The Evolution of 2:42

My first marathon was a 4:07. My twelfth was a 2:42. How did I get there? Presenting: "The Evolution: An oversimplified look at how my training, goals, and lifestyle changed over ten years and twelve marathons."

As you’ll see there were some big jumps (namely the first one) and lots of smaller ones. I didn’t go from over four hours to under three overnight. I slowly chiseled away at my time, making new short-term and long-term goals as I went. Sometimes a big chunk would come off, but more often it was a small shard.

I chiseled away at other things, too. My first marathon was in college, fueled largely by burritos, beer, and too little sleep. I’ve slowly improved my nutrition over the years, to the point where I no longer chug Diet Coke all day and focus on getting a healthy serving of vegetables at every meal. (I’ve found it most essential to focus on vegetables; proteins and carbs come pretty easily with most typical meals. And I love fruit so I easily hit my quota there.) I’ve also focused on sleeping more, reminding myself (sometimes nightly) of its importance to training and racing well.

1. Charlottesville Marathon, April 2005

Goal: Finish

Training changes: The first marathon means longer runs than ever before. I didn’t worry about time or pace, just on getting in the distance.

Weekly mileage average: As proof of my inexperience, I’m not sure I kept a log or counted miles. I do know I started off with a training plan, and I diligently did most of my long runs each weekend, but I also remember skipping an awful lot of weekday runs in favor of sleep.

Best workout: On my first (and only) twenty-miler, I ran by a man working in his lawn. Hours later, I passed by again. “Are you still running!? How far are you going??” I proudly responded, “Twenty miles.” The shock on his face powered me through the final stretch. This is what it’s like to be a marathoner.

Biggest challenge: Running 26.2 miles…

Result: 4:07:12 (9:26 pace), completely satisfied and proud.

An amateur in a plain old cotton tee. Charlottesville 2005.

2. Baystate Marathon, October 2008

A goal: Qualify for Boston (3:40 back then, 8:25 pace), B goal: PR

Training changes: With a time goal in mind, I started caring about the pace of my long runs and added some tempo workouts.

Weekly mileage average: I definitely think I calculated mileage at this point, but apparently didn’t save my notes. (I still didn’t fathom how long this obsession would last.) 

Best workout: I started running long runs at goal pace, around 8 minute miles. (I’ve since honed my running knowledge quite a bit more, and that strategy is not recommended. I now do marathon pace runs only every few weeks and not for the entire duration of the run, see below.)

Biggest challenge: Run a marathon with some semblance of pace. I had over 27 minutes to slash to nab a BQ, and I often reminded myself (and family and friends) that it could take a few tries.

Result: 3:28:38 (7:58 pace), BQ by 11+ minutes, PR by 38+ minutes. Ecstatic.

On my way to my first BQ. Baystate 2008.

3. Boston Marathon, April 2009

A goal: Sub 3:20, B goal: PR

Training changes: I did more twenty milers (that often included part of the Boston course), going from doing one per season to three.

Weekly mileage average: 36 Highest week: 45

Best workout: My first half-marathon, a 1:34:39, which predicted a 3:18 marathon.

Biggest challenge: Battled some ankle issues, spent 3 weeks in January cross training

Result: 3:18:49 (7:35 pace), PR by almost 10 minutes. Pleased.

Finishing my first--but certainly not last--Boston. 2009

Side-note from my journal after this race: “[Thinking about new goals and how far I can take this] Could I get under 3:00? If I could, I bet I could win (or give a serious shot to winning) a small, unpopular marathon. And if I got that, I would have to give a serious shot to getting a 2:48 [the 2008 standard, I didn’t know it would get harder] and qualifying for the Olympic Trials. Yea, yea, yea, it’s CRAZY and that is a really impossibly* hard goal … I'll probably never get there, but if it drives me to win a race or to slowly get closer and closer to 3:00 then I'll take it.”

*Dear 2009 Teal: Never say something's impossible. (See marathons 7, 9, and 12 for how accurate this prediction turned out to be.)

4. New York City Marathon, November 2009

A goal: Sub 3:10 B goal: Sub 3:15

Training changes: I bumped my mileage slightly (tried to average 50 miles per week) and added track workouts.

Weekly mileage average: 44 Highest week: 57

Best workout: One week in October I did 10X800s, averaging 3:08 (“Yasso 800s,” predicts a 3:08 marathon), on Tuesday and an 8 mile tempo run at 6:46 pace on Thursday. I drew a smiley face in my log that week.

Biggest challenge: During the summer I moved to DC for graduate school, but first lived in a rodent-infested apartment where I got no sleep. I moved out by September, but had a string of workouts where I tripped and fell. I blame exhaustion for making my already shuffling stride worse, to the point where my feet barely came off the ground and I tripped often and brutally. (I even ended up tripping and falling in the race, just to give the season a sense of continuity.) 

Result: 3:18:29 (7:35 pace), PR by 20 seconds, but upset.

Scraped up as usual. NYC 2009.

5. National Marathon, March 2010 (now Rock-n-Roll USA)

A goal: Sub 3:05, B goal: Sub 3:10

Training changes: Tried to get better about lifting and doing core work. (Something I still struggle with.)

Weekly Mileage Average: 42 Highest Week: 56

Best workout: Yasso 800s with 3:05 average

Biggest challenge: DC’s infamous “Snowpocalypse.” It snowed repeatedly and massively (for DC, which was ill-prepared to deal with it). My log is a string of curses about the snow.

Result: 3:14:45 (7:26 pace), PR by 4 minutes, but a little bummed.

At least race day was snow-free. DC 2010.

6. Chicago Marathon, October 2010

A goal: Sub 3:05, B goal: Sub 3:10

Training changes: Bumped my mileage again and started doing doubles one day a week.

Weekly mileage average: 60 Highest week: 69

Best workout: Broke 1:30 for the half marathon (predicts a 3:06 marathon) and averaged 2:59 for Yasso 800s.

Biggest challenge: The training went relatively well, but race day was hot (mid-80s). I stupidly went out hard anyway (3:05 pace at halfway) and paid for it, brutally. 

Result: 3:20:16 (7:39 pace), the first marathon I did not PR. Devastated.

Hot, hot, hot. Chicago 2010.

7. Boston Marathon, April 2011

A goal: Sub 3:00 (6:52 pace)…. I didn’t have a B goal; I wanted a 2:59 and nothing else.

Training changes: I started using the training plans in Advanced Marathoning. (I’ve used them ever since, tweaking them only ever so slightly.)

Weekly mileage average: 63 Highest week: 70

Best workout: Advanced Marathoning gave me the structure for my marathon pace workouts. I did 8 miles at pace (15 total with warm up and cool down) in January and 12 miles (20 total) at 6:56 pace in March. I also broke 6 for the mile for the first time in my life.

Biggest challenge: The challenge was mental: getting over Chicago and believing a 15-minute PR was possible.

Result: 2:59:30 (6:51 pace), a PR by 15 minutes. Ecstatic.

Going for sub-3. Boston 2011. 

8. Chicago Marathon, October 2011

A goal: Sub 2:55, B goal: PR/redemption for 2010 Chicago

Training changes: I didn’t seem to change much here. Was I so happy with breaking 3 that I got complacent? That seems doubtful, but the plan looks similar to the previous season.

Weekly mileage average: 65 Highest week: 71

Best workout: 10 miles at 6:47 (18 total) in August, track workouts went pretty well.

Biggest challenge: Looking back at my workouts, none of them were stellar. A half marathon in early September went terribly.

Result: 2:55:35 (6:42 pace), PR by almost 4 minutes. Pretty pleased.

Back for redemption. Chicago 2011.

9. Charlottesville Marathon, April 2012

A goal: Win, B goal: Sub 2:50… changed to just PR-ing after I saw the hills the day before

Training changes: No more complacency. I cranked up my mileage again (went to the next level in Advanced Marathoning) and only took a day off every 2-3 weeks. I also made my marathon pace workouts hillier.

Weekly mileage average: 74 Highest week: 81

Best workout: 12 marathon pace miles (18 total) at 6:42. Also did a 20 miler with 14 marathon paced miles (my longest yet) but wasn’t so pleased with the pace (6:49).

Biggest challenge: An incredibly hilly course, all the other women in the race.

Result: 2:53:10 (6:37 pace), 1^st place, 2+ minute PR. Thrilled.

Winning. (The clock is wrong.) Charlottesville 2012.

10. Boston Marathon, April 2013

A goal: Sub 2:48, B goal: Sub 2:50

Training changes: In the summer of 2012 I joined GRC. I spent the fall trying to improve my times at shorter distances; this was my first marathon with the team.

Weekly mileage average: 78 Highest week: 85

Best workout: I broke 1:22 for the half marathon, a week after running an 8k as a workout. I did the 8k (~5 miles) at 6:04 pace and was feeling confident.

Biggest challenge: I reworked my training plan to align more with teammates, planning to cut my longest effort at pace from 14 to 12. But in reality, I never even made it to 12, as I had stomach issues that day and called it at 8. I also struggled with insomnia leading up to the race. Looking back at this training block, I think I was in great half marathon shape, but not great full marathon shape.

Result: 2:52:35 (6:35 pace), PR by 35 seconds. Really bummed. (But quickly overtaken by other emotions on that horrible day.) 

A day ending in many tears. Boston 2013.

11. Boston Marathon, April 2014

A goal: Sub 2:46, B goal: Sub 2:48 (I was sure I would at least break 2:50.)

Training changes: Coming back from my hip injury, I went back to less mileage and taking one day completely off each week.

Weekly mileage average: 64 Highest week: 72

Best workout: My longest marathon pace effort was 12 miles (18 total) at 6:24 pace (equates to a 2:47 marathon). I was psyched.

Biggest challenge: Coming back from injury, with less of a build up then usual. Still, the workouts seemed to tell me I was ready for something big.

Result: 2:58:37 (6:49 pace), the second time I did not PR in a marathon. Devastated.

A disappointing, dehydrating day. Boston 2014.

12. California International Marathon, December 2014

A goal: Sub 2:43, qualify for the Trials, B goal: None. Sub-2:43 or bust.

Training changes: I put my faith back in longer marathon pace workouts. I also started doing yoga more often and foam-rolling every day.

Weekly mileage average: 70 Highest week: 83

Best workout: 16 mile marathon pace run at 6:12 (22 miles total)

Biggest challenge: A poor showing at the Philly Half set me back psychologically… I took a few days off and cut down my mileage to try to get some bounce back.

Result: 2:42:13 (6:12 pace), Trials qualifier, 10+ minute PR. Ecstatic.

Achieving the dream. CIM 2014.

The most encouraging story from that progression is that there’s power in disappointment. Two of my biggest PRs (Boston 2011, by 15 minutes, and CIM, by 10 minutes) came right after my biggest failures (the two marathons I did not PR, Chicago 2010 and Boston 2014). Defeat can be a powerful motivator. Like an old football rivalry, you don’t want your enemy to get the best of you again, so you fight harder and do everything possible to come out on top.

Also, as I chiseled my time down, I sculpted my training to what works for me. Yasso 800s—while wildly popular in some running circles—don’t work for me (or at least don’t predict correctly), but long, steady efforts at pace do. (This makes sense, as Renato Canova, the famous coach of Kenyan marathoners, often discusses. Workouts with paces close to marathon pace are far more important than those farther away; i.e. a workout at marathon pace matters more than a track workout at a much faster pace.)

You have to find what works for you. I remember frequently thinking that there was no way I (or anyone) could make it to the Trials on less than 90 miles per week. The women who compete in the Trials just seemed too amazingly fit and fast to be running anything less. I like running higher mileage and kept trying to bump it up to something that seemed “Trials-worthy”, but in the end, I made it on 70 miles a week. Don’t be intimidated or discouraged by what others are doing (or what you think others are doing). Everyone is different; what works for someone else might not work you.

That’s how I made my goal. How will you?

Dream big,

Teal

Race Report: California International Marathon (CIM)

This is a doozy of a post. But if you've been following this blog, you've been waiting a while for this one. I promise it's worth it. 

BEFORE - The Warm Up

After Raleigh, I was on the phone with my sister, explaining—as usual—why I actually was not completely satisfied with my new half marathon PR (1:19:28). The truth was I wanted a 1:18 because I had read that translated to a sub-2:43 marathon, the time I needed to qualify for the Trials. I explained to my (understandably frustrated) sister that I was disappointed because I wanted to go for sub-2:43 this season, and now I lacked the half marathon result to back me up. But even while complaining, I started talking around it.

“Ahh, I’m still going to go for it, probably. If I go for 2:43 and blow up and run 2:48 or 2:50, I’ll be bummed, obviously. But if I play it safe and run 2:46, I’ll still be bummed. I don’t want a 2:46. I want a 2:43. Might as well give myself a shot.”

My sister (bless her heart, we share the same reach-for-the-stars genes) encouraged it. So did my husband, despite knowing he would bear the brunt of Disappointed Teal if this plan backfired.

Still, I needed at least one piece of evidence that it wasn’t bat-$#*! crazy. My remaining marathon pace workout was the last chance to do something 2:43 worthy. The previous two had gone well, exactly on target: 10 miles at 6:21 in early October, 13 miles at 6:18 in late October. Knowing my race day confidence hung on the last one, I nailed it, running an average of 6:12 pace for 16 miles, exactly my goal pace for a sub-2:43. (6:13 pace will squeak you under at 2:42:53 but eek, that is too close for comfort. 2:43:01 does not get you to the Trials.) And so, with that workout, I was all in for sub-2:43. I was going for it.

And I damn well better fight with everything I’ve got, because CIM was easily the best opportunity I had at sub-2:43. I had a (nearly) flawless season, and who knows if I could put together another season as good as this one, without injury, sickness, etc. Also, CIM was encouraging people to get the standard, providing pace teams and financial incentives. The weather looked pretty close to ideal, and ended up being even more perfect than predicted. The course is net downhill, one of the fastest around. Although it isn’t really “around” me, as I—and my husband and parents—was traveling across the freaking country for this race. I damn well better make it worth it.

As I tried to force my brain to soak up every bit of motivation and positivity I could, fear tried to elbow its way in. Not every workout was encouraging; many of the last few were done in cold, driving rain. The times were slower and the paces felt harder, a discouraging combination. Was I falling apart in the end? My disappointing performance in Boston hung over me like an ominous cloud. If this one also went poorly, I honestly wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull myself up and try again. I didn’t want to deal with another post-marathon depression, or put my husband through that. I had to break 2:43.

We’ve had a bottle of champagne gathering dust for a while, no big reason to pop it. At one point I thought, “We’ll pop that when I break 2:43.” I wanted to write <2:43 on it, saving it for that occasion and that occasion only, but then I thought I better not. If I didn’t get it, it would just serve as one more reminder of disappointment. But then I thought if I didn’t believe in myself enough to do that, what the hell was I doing? You can’t go into a race not believing. I took out a Sharpie and scribbled on the bottle. Before we left for Sacramento, my husband put it in the fridge. It would be chilled and waiting.

Our flight to the West Coast got cancelled, rebooked, and delayed. We arrived in Sacramento at 3 am East Coast time on Friday night, which was not helping my pre-race stress levels. I struggle to get enough sleep as it is, and there went a few more hours.

Saturday morning, after my shakeout run, I was feeling better. As I gently stretched and listened to pump up music, I felt awesome. I’m ready! This is it! And then—suddenly, like a lobotomy to the part of the brain confidence comes from—I completely fell apart. What the hell am I thinking? How could I expect to run twenty-six miles at 6:12 pace?? That is completely insane! I was putting so much damn pressure on myself, it was surely going to end in disappointment. 

My husband took me in a big bear hug to silence my hysterical, dry-heaving sobs. I don’t remember what he said, something along the lines of “shut the hell up, you’re going to do great,” but in a more loving way. It worked, and I just tried not to think about the reality of the situation too much for the rest of the day; through the expo, carbohydrate feasts, and failed attempts at naps, I tried to just think positively and focus on my cache of motivation. Not about the reality of 6:12 pace for 26 miles.

One small and simple piece of motivation that has worked for me all season is from Kara Goucher. In one of her Driven episodes on Flotrack she talks about her race in the 2007 World Championships 10,000m. Alberto Salazar encourages her to go for it. (“If you play it safe and kick into tenth, what’s the difference if you go for it and blow up and finish tenth? But which strategy actually gives you a shot of doing something big?” Sound familiar?) He tells her to “stay on their butts.” With a lap to go, Kara is in 5th and pleased, no one expected her to do that well. But then she has an epiphany, that she could do better than 5th, that she isn’t really giving her everything just yet. She tells herself, “Kara, just try.” She musters up her remaining energy to pass two people and nabs the bronze medal.

It’s simple, but that stuck with me. Are you really trying? Just try. That mentality got me big PRs at ten miles and the half-marathon. I planned to rely on it again at CIM.

On Sunday morning, after another restless night, I got out of bed shaking, either from exhaustion, or nerves, or both. Just try not to think: put on your race kit, eat your bagel, get to the start. Don’t think about the reality.

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I made my final decision of the training season: I’d stick with the pacer. He had relayed his plan before the race: a slight negative split, with 6:15-6:17 miles for the first ten and then cut down in the second half. That scared me a bit, I was planning to run as close to evenly as possible (6:12s the whole way). I wasn’t sure what seeing splits over pace would do to my confidence. And I wasn’t sure I could run 6:10s or faster in the latter stage of a marathon. I planned to run the first mile with the pacer, to prevent going out too fast. Then I’d see how I felt from there. But in the final moments of freaking out, I decided I would stick with the pacer no matter what. I was handing this stranger my dream and trusting him with it. But the effect was calming.

Kara’s words popped up in my head. But they weren’t “Just try” like I had expected. Instead, it was “Stay on their butts.” Get with that pacer, and glue yourself to him.

DURING – The Race

The first mile was too fast, even with the pacer. Another girl in the pack (of maybe thirty people) made a snorting noise. Um, hello, that was a 6:00. Too fast. What are we doing? But the next few miles we settled down. People were chatting, the pacer was breaking the ice, making jokes. The first of the elite water stops (which had stressed me out before the race, as they meant twenty-plus women converging on one table to grab their individual water bottle, all while running 6:12 pace) passed without much incident. People who missed their bottles were offered sips from those who had theirs. We were a team, a swarm heading for a mutual goal. One woman laughed and said, “This is the funniest race I’ve ever been in,” referring to the pacer and his jokes. It was true; the pressure of the biggest race of my life was dimmed by the lighthearted atmosphere. I relaxed a bit, so much so that I missed mile markers 2 and 3. I didn’t care. My fellow dreamers were nodding or cheering approvingly as we came through them on target. At four miles I decided I should probably start paying attention to the splits, but I did not plan on leaving this group anytime soon, or ever.

Stay on their butts.

Water bottles designed for high visibility and easy grab-ability.

Besides Kara’s words, I had other mantras planned. I had listened to Eminem on repeat; along with “Lose Yourself” (my ultimate favorite), this season “‘Til I Collapse” had been particularly powerful. But during the race, as I thought about the enormity of this marathon and this goal, instead of my tried-and-true rap songs, I found myself singing something else.

You’re all I ever wanted, You’re all I ever needed, yeahhhh… 

Despite being of the boy band generation—and thus knowing every single word to that song—just that line repeated. You’re all I ever wanted…. It was annoying, an endless loop. But it had the intended effect. In the moment, it did seem like this was all I ever wanted.

Through the 10k, through ten miles, I stayed glued to the pack. There was some jostling at turns and water stops—not something I’m used to experiencing, as I don’t race on the track and jostling pretty much ends at mile 1 in a marathon—but no major incidents. I was just trying to turn off my brain as much as possible and focus on what the pacer was saying, or the next time I’d see my family or have to cut over for a water bottle. Don’t think about how there’s 18, 17, 16 miles left to go. One of my teammates was just ahead of me. He had run a 2:42 at CIM last year, and here we were, poised to do exactly that today. His presence was calming and the cheers from his family an added boost.

Also, in addition to Chris Mocko, our official pacer, the other pacer—who would take us through 20 miles—was Kim Conley, the 2012 Olympian in the 5000. It’s not everyday (any day?) you get to run alongside an Olympian for 20 miles, and I reminded myself to be keenly aware of the awesomeness of the situation.

Stay on their butts.

In the pack at mile 8. The man with the visor is our amazing pacer.

One thing that was stressing me out was the targets Mocko had said for the two halves. When one woman asked, I swear he responded with something like 1:21:41 for the first, and 1:21:21 for the second, but that didn’t add up. I spent a few miles (seriously) debating this. Did I hear him wrong? Can I not do math? Crap. But still, I would not give up running with this group. First because I didn’t have a single morsel of belief that I could go faster, and second because it was so unbelievably amazing to have someone try to distract you for 26 miles.

You’re all I ever wanted…

We came through the half in 1:21:16, and the swarm breathed a collective sigh of relief (some cheered) that we were right on pace. I was relieved because—proving that I cannot do math mid-marathon—I mistakenly thought we were ahead of my planned 6:12 pace (we were actually a few seconds slow). Either way, we had not gone out as slowly as I worried, and we didn’t have the daunting task of trying to speed up in the second half. My coach later pointed out that 1:21:16 would have been a half-marathon PR a little over a month ago. Fortunately, I did not think about that. I was actively trying to not think about anything. Not think about how we were only halfway. Not think about how that was the easy half, and it was going to get much harder. But with every mile, it was getting more and more difficult to not think. I tried to get as close to Mocko as possible so I could focus on what he was saying, not on any doubts trying to squeeze their way in.

He asked us to dig deep for the next few miles, and I remember thinking, “And then what? We’ll be digging deep from here on out.” He was right though; miles 13-19 are always the toughest. It’s where I’ve fallen apart too many times, and I stationed my husband and parents in these miles so I would get a boost when I needed it most. I reminded myself I had done 16 in practice, and had added 3 miles with each workout. If this was just a workout day, I could at least get to 19 miles, so let's just take it mile by mile until 19. Surprisingly, I didn’t need any other mental pep talks just yet. I wasn't falling apart. I was still in this, despite the pace and the distance we had already covered. I saved my stores of motivation (mantras, people to think about, encouraging tidbits) for later. Try to get through one more mile without having to fight too hard. Each mile ticked by and I was still doing okay. I just tried to blur everything out but what Mocko said about television shows, non-alcoholic beer, or that guy in the tutu. And I sang silently in my head.

You’re all I ever wanted…

Still with the pack at 19. (Kim Conley is half off screen on the right.)

We hit mile twenty at 2:04:15, 15 seconds slower than 6:12 pace but still under 2:43. Barely. Was it enough? (I didn’t/couldn’t calculate it then, but we were just 5 measly seconds under 2:43 pace. I am incredibly grateful that I didn’t realize this at the time.) I was still feeling relatively okay, considering. I could do this. Kim Conley left us with some words about how awesome we were doing. Um please, you’re an Olympian. This is unreal.

I had been trying to stay in the front of the pack, as close to the pacer as I could, so that I could hear him well. After twenty miles, I looked around and realized there weren’t many of us left. Some had picked it up; I could see them forging on just ahead. But others had fallen back. Mocko asked the remaining three of us where we wanted him to be, just ahead or alongside. It was time to get serious. The gauntlet had been thrown down, only instead of competing against each other, it was us vs. 2:43. This is it. The final few dreamers in the final few miles.

The final few dreamers.

A feeling of desperation seemed to hang in the fog as we got closer and closer to downtown. I started tapping those mental reserves that I had saved. I hadn’t fallen apart at halfway or at 15 or 19. I was here, on the other side of the wall, in the part of the marathon I tell myself that I always shine. Mocko reminded us to think about the people that got us here, that always support us, which is exactly what I had been telling myself. I thought of my husband, my family, my teammates. But mostly I thought about Lauren.

Lauren was our teammate who was killed walking across the street at the 2012 Club Cross Country Championships. Monday would be the two-year anniversary of her death, and as I ran in Sacramento, my teammates back home were jogging a memorial run in her honor. On a team full of NCAA superstars, Lauren had a similar story to me; she didn’t run in college, but started running on her own, shaping herself into a GRC-worthy athlete. Lauren also shared my goal to run in the Trials, and there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would have made it. She had the crucial combination of an enormous work ethic and incredible grit. I had dedicated this race to her, and here I was in the final and hardest miles. Lauren wouldn’t have given up even a second here, and dammit, neither will I.

With 5K left, Mocko doubled his efforts to keep us going. “Twenty minutes and only a 5K left. You can run a 20 minute 5K, c’mon!” That’s true, stranger, I can run a 20 minute 5K, but you have no idea how shockingly close that is to my PR (Reminder: I am terrible at 5Ks.) And, hello! I have just run 23 miles at 6:12 pace. Holy crap, am I going to screw this up? I can’t. I have to make it.

One step at a time.

Keep pushing.

Stay on their butts.

You’re all I ever wanted…

For Lauren. Do it for Lauren.

I started worrying. Was this pace really fast enough? We only had a few seconds to spare at 20 miles, what if we lost that? Was this 20-minute-5K-pace? I was freaking out we weren’t going fast enough, but also fully aware that I could go no faster. At mile 24, Mocko told us we had 14 minutes left. 14 minutes? Is that enough? I can’t do math anymore. If I run 6-flat, that gives me 2 minutes to run 0.2. Is that enough? (Spoiler alert if you do the—actually very easy—math.) I wasn’t sure. I also wasn’t running 6-flat. Shit. I gotta move. This is it. THIS. IS. IT.

So I pulled slightly ahead of Mocko and the other girls. Mocko had told us not to look at our watches (what’s the point? Just freaking run AS FAST AS YOU CAN) but I was looking at mine every other block. I had to be sure I was still going fast enough. (What would I have done if I wasn’t??) My Garmin seemed to be hovering around 6 flat and I just tried to keep going at that pace. I knew the final turn was onto 8th Street, but I made the mistake of looking at a street sign and seeing 29th Street. Oh God, so far to go.

As we neared the park and the turn onto 8th, pretty much everything was a blur. I heard my mom screaming, but the fact that she was there (I hadn’t expected that) didn’t register as surprising. Everything seemed to be in some universe outside of where I was; I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I glanced at my watch one final time as I neared the mile 26 marker. I had two minutes left, and only 0.2 to go. My math ability came back to me. I could run 8-minute pace and still make it.

Holy shit, I’m going to make it.

I had imagined this moment hundreds (thousands?) of times, on training runs, pre-race sleepless nights, hard workouts. For years, it was a non-descript finish, but more recently it morphed into CIM’s finish. The clock would say 2:42 something, I would sprint towards it, throw my hands up and thank God, touch my LWR patch in remembrance of Lauren, and then break down crying.

It was almost exactly as I pictured it, except I started crying as soon as I made the turn. It was overwhelming and unbelievable. Even though it played out exactly as it had in my dreams, I couldn’t process it. In the final 200 meters I was completely overwhelmed by emotion. Somehow my legs continued surging forward despite my breakdown from the neck up.

I did it. 2:42:13 (chip time).

2:42. Olympic Trials, here we come.

AFTER – The Cool Down

The rest continued like the dream: I threw my hands up and thanked God. I know everyone has their own religious beliefs, but the way this season has gone, the way that race went—so completely perfectly—cannot be rationalized (by me, at least) to be anything less than the work of God. Running that fast, achieving this dream, was a religious experience. So I thanked Him for it. I couldn’t have done it otherwise.

Next I had my moment for Lauren. I couldn’t have done it without her either. And when I run in the Olympic Trials in LA, I know she’ll be there with me too.

And then I continued my emotional breakdown. Basically I just spun around in circles, crying, hugging my husband, crying, hugging my mom, more crying. I couldn’t (still can’t) freaking believe it. I found Mocko—my savior—and gave him a big hug and more tears. I cannot thank him enough for pulling me through the entirety of that race. I could not have done it without him and my last minute decision to put my faith completely in his hands seemed like another work of God.

Sharing disbelief and tears with Mom.

I found my dad, my other teammates, called my siblings. More tears. We went out to lunch and celebrated, and have basically been celebrating since. I still cannot believe it. Sometimes I remember that it has really happened and want to jump up and down or dance around (possibly to *NSYNC?). I don’t think I’ve frowned since 9:42 Sunday morning. I can’t begin to express what a huge deal this was for me (um hello, it finally validated the name of this blog), or my immense gratitude to everyone who helped along the way. The outpouring of congratulations has only proven that my tear ducts are, in fact, bottomless.

It still feels like a dream, like my final 200 meters are just the imaginary finish I’ve been picturing for the last five years. Did that really happen? Can I really say (like I did a few paragraphs ago) ‘when I run the Olympic Trials’? It seems like a dream.

Because it was. Like I said, dream big. It’s the only way it will come true.

Always believe.

Dream big, 

Teal 

Race Report: Raleigh Half Marathon

A 1:20 half marathon is one of those alluring, round number barriers that begs to be broken. (Earlier this year, an interesting study came out about how there’s an uptick in finishers just under barriers like this. A 2:59:59 marathon is so much more enticing than a 3:00:01.) I’ve wanted a sub-1:20 for a while now and breaking it this season would give me elite status at CIM, an added motivation.

After nightmares of Philly were replaced by much better memories of Army, I thought I had a sub-1:20 in the bag. I even thought—on a really great day—I could possibly go sub-1:19. That’s crazy to say, and I didn’t tell anyone that. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself; the primary goal for the Raleigh Half Marathon was sub-1:20. I’d go out at 6:05 pace (1:19:45) and see how I felt at halfway. Maybe—like Army—I could slice some more off in the second half.

On paper, the course seemed fair: a few hills, but doable. It was a bit windy, but cool. I started slightly too fast, but the first couple miles were downhill. In mile 3, I tried to relax and reel in my pace, but then missed the mile marker. By mile 4, I realized I had slowed way too much. Crap.

From the elevation chart, I had told myself (and my teammates) about two major hills: one from mile 4-5 and one from mile 8-9. Worried by the slow splits for miles 3 and 4, I knew I had to snap back to race mode and get through mile 5 strong, despite the hill. I managed to hit mile 5 just a hair too slow, and was comforted when I made up some time on miles 6 and 7. Although I again missed a mile marker, I saw the 10K split was just a few seconds off my Army 10k split (before I picked it up in the second half). At this point, negative splitting didn’t seem so plausible, but my mental calculations told me I was pretty much right on 6:05 pace.

But up ahead loomed mile 8, with the second (and seemingly last) big hill. I figured I’d slow, but at least after that the hills would be over.

I eagerly awaited the end of the 8th mile and the end of the hill, but it seemed to be dragging on forever; we were still going up. Eventually I realized I had missed another mile marker (where were these things?); mile 8 had long ago ended, and yet, the hill had not. At every turn I thought the course would flatten, but it didn’t. I wanted to catch my teammate in front of me just so I could commiserate about these incessant hills.

When I finally did get the splits, it was discouraging: miles 8 and 9 were way too slow. Though mile 10 was better, I didn’t make up any lost time. In these miles—from 8 on—I got angry. I anthropomorphized the course, as if it was some evil entity out to get me. At mile ten—realizing I was in serious jeopardy of missing my sub-1:20—I got even madder. Damn you, Raleigh Course, you think you can take my 1:20? No way. I need it. I need the confidence it will bring me before CIM. I need to prove to myself I am in PR shape. I could not keep letting the hills slow me, I had to make up time. I could not let this course steal my 1:20.

As we turned onto the last section—an out and back from mile 11 to the finish—I was relieved. There wasn’t much more to go, and, best of all, it seemed flat. Then the split for the eleventh mile came. 6:16. I cursed, out loud. The guy next to me didn’t know what to make of it. Sorry, dude: it’s 1:20 or bust. I was still over, still slowing. Falling farther behind, instead of making up time. Like I said, $*!#. 

The problem was I didn’t have much room left to make up time. Like a chase pack that let the leader get too far ahead, I worried I’d run of out space. I had to get going now. I couldn’t let 1:20 slip away, not by one second or ten.  I needed to start dropping seconds, fast.

So I put everything I had into picking it up. I missed the 12th mile marker, but it didn’t faze me, I was just sprinting to the end. Even though we were running straight down the road, it was impossible to see the finish because there was—cruelly—one more hill. Up and over the last hill, I would not relent until I saw those numbers on the clock. As I got closer, they were clearly flashing low 1:19 (Thank God!) and all I had to do was push through the line before they crept any higher. I did, in 1:19:28. (By my dubious post-race analysis, I ran the last 2.1 miles at 5:49 pace.)

Part of the prize for 3rd place: a painting of the race.

A new PR by over two minutes, third place woman, tenth overall (male and female). The PR, combined with prizes (see above) and sweet swag (two (!) t-shirts and local brews in the beer tent), should have taken away my anger at the course, at the hills. Instead, despite everyone’s excitement about how well I’d done, I was oddly slightly disappointed. (Note: this actually isn’t odd for me. I am rarely satisfied, as I’m always looking for more. My family and friends know this and get frustrated accordingly.)

Of course I’m happy I broke 1:20, the big barrier that seems to mean something significant when you get on the other side of it. But somehow I thought it would be easier, that 1:20 was a sure thing and I’d be creeping in on sub-1:19. In reality, I landed smack in the middle of my two goals (1:19:28). But being so far off in the second half and essentially sprinting (or a marathoner’s version of a sprint anyway) the last two miles didn’t feel like a roaring success. It was scary, a jolting reminder that a few bad miles can take everything away from you. There are no guarantees. You have to fight for every PR.

And that’s the real success, the thing I’m most proud of, that I’ll take with me to CIM: that I fought. I was close to not making my goal, and I didn’t give up on myself. I didn’t make an excuse like I have in so many other recent races. When it got tough, I toughened up. I didn’t relent. CIM certainly will not be easy, I’ll need to fight for it. Not like Boston 2013 or Boston 2014, but like Raleigh 2014.

Dream big,

Teal

A Thin Line

So far, I’m having the best season of my life.

Here’s the problem: I’m scared I’ll lose it at any moment.

Of course it is always more enjoyable to be running well than running poorly. I cannot/will not/am not complaining about running well. But… I’m stressed nonetheless.

After Philly, things clicked and then took off. I snapped out of the either self-induced (overtraining?) or DC-induced (the swamp of humidity?) funk I had been in since late August. I gained some confidence from my workouts, used that to set a big PR at Army, and have kept rolling ever since.

But I’m scared.

Scared I’ll run one mile too many, tweak an old injury, create a new one. Overstretch, under-stretch. Over-train, undertrain.

In the midst of my August Funk, I slashed my miles. Now I’m feeling good—better than ever—should I ease the mileage back up to my early season hopes? Or I am feeling good because of the lower mileage? I’ve opted for some in-between mileage purgatory; but is that still too high or too low?

Will I peak too soon? Am I peaking now?

Will my stress about hips and injuries and other imminent disasters hold me back? I thrive off high mileage and gain confidence from logging it, but I’d rather be cautious than hurt something. Will playing it safe backfire? If I never push myself, how will I get anywhere?

A week ago, I flipped through last season’s running log. I thought it would prove how much better this season is going (I’m doing everything right this time! I’m crushing every workout! Fall 2014 Teal could kick Spring 2014 Teal’s butt!) The problem with that seemingly innocent—albeit cocky—tactic? I was in better shape last spring than I remembered. I ran some of my best workouts to date and was feeling great going into Boston. But the marathon was a disaster. Am I setting myself up for the same disappointment? I continue to blame dehydration and not appreciating a warm day, but maybe it was peaking too early? Overtraining? Too much, too soon after the injury? Undertraining? Too cautious after the injury? Being overly ambitious? Will I make the same mistakes?

Despite this inner game of flip-flop, my workouts continue to improve. Fall 2014 Teal could kick Spring 2014 Teal’s butt. But, of course, my ambitions are higher, too. So the mental battle continues.

Maybe I just need something to worry about. Isn’t this the challenge of running and racing well? Pushing our limits is an experiment. Finding the perfect balance is part of the process. It’s a thin line between agony and glory. And we won’t know which side of the line we’re on until race day.

So all these questions will remain questions until December 7th. Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day for some, but D-Day for me. On that day I’ll know where I stand, if I’m going to win the war. I’ll get the answer to all these questions… too late to do anything about them.

It's not until we get to this line--the finish line--that we
know which side of the thin line we're on. 

But, first things first: this weekend, I’m shutting down the questions of over or under. Instead, I’ll focus on running the Raleigh Half Marathon, where I hope to set another big PR, suppressing all negativity as I go. Hopefully the result will prove that Fall 2014 Teal is better than ever and ready for battle on December 7th. 

Dream big,

Teal

Race Report: 2014 Army Ten Miler

A patriotic shot from the Army Ten Miler.

When was the last time I had a good race? It’s seems like I’ve run race after race that has fallen far short of my goals. Through these disappointing and frustrating months, I’ve wondered if I lost some of my old grit and determination. The going gets tough, and I give up. Mid-race, I drown myself in thoughts of not being able to keep up, that this is crazy, that I’ll never be the runner I want to be. And sure enough, I race poorly and retroactively make excuses: it was too hot, too humid, I was dehydrated/sick/low on iron. I needed to stop giving up on myself. But first I needed a reason to believe that I shouldn’t.

Soon after Philly—one of my Worst Races Ever—I felt better. I did a tempo run and actually hit my goal pace, for possibly the first time in the history of RunnerTeal tempos. I felt like I had more pop in my legs at track practice. A marathon pace run was faster than ever before. I felt…. great.

But would I be able to translate this into a race? I haven’t in so long. I felt great in the spring, but Boston was a disappointment. I had to race well for once, to prove to myself I could.

And so I made a plan for the Army Ten Miler. It’s simple. Silly even. No Negative Self Talk. Anytime I thought I couldn’t do this, couldn’t keep this pace, couldn’t keep running, I would just bat it away. Bury that thought somewhere else. Because most of the time when you think that, you are still doing it: still running, still keeping the pace. Often, it’s only after you tell yourself you can’t that it becomes true.

The more literal (and perhaps less lofty) plan was to go out at 6:05 pace. That would be a big PR and seemed intimidating, but given my string of good workouts I tried to stay confident. The optimistic side of me thought if I made it through five miles at 6:05, I might even be able to pick it up. The pessimistic side of me was told to shut the hell up.

My pace in the early miles was a little erratic. My first mile was slightly too slow, the next too fast, then too slow, then too fast. There were some slight inclines and declines, so I blamed that. I relied heavily on my No Negative Self Talk strategy. I didn’t berate myself for a fast mile or a slow one.

No Negative Self Talk was simple, actually, and surprisingly not as impossible as I thought it might be. (Clearly, I was having a good race, but the cause and effect is perhaps debatable.) Whenever I had a negative thought I just ignored it. Thought about something else. Focused on my breathing, on my stride, on relaxing. Told myself I could keep up this pace, because I was so far, so shut up, Pessimistic Teal.

By five miles I was slightly ahead of 6:05 pace and feeling good. Great, let’s keep it rolling and see what happens. I had long ago given up on my early season hope of sub-60, but now I wondered: how close could I get?

So I continued to bat away any negative thoughts and take it one mile at a time. When I saw they had a marker for the 10K, I thought, “You know, this is probably a 10K PR.” The clock flashed 37 something, and, sure enough, it was. (My previous PR was 38:05.) One PR down, one to go.

The endless bridge.

Soon after the 10k, the course turns onto an endless bridge/highway. You’re on the thing for nearly two miles. I was still feeling good by the start of it, but at the end, as the highway rises slightly, I had had enough. I wanted to be done with the bridge and the race. This is when it got harder to bat away the negativity. I can’t claim I was pure positivity in the last few miles, but most importantly, I did not give up on myself.

Trying to will positivity into my legs.

We looped around some more on the other side of the bridge, and once again I had no clue where the finish line was. I heard them announcing other runners, cheering for the people squeezing in under an hour, and still I could not see the finish. I just tried to push, push, push (no negativity!), to get as close to 60 flat as possible.

My official time was 60:19, the second new PR of the day. (My average pace was also faster than my 5K PR pace; I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I hate am terrible at 5Ks.)

Eyes closed, but legs pushing.

Do I wish I could have run 19 seconds faster? Sure, who wouldn’t? But I honestly don’t know where those 19 seconds would have come from. I did not have the confidence to go out any faster than I did, and picking it up significantly in the last two or three miles didn’t seem possible. I always start off the season with really ambitious goals, but this time they’re not so far from my grasp. (Which is good, because I've got plenty more for this season!) Mostly, I feel rejuvenated. This was the first race in a long time where I didn’t give up and decide I couldn’t do it. So sub-60 be damned, I’m pretty satisfied with my new PR.

And my new strategy. Think positive, people.

(Also, don’t give up. That race in Philly was completely awful, but the workout it became helped me later. Never give up, even on the really terrible days.)

Dream big,

Teal