(Non) Race Report: RnR DC

This is the second in a series of "non-race" race reports, but this time I went in knowing I wasn’t in racing shape and hoping only for a solid workout; that attitude made all the difference.

Race morning was wet, wet, wet: a cold, miserable rain. I didn’t dress for it appropriately; I should have at least worn gloves or arm sleeves, but I wrongly thought (like most races where it isn’t raining) that I’d warm up. But I did not. (Not until an hour or so after the race when I finally made it home and into a hot shower.)

Because of the rain, I didn’t wear my Garmin either. I know I probably could and many people do, but I just don’t trust it won't get ruined by constant splashing. I ran with a regular watch, so I have no splits to look back on and analyze, which is probably for the best.

I ended up running with two teammates, Maura and Kristin, which was a pleasant surprise. Maura was running her first half marathon and wanted to go out conservatively, which fit Kristin and my plans as well. I was nervous without a Garmin—I always go too fast in the first mile, and only 8,000 glances at my Garmin reel me in—but with the two of them we managed to hit the first mile right on our goal of 6:25. We kept on that pace until the Hill at mile 6, and then got back to it again after recovering from the incline. It was great to have them there to work with, and I felt a sense of purpose by helping (or I hope I helped!) Maura in her first half—it wasn’t going to be a PR day for me, but if I could contribute to her successful debut, then that was a win.

By mile 9 or 10, she took off and I just tried to keep rolling, but honestly I think I lost focus. I wanted to be done with the stupid rain and all the puddles (so many puddles! It was like running through a small stream at times), but the end kind of snuck up on me. With about a half mile left (really only a half mile to go?!), it hit me that I should probably GO and I picked it up enough to squeeze under 1:24.

Sticking out my tongue for unknown reasons. Maybe at the nasty conditions? 

“Screw you rain, I’m almost done and this is just a workout anyway.”

Photo credit: Cheryl Young

I had hoped for a slightly faster time, but wasn’t going to kill myself over that. And I know that I didn’t kill myself over anything—I didn’t give it my all and that was fine. My main goal was to not be as demoralized as Philly (last season’s half marathon “non-race”) and being realistic helped with that. The good news is I ran faster than Philly and it’s earlier in the season, so it appears I’m on the right track. I wanted a tough workout, and that’s what I got. The racing flats got dusted off (and subsequently drenched). Mission accomplished.

(I also got to share a quick hug with Tina Muir. She finished 3rd and is gearing up to have an awesome London Marathon. Her blog is a glimpse into the life of an elite runner; you should check it out.)  

I was really dreading this race because it was coming up so quickly and I knew I wouldn’t be ready for it. But now that it’s over I feel like I can refocus, settle into some hard training, and grind along for a few weeks before the first real race effort at Cherry Blossom. If it would just stop snowing…. Hey, weather gods, you know it’s spring, right?!

Snowing on the first day of spring.
Maybe spring will come tomorrow? 

Dream big,

Teal

Being Realistic (RnR DC Half Preview)

The snow has melted, there’s a glimmer of an approaching spring in the air, and runners everywhere are putting away their YakTrax and replacing them with racing flats: the spring racing season is upon us. This weekend is the LA Marathon, the NYC half, approximately 8 million St. Patrick’s Day races, and—closest to home—the Rock-n-Roll DC Half.

Like every year for the last six years, I’ll be running Rock-n-Roll DC, but “racing” it is probably the wrong word. I’m not being defeatist when I say this, but I will not be going for a PR. (Being realistic is a rarity for me; I don’t think I’ve ever said I’m not planning to PR on this blog before.) I know the shape I was in when I set my current PR (1:19:28) and I am nowhere near that. I can barely run 2 miles at that pace, let alone 13. And that’s okay, my peak race is still 3 months away.

But it’s a shame, because it will be a blemish to a perfect record at this race. I’ve PRed here every year, including 2010 when I ran the full. From 2009’s 1:34:39 (my first ever half) to last year’s somewhat disappointing (but still PR) 1:21:37, DC has been good to me.

In light blue on the right, running my first half in 2009.
I'm hoping to at least beat that time this weekend...

I can’t help but compare it to Philly, where the reverse is true. My record for the DC half is 6-0, but my record for Philly is 0-7*. (I’ve conveniently manipulated these statistics to not include all other DC races, where my record is far from perfect.) As I think about my plan for this race, I have flashbacks to my last race in Philly, another half I was unprepared for. I crashed and burned as the Curse won once more.

I don’t want a repeat of the demoralizing second half of Philly, so this time I’m going in fully accepting it will be a tough workout. I’m hoping a realistic outlook will help me nab a solid workout and put me on track to shoot for a PR later in the season. Maybe the luck of DC (or the luck of the Irish?) will give me a little boost as well.

Good luck to all those racing (or running/working out/whatever) this weekend!

Dream big,

Teal

*Update to the Curse: I did go for a run in Philadelphia when I was there a couple weeks ago, and—aside from getting caught in an ice storm on the drive home—there seemed to have been no running repercussions. Are the tides turning? On May 3, we’ll know.

Wading In

There’s a picture of me as a little kid on a family vacation in Maine. I had waded, ever so cautiously, into the freezing water of a river and, when I was in to my knees, had ambitiously ducked my face in. I grinned excitedly as I looked back at my dad snapping the photo. I was proud for wading into the freezing water and having the audacity to stick my little face in.

Always proud of small victories and incremental progress. 

What you can’t see in the photo is what happened next: my older brother and sister swam casually by. Completely submerged, like it was a hot spring.

Unlike my siblings—and seemingly most people I know—I’ve never been good at diving in. I take the cautious approach, slowly inching my way forward. It can be painful for others to watch, but the alternative is falling flat on my face. (Belly Face flop?)

With running, I’ve learned my lesson. Some training plans have a first tempo run of 4 or 5 miles. That doesn’t seem too daunting, except I’ve never once succeeded at a 4 mile tempo after a gluttonous offseason. Maybe there’s something to be said for jumping right in—sink or swim—to get yourself going, but it leaves me discouraged and demoralized instead. Not coming from a speedy background, I can’t just up and run 6 flats.

For example, a few weeks ago I ran four miles (aka less than 1/6th of a marathon) at my marathon pace from 2 years ago. As far as “tempo” runs go, that wasn’t so successful. (Tempo runs are supposed to be around half marathon pace, i.e not the pace you were bummed about running for twice as far, back in 2013.) The thing is, that is my current pace. I’m just a slow starter.

I prefer to ease in with fartleks (counting minutes not miles) or shorter “tempo” repeats (that are still slower than goal tempo pace). I push the first real tempos back a few weeks and the first marathon pace workouts a bit further.

With each, I progress slowly, slicing off seconds as miles get added. I can’t run 8 miles at marathon pace at the beginning of the season (as Advanced Marathoning, my training bible, calls for). Last season I didn’t hit marathon pace until the very last (and longest) effort, and I didn’t really expect to. For me, it takes a season of building to run even a few miles at that pace. So I slowly wade in, trying to move from 2013 marathon pace to 2014’s before I can even consider 2015’s goal pace. Maybe attempting to run both faster and longer seems harder (like witnessing someone painfully inch themselves in), but it’s the only way I know how.

Or maybe this is obvious—maybe this is the training before the real training that everyone does? Everyone has some rust to shake off. But it seems like other people can jump in quite a bit quicker. It’s intimidating as hell to hear what others are doing, read what a workout “should” be at this point, or even remember what you yourself did not too long ago. I try to remind myself that, for me, slow and steady now means fast later.

But even wading in can be a shock to the system; there’s a moment when the cold hits you and you want to be back on the shore basking in the sun. Fartleks go on forever, 2x2 miles is slower than your marathon pace… but then… just a little further… and, suddenly, you’re comfortable again.

I’m not there yet, but there are a few indications I’m adjusting to the water:

- I have (at least) one blister on my feet.
- I have (at least) one scar from chafing.

- I have run (at least) one mile at last year’s marathon pace. (Ok, more than one. But it’s still quite a small victory.)

Now that I’m somewhat (actually, barely) acclimated, I going to make a relatively big splash next week and head back to track workouts with the GRC ladies. It’s been intimidating (as usual) to hear how fast these ladies are lapping that track, and it will be a cold shock to dive back in with them. I’ll be proud just to stick my face in.

Dream big,

Teal

Inertia

I don’t write Science Fridays anymore (but you can check out some running-related pieces I’ve written here), but it is Friday, so here’s some physics for you:

Inertia (n.): The resistance of any physical object to any change in its state of motion, including changes to its speed and direction. (Wikipedia)

Since I have been in a state of Perpetual Sitting on the Couch Eating Cookies, I’m finding it very hard to change my speed (faster than sitting pace) and direction (towards anywhere other than the couch). I blame physics.

When you’re in the middle of training, your constant moving towards your goal keeps you going. You’re up early, getting in your daily miles, eating your chia-topped oatmeal. Sure, you may dream of post-marathon luxuries of sleeping in and various indulgences, but no time for that now, you’ve got ten miles to do before work. Maybe you’ll switch it up with some flax-topped oatmeal today, but mostly things stay the same—you keep rolling. No excuses. Run, rinse, repeat. I love that routine. (And obviously I love oatmeal, too.)

But I also love the amazing wonderfulness of my warm, cozy bed on cold, dark mornings. I swear, every morning it somehow feels better than ever before. I better cherish this moment, this best ever comfy-ness. I’m never leaving. And obviously oatmeal cookies beat all other varieties of oatmeal. (But, if we're taking cookies, try these, which I just made this week and are not even remotely, possibly good for you, but completely delicious.*) Despite loving training, I can’t quite get out of my off-season state.

So yeah, inertia. It’s real.

RunnerTeal's First Law Of Motion:
An object in motion will stay in motion (left).
An object not in motion will bake cookies (right).

I’m trying to nudge myself in the right direction. Get a little momentum. Inertia can be changed by the application of external force. (Like this video designed to get bodies off couches and excited for Grandma’s Marathon.) It’s early yet; official marathon training won’t start for a few more weeks, but the first race on my schedule will be here before I know it.

But it’s hard. I said last week that I like marathon training because it rises in a slow crescendo to the peak race. You climb the mountain of training, then—when you finally make it to the top—you jump for joy, plant your little flag, scream “I did it! I did it!” But then you quickly slide down the other side.

You get to the bottom—full of cookies and beer and ensconced in warm, cozy sheets—and look up ahead. Another mountain to climb. Didn’t I just climb that mountain? Why am I back at the bottom?

That slide back down is important: your body—and mind—needs rest. Without a proper break you risk burnout and injury.

Still, it’s hard to look up at that mountain and see how far you’ve got to go. 

A couple weeks ago, I went for a “long” run with the GRC girls. I hadn’t been with them in a while, but everyone insisted we’d go slow. I didn’t wear a watch, so I have no idea our actual pace, but their “slow” felt like sprinting and I fell way back. (Full disclosure: I may have had too many indulgences at our team party the night before. But also—let’s be honest—I’m out of shape.) The next week I decided it might be nice to get some semblance of speed, so I did a 5 minutes on, 5 minutes off fartlek. Woof. Five minutes is an insufferably long time when you’re out of shape.

And this week? This week I skipped my run on Monday, because Hey, it’s Monday. I don’t have to go running every day this week. Then I skipped my run Tuesday, because… because nothing. Because inertia. I had no good mildly acceptable reason to skip my run. (I finished off the amazing cookies instead.)

The force required to push an immobile object up a mountain is immense. The good news is it's easier to climb the mountain when you've been there before and know your way. The bad news is you can’t climb the mountain from the couch or your warm, cozy bed.

Dream big,
Teal

*Or try these super easy mini-brownies for the Super Bowl!

Moving On

Alright folks. I've blabbed enough about my last marathon. Time to move on... to blabbing about the next one.

There’s no real reason to do another marathon before the Trials. With the qualifier in my pocket, I could take this season “off” and focus on speed (or “speed” to a marathoner, meaning 10Ks, 10 milers, and half-marathons).

So I don’t need to run a marathon in 2015. But I want to.

Of course, there may be benefits to not running one. (Like actually having some speed/not having to use quotes when I type that word.) But I tried that once. Maybe it made me a better runner in the end, but it wasn’t as much fun.

During my first season with GRC I stepped down in distance and ran races from the half marathon to 6K cross country. I struggled, maybe with the newness of the team (doubtful, I loved them), maybe with iron deficiency (likely), maybe because I just couldn’t get in the groove of that kind of training (possibly). I like having one peak race at the end of the season, and other races and efforts rising in a slow crescendo, building on each other to the ultimate culmination, the hardest and longest effort: the marathon.

Besides, I’m not doing this out of obligation or to make millions (unless you'd like to give me millions?), I’m doing it for fun. And fun for me is 26.2 miles of glorious pain.

In a recent post on Zelle, Dane Rauschenberg lists 52 reasons to run a marathon. His first reason: “While you can get an amazing high from tackling any race distance, conquering the mother of all races gives you a high which is hard to duplicate.” The amazing effort and triumph of the last one, the drug-like euphoria that came with it, the celebrations, the ice cream sundaes—it just makes me want to earn that again. 26.2 miles, one of the most addictive drugs out there.

One of my teammates put together a post on what I had done last season (compared to previous seasons) to get the qualifying standard. (His conclusion? Not much.) In his analysis, he surmised—correctly—that I sacrifice time and performance at other distances for success in the marathon. It’s true, my PRs for ten miles and the half marathon don’t stack up to my marathon time. (And don’t get me started on 5Ks.) And that doesn't really bother me. I’ve said it before on this blog: all I really care about is the marathon.

I’ll be cautious this year; the most important thing will be to not get hurt before next February. But barring major disasters, the second goal will be—as always—to get faster. I’ve got a bit of extra confidence in my training after last season’s successes, so I’ll take it much the same way: roughly a race once a month, building to the marathon.

So *drumroll please*… this season’s schedule:

Rock-n-Roll USA Half Marathon (March)

Cherry Blossom Ten Miler (April)

Broad Street Ten Miler (May… in Philadelphia…)

Grandma’s Marathon (June)

Will I be able to catch the same fire I did last season? Will I be able to beat Brother in the City of Brotherly Love Family Duels RunnerTeal Fails? Will I earn a post-marathon ice cream sundae that's as hugely delicious? I don’t know. But I’m going to try.

Stay tuned.

Dream big(ger),

Teal

10,000 Frustrations

You’ve probably heard the theory of 10,000 hours. Popularized by Malcolm Gladwell in Outliers, it says that excelling at something requires a minimum of 10,000 hours of practice. You’ve maybe also heard the backlash: how it’s not really true, as there are plenty of examples of athletes quickly ascending to the top of their sport. (One of the most famous is Donald Thomas, a basketball player who became a high jumper when he jumped over 7 feet just messing around with friends. About a year and a half later, he won gold at the World Championships.)

From my own perspective, I'm not sure about 10,000 hours. I have a different theory:

10,000 Frustrations: The number of discouraging, awful, terrible days/moments/workouts/races/thoughts a person must experience before reaching their goal.

(Is this more universally true? Perhaps not. Or maybe all of Thomas's frustrations came during his basketball career?)

I’ve posted around twenty race reports since starting this blog and about half of them are discouraging: every race in Philly, most 5Ks (this summer I ran one at the same pace I needed to run 26.2 miles), the previous two marathons. Maybe that’s not quite 10,000, but I overuse the heck out of the word "frustrate" and an awful lot of those uses don’t even make it to the blog. Last week I mentioned the best workouts of each season, but not the worst: the marathon pace workout that got cut short and became a slow and pathetic shuffle home; the tempo run(s) where I needed to keep stopping for breaks and still couldn’t hit the prescribed pace; the many other workouts and races that were wildly off my goals, making my big dreams seem both ridiculous and impossible.

I had the best season of my life last fall, but I was close to rock bottom in September. After an embarrassing race capped off a terrible month, I jotted down some discouraging thoughts: When was the last time I had a good race? I keep making excuses… Maybe I'm just not as fast as I think I am. That thought/realization/fear was like a punch in the gut. It had been months since Boston, when that phrase had started its endless loop in my head. Nothing since had silenced it.

Mid-Frustrating-Race Face.

What was the solution? How did I move past what seemed like the 9,999th discouraging moment? Two ways: I was ever so slightly flexible and also unflinchingly stubborn.

A week and a half after Philly, I had a tempo run on the schedule. I’m awful at tempo runs; my expectations and actual paces are always vastly mismatched. (Or is it my expectations and actual abilities that are vastly mismatched? That was the interminable question.) I always did them on the same stretch of road, out and back. Like the old cliché, it was uphill both ways. (It’s actually pretty flat, but the effort felt that way. And—I swear to you—the wind was assuredly in my face both directions.) I’ve used this same route for years and tempo runs have never gone well.

So I stopped doing the same thing and expecting different results. I changed it up. I found a new route (a loop that I would have to circle a couple times, but no matter) and it made all the difference. I actually hit my goal pace for the first time in years, if not ever.

Did new twist on old route this morning & had great run. "I took the [running route] less traveled by and that has made all the difference."
— Teal Burrell (@runnerteal) September 30, 2014

Maybe sometimes what we need is a fresh take. I have too many memories of tempos gone poorly on that route; maybe it was getting in my head that it was uphill and windy both ways. I think it’s possible that part of the reason I fell apart in Boston this year—at the exact same place as last year—was the memories and doubts from the year before. As soon as you let a doubt sneak in—“I’ve been here before, and it hasn’t ended well”—it’s all over. Sometimes you need to change things up: training routes, workout structures, race courses or distances. Give your brain a chance to not know the end result before it happens.

What happened next? Loyal readers know the story: I took that one workout (the Only Successful Tempo Ever) and I ran with it, literally. I used it to fuel the remaining workouts before the Army Ten Miler, and they went well, too. I based every morsel of hope I had for Army Ten Miler on that workout—not on the many failures of August and September. And it worked.

Changing things—even the simplest thing like a workout’s route—was the flexible part. Now for the stubborn part:

People often talk about how they get a lot of motivation from wanting to prove their doubters wrong. But I’m incredibly lucky to have a relentlessly supportive family, team, and set of friends, and often the only person who says I can’t do something is me. So when I get frustrated or discouraged, I also get a little mad at that girl that thinks she can’t. When she gets her way, I get a little more stubborn. Next time, I’ll really show her. 

If you look carefully at last week’s rundown, you'll see that my expectations (my A and B goals) often got faster and faster, even when I didn’t get the results I wanted the previous go-round. (Despite never breaking 3:10 or 3:05, I went for sub-3. Despite never breaking 2:50 or 2:46, I went for sub-2:43.) Is this dumb? Maybe. It could lead to more disappointment and frustration.

But I think it’s actually evident of a completely rational belief that training pays off even when races don’t go as well as you planned. You’ll have your bad days—in workouts and races—but if you're stubborn enough to keep fighting, you will get better. Maybe it won’t be evident just yet. But if you’re working hard, your muscles, heart, and lungs are getting stronger. And if you get your brain to believe it too, you'll get there.

I hope 10,000 frustrations is a gross exaggeration, but it seems that way sometimes. As Rocky said, “It ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.*”

So even if it is 10,000 hits, keep fighting.

Dream big,

Teal

*Thanks, GotMyTShirt, for posting that quote a few months back. (See? I told you all my supporters are eternally encouraging.)