reasons, it's good on a warm day, as it will ensure a cooler start and hopefully a finish before it gets too hot. But I'll be watching weather.com all week, hoping my incessant checking will make that temperature drop. And hoping no one notices, or I really will be diagnosed with OCD.

*Next week on (pseudo) Science Friday: Increased Incidence of Hypochondria in Tapering Marathoners

Dream big, 

Teal

Mile Repeat Day

Today I ran one of my favorite workouts: mile repeats. It’s my favorite for two reasons. One is the simplicity of the distance. Whenever someone hears you are a runner they always ask “how fast can you run a mile?” It doesn't matter how fast you can run 26 miles or 5 kilometers; that doesn't mean anything to them. The mile is the classic American distance. So much so there is now a campaign to “Bring Back the Mile," attempting to get American high schools to stop focusing on the 1600 m (slightly less than a mile, which is actually ~1609 m), before turning to the internationally accepted distance of 1500 m in college and beyond. I stumble on the mile question. When was the last time I ran one mile, and only one, all out? High school? At least with mile repeats I can get some idea, or at least something to say when I get asked the obvious question.

The second reason I like mile repeat day is because it’s always the last track workout in my marathon training. (I do other track workouts during marathon training, but never mile repeats specifically.) I always do it in week 2 of the taper (~10 days before the race.) My legs are a bit fresher than usual and I only do three, so the workout isn’t overwhelming. With a warmup and cooldown it totals 8-9 miles, which is less than most other track workouts. All this translates to feeling light, fast, and efficient. It acts as a great confidence booster going into the last week, especially if I can see improvements since the last season. In fact, if I beat my projected times in my other track workouts, I start to wonder what this will mean for mile repeat day. 

This morning's workout didn't start off with me feeling fresh and fast like past seasons. The first repeat was right about where I was last season, which was disappointing. It was still dark at this point, making it was hard to see the splits on my watch (you already know my feelings about running in the dark). Second, it was windy. Excuses, Excuses. I knew I needed to pick it up on the second one, and I did, but only slightly. I started thinking about how this wasn't going as well as other seasons and how I wasn't going to get the boost I needed. I even thought about this blog, and how I planned to write about how great this workout is and started thinking I'd have to change the subject. Enough excuses, I needed to finish well to go into this race feeling strong. On my last repeat, I started out too slow but picked it up and killed the last lap, finishing in a new mile PR of 5:45 (average 5:48 for the workout.) I take it as a good sign that I picked it up with each repeat. Usually I start too fast and my times slow as the workouts progresses (last season, my fastest repeat was also my first, a 5:49.) This is a better sign of stamina and better pacing. And just like that, the workout gave me everything I needed. A good strong finish to wrap up the hard workouts for the season. Long live mile repeats!*

*In the spirit of Bring Back the Mile, I feel I need to clarify that these are actually 1600m repeats (4 laps of a track.) The track I run on doesn't even have a marker for 1 mile, which would add ~2 seconds to my times. 

**In the spirit of people asking me how fast I can run 1 mile, I'm sure I'll feel the need to clarify this time with the fact that it was 3x1600m in the middle of a 9 mile workout. So I think I'll just assume this cancels out with the slightly shorter distance, and call myself a 5:45 miler.

Dream big, 

Teal 

Science Friday: Taper Time

With three weeks to go to the marathon, it's time to start tapering. The hardest weeks of training are behind you and it's time to focus on recovering and getting to the starting line well rested and injury free. Good running plans come equipped with a taper: generally a 20% decrease in mileage your first week (3 weeks out), 40% decrease the second week (2 weeks out) and 60% the week of the race. It’s time to ease up a bit, and let your body recover and absorb all the hard work you’ve been putting in. A Runner's World article from a few years ago has a nice summary that covers everything from mileage, to what to eat, to how to mentally prepare. 

But I think one of the overlooked things about the taper is the importance of intensity. When we think about relaxing and resting up for a race, it's often thought that means less mileage AND slower, easier runs. But that isn't the case. In fact, studies have shown that keeping intensity high (while decreasing volume, i.e. decreasing mileage) yields the most effective taper. In a meta-analysis (basically a summary and evaluation of the existing research) published a few years ago, Bosquet and colleagues looked at the variables that contribute to an effective taper. They looked at swimmers, cyclists, and runners and considered changes to training volume, intensity, and frequency and differences in the duration of the taper. Overall they found a two-week taper with a 41-60% decrease in training volume to be the most effective. Additionally, they found decreases to frequency (number of workouts) had no effect and decreases to intensity were either not effective or defective. In summary, it seems the best taper consists of running the same number of days at the same paces (some easy days, some faster days, etc.) as training, but less total miles per day and per week. (Also, it seems the optimal duration in general is two weeks, although other studies looking specifically at marathons agree three weeks is better for that event.)

I think the most important lesson here is the value of intensity; all the studies and reviews I looked at agreed on its importance and I think it's often ignored. We need to be sure we are well rested but still fit on the starting line, and reducing total mileage while still maintaining intensity (keeping up with our strides, track workouts, short marathon pace runs) will do just that. Additionally, keeping intensity high will help the mental aspect. Often the taper can lead to fears of losing fitness from running less. Having some speedy (but short!) workouts can help to assure you your hard training is not going to waste. 

Dream big, 

Teal

Race Report: RnR USA half

This past weekend was the Rock-n-Roll USA half marathon. As in past years, I took it as the last hard workout before the marathon. With a warmup (four miles to the start) and cooldown (three miles afterwards), it gave me 20 miles for the day and acted as a glorified marathon pace run. Since it was a race, with all the added adrenaline and competition, I expected to be able to go a bit faster than marathon pace, but since I had only eased up on running ever so slightly in the few days before, it wasn’t as fast as an all-out half marathon effort would be.

But, of course, I still had high expectations. There are always goals to be reached for, and motivations to get there. I have a side goal of running a 1:22 half because that would get me free entry into Rock-n-Roll events. A 1:22 seemed ridiculous (6:15 pace, a.k.a. the pace I ran for the 8k, but 2.5 times farther.) I decided starting in the 6:30s for the first few miles and then trying to hit 6:20s for the last few miles would be nice and reasonable, and average out to a decent pace in the mid-6:20s. Then I decided I’d shoot for a 1:23 (and maybe end up with a 1:22:59, would that count for free entry?) Except a 1:23 is a 6:20 pace for every mile, not just for the last few miles as my realistic plan had. Didn’t matter, 1:23 or bust.

There are a multitude of emotions you go through in a race, but mostly it’s back and forth between:

1.) “This. Is. Awesome.” This is how you feel running across the Verrazano Bridge while Frank Sinatra sings “New York, New York” at the start of the NYC marathon. This is running through the wall of sound that is Wellesley College in the Boston Marathon. (Male or female, I don’t care, that thing gives you chills.) This is when your legs can’t move and you’re hunched over trying not to puke but you just ran a PR and so you don’t care if your legs don’t move for the rest of your life.

2.) “I.Am.Never.Doing.This.Again.” This is mile 15 of NYC, when the dark solitude of the Queensboro Bridge sets in and it just will not stop going up. This is the Newton hills, when you know Heartbreak still looms. This is the feeling that comes somewhere between the first few miles and the finish, when you are cursing yourself and thinking “why the @$%# did I do this to myself? I hate this. I want to stop right now, lay down in the middle of the road, and never run again.”

A gorgeous DC morning.

Most of the time, especially in marathons, there’s a little bit of both. Some unfortunate races have more of the latter, and there’s no telling why (I was ready to give up racing in the middle of last week’s 8k.) But hopefully the moments of pure running elation sandwich those rough patches. The beginning of the RnR USA half was definitely the former. It was a gorgeous day, the course was beautiful, the bands were rocking. I was loving it. And I was running way too fast.

At first, I thought, “Well that’s okay, I’m just going to have an awesome day and a huge PR!” Even when the 5k split came, and was way too fast, I paid it no mind. Then the steady uphill from mile 4.5 to 7 came. I tried to maintain an even effort, knowing that I was slowing down, and I didn’t freak out over the pace. Even when the 10k split came. For some reason, a little after that split, I got it in my head that although I had run the first 5k in sub 20 minutes, I had run the 10k in 48 minutes. This would mean for the second 5k I slowed to a 9 minute pace. This was not reality. But somehow, I confused myself and thought it was. I remember worrying that my Dad (who was following my splits at home) would see that and get worried that I had drastically slowed down. I remember thinking I’ll just have to explain to him about the hills. I’ll be okay, I’ll make up for this time on the downhills, I thought.

This is a prime example of how mid-race mind games can be good or bad. For one thing (the good thing), I didn’t freak out when my splits slowed. I remained calm, knew it wasn’t the end of the world, and kept going with my race strategy. Even though I was under the impression I had slowed from a 6:20 mile pace to a 9:00 mile pace, which is really not okay to do in a race and certainly won’t be fixed by a few downhills. The bad thing, is of course, that I had pulled the whole thing out of thin air and was completely not within reality.

Feeling good.

The good news is, by mile 8, the race completely turned around. I figured out/half remembered that I had actually run the 10k in just over 40 minutes and came out of my weird trance. I also saw my sister who came out to spectate, and a woman told me I was in 10th place. (To the people who diligently count places: thank you!! You have no idea how much that helps and how motivating it is.) 10th place!? I thought she was out of her mind. But there were two women right in front of me and now they were on my radar. I figured even if the spectator miscounted, one of these women must be near 10th place and all of a sudden all I wanted was a top ten finish.

I passed #9 right away and #8 by mile 9. I was in 8th place with no women in sight. I just tried to maintain my position. Somehow I find it incredibly difficult to concentrate both on time and competition, and so my diligence to my timing slipped away. I started just focusing on how far off I was from my 6:20 goal. I realized I was a minute slower and just tried to maintain that, and not slow down anymore.

With about one mile to go, I saw another woman in front of me. I knew she must be slowing down so I set my sights on her. Slowly but surely, I reeled her in, feeling alright for the end of a race. (Although I didn’t realize it, I was actually slowing down too, as mile 12 was my third slowest mile. Apparently it is also uphill, although not as bad as the others. I find it strange I didn’t notice it, or the fact that I slowed. I really was all about catching this woman.)

Finishing strong.

With about 400 meters to go, I was right on her tail. I was scared to pass her because I had a feeling she would just pick it up and kick right by me. I don’t have much skill sprinting and figured I’d lose that battle. Coming around the final turn, a man told us we were 6th and 7th place (not 8th!) and I almost let her go. I almost convinced myself I had nothing left and couldn’t pass her. But then I realized what the hell, I need to try, and I sprinted my mind out and flew on by, finishing in 6th place, in a new PR of 1:24:17 (realizing I probably should have started sprinting earlier and not doubt myself.)

My initial reaction was proud of my place in the field (of 10,700 women) but pissed with my time. It was a PR of over 3 minutes, but not what I wanted. After more time to process it, I’m not so disappointed. Realistically, I thought somewhere in the 6:20s would be good and I managed a 6:26 pace. In the last few weeks, my confidence has been waning, with fears of the hills of Charlottesville and some subpar workouts on nights of little sleep. Going into this race, I wasn’t sure I’d come away happy with it at all, and a PR and a top ten finish have to be a confidence booster. The hard workouts are over. Now it’s taper time!

Rusty also ran the half, got a big PR, and still came away a little disappointed. I take the blame for that, since I also encouraged him to have high hopes and set big goals. But I have to say I think it’s better to set big goals and come away with a little disappointment, longing for more. One of my favorite quotes is from Theodore Roosevelt: It’s better to dare mighty things and fail, then to live in a gray twilight where there is neither victory nor defeat.

Dream big,

Teal