Science Friday: Team Training

As you know, a few months ago I decided I needed to change things up and start training with a team. That team has helped in all the expected ways (faster workouts, inspiring role models, great camaraderie) and a few unanticipated others (first hand ferritin knowledge, wedding planning advice). But this week I came across another reason why working out with a team is better than going it alone.

In an article published in 2009 (and referenced in this week’s NYTimes blog about laughter), a group in England investigated the pain threshold in rowers who worked out either in teams of six or by themselves. They used pain threshold as a corollary for endorphin levels; the higher the pain threshold, the higher the expected endorphin release. (Endorphins are the molecules responsible for exercise's euphoric and pain suppressing effects, aka "runner's high.") Collegiate rowers each performed two tests on a stationary rowing machine: one rowing alone and one in the presence of teammates. The length of time and the power output were the same for both tests, so the other teammates weren't actually helping the work load decrease. To measure their pain thresholds, the rowers' ability to tolerate a blood pressure cuff being inflated on their arm was measured before and after the workout. As expected, they tolerated pain better after the workout than before. Gotta love those endorphins.

What’s interesting was that the rowers also tolerated pain better when they worked out with a group. Besides having teammates that hold you accountable and push you to work harder to keep up with them, teammates also make you feel less pain. It seems that the loneliness of the long distance runner rower is a more painful path. The authors speculate that "synchronized physical activity" helps boost levels of pain relieving molecules and this may promote bonding among group members. Anyone who has survived a hard track workout with a group already knows it bonds you. And now it seems your pain tolerance is the better for it too!

Note: Don't worry! I did survive the Army Ten Miler this past weekend and you'll hear the whole story if you tune in next week. I just couldn't resist a Science Friday this week.

Dream big and with friends,

Teal

Back in the saddle

I'm back in the saddle again, pulling on my racing flats. This weekend is the Army 10 Miler, here in DC. I wouldn’t say I’m dreading it, but I’m not looking forward to it with my usual mix of nerves and excitement. I’m not really looking forward to it at all. Ever since the Philly Half I’ve been unsure of how I will do and how I feel about racing Army.

At practice this week, I got a boost of encouragement from my teammates. When I told them about the ferritin issue they were immediately more insightful than Google and my doctor combined. They had been there, done that, bought the iron supplement. They all assured me that was certainly the root of the problem and I’d be back to normal in no time. (Or 8-12 weeks, which is how long the pills take to have an effect.) Some were impressed I had been able to run as much as I have and am not curled up in a ball somewhere. (I won’t say I haven’t considered that.)

So mentally I’m doing much better. I know the cause of the trouble and I’m taking action. I’m excited to see how things will go once I’m at normal levels. (And I wonder how long this has been an issue?) But, I’m also racing on Sunday and things haven’t exactly turned around yet. (See above for timeline of drug action.)

Because I don’t learn from my mistakes, I’m once again shooting for 6:10 pace. (Granted this race is shorter than Philly.) What’s that saying? “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” (I’m pretty sure that’s called thesis research.) Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

But there’s also the old standard: if at first you don’t succeed... So regardless of the likelihood of blowing up, I’m going after it and hoping my improved mental attitude will turn things around. Also, I’m running with my girl L, who would normally kick my butt, but is struggling with her own issues of late. We’re just going to go out, see what happens, and have some fun. Hopefully it’s not a repeat of Philly.

Sad it’s Friday and this post has zero to do with science? Never fear! If you live in the DC area, come check out a live version this Tuesday, Oct. 23 at 7 pm at the MLK Library. I’ll be discussing the effect exercise has on the brain as part of a monthly Hot Topics in Health Science series. I’d love to see you!

Dream big,

Teal

Science Friday: Diagnosis and Discoveries about Iron

This week I finally got the results of a blood test to determine if low iron was the culprit of my running funk. At first glance it seemed like everything was fine. My doctor told me I had normal iron and hemoglobin levels, but could be maybe, possibly, considered borderline anemic because of low ferritin. She suggested an iron supplement but then proceeded to tell me she thinks I am just running too much. Ah yes, well if I wasn't running, I wouldn't be in here complaining about how my running is going poorly. True, but irrelevant for a die hard runner.

After leaving her office I immediately Googled ferritin (ahh, Google, every doctor’s nightmare.) I remembered an article I had read a while ago about Stephanie Rothstein having iron issues. I discovered that her issue (eventually attributed to celiac disease) had been low ferritin as well. According to the article, normal levels are 20 nanograms/milliliter, but runners actually need more, in the range of 30-40. Rothstein’s was 4 ng/mL. Mine was 6 ng/mL.

Why did Rothstein's doctor suspect that was an issue while mine seemed doubtful? More Googling (and some more sophisticated scientific "Googling") ensued. Why do runners have iron issues? What the heck is ferritin? Could low ferritin be my problem?

Runners need iron to produce hemoglobin, which is the molecule that carries oxygen to your muscles. Without it, your muscles can’t function as well, so you can’t run as fast, you feel more tired, etc. The problem is runners lose a lot of iron. To start with, iron is hard to absorb.We only absorb 15% of the iron we eat; the best (and most easily absorbed iron) is from animal sources like red meat. If you choose not to eat a lot of red meat, like me, that can start the problem. (Good plant sources of iron include beans, nuts, bran, and spinach.) Absorption is inhibited by calcium, coffee, tea, and anti-inflammatories, all of which runners, as a whole, consume a lot. We lose iron through sweat (which can be worse in hot, humid conditions) and through GI stress. We also lose iron through foot strike hemolysis, when blood cells burst from the force of impact with the ground. Women are more likely to have iron deficiency anemia because of blood lost through menstruation.

Ferritin stores iron; most of the iron in our body is bound to ferritin. Less ferritin in your blood means less stored iron. According to some data, low ferritin levels is the best indicator of iron deficiency. However, by definition, anemia is diagnosed by low hemoglobin levels, which is why I am technically not anemic and why my doctor is less than concerned. But then I found this from an article by Coach Jeff Hess in Track and Field News:

Anemia, clinical iron deficiency, is not rare among runners, but even more common than iron deficiency is "iron depletion" due to low ferritin stores... It is common among distance runners to have acceptable hemoglobin and hematocrit counts even when ferritin levels are severely depleted. For less active people, low ferritin levels are much less significant and don't often draw the attention of medical professionals.

So your average doctor might not think anything of it, while a sports medicine specialist might notice the red flag. The symptoms of iron depletion are similar to iron deficiency and include abnormal exhaustion, slow recovery, declining performances, heavy legs, loss of motivation, etc. This was sounding all too familiar and the statistics gave me some validation: one doctor suggested that if ferritin dips below 20 ng/mL, performance begins to suffer. Worse yet, injury rates double when ferritin is less than 20 ng/mL and triple when less than 12 ng/mL.

One study had some good news. Iron deficient female runners were split into two groups: one given an iron supplement and the other a placebo. While the placebo runners continued to experience a drop in their performance, the iron supplemented runners improved. But the catch is it usually takes 2-3 months for iron to right itself; you can’t pop a pill or eat a big steak and feel better in the morning.

Warning: Excess iron is also not a good thing and can have far worse consequences. Before taking a supplement based on suspicions, get a blood test (make sure you specify ferritin to be checked as it isn't always reported) and discuss it with your doctor. A study found that among male marathoners, <2% had iron depletion, but 15%  had signs of excess iron. (On the other hand, 28% of female marathoners had iron depletion, <5% had signs of excess.) In addition, iron supplements are notoriously hard on your digestive system so ask your doctor for suggestions that may work for you. (My doctor suggested Vitron-C.) 

At first I thought I was grasping at straws but, as the evidence piled up, this seems like a common issue, especially among women runners. I had been thinking it was all in my head, that I just needed to stop being a wuss and toughen up. It may be a placebo effect (except I haven't even taken the pill yet!) but having a possible explanation and a plan of attack makes me feel better already.

Special Announcement: Do you enjoy Science Fridays? Do you live in the DC area? If so, come hear me talk about exercise and the brain on Tuesday, October 23 at 7:00 pm at the MLK Library. I’ll be discussing how running cures diseases, slows the aging process, and makes you feel all around spectacular—things you surely already know, but I can give you the hard facts for the next time your coworker says running is bad for your knees. More information about the series Hot Topics In Health Science here.

Dream big,

Teal

P.S. Shout out to the Flexatarian Filly for suggesting this months ago. It planted a seed, and I finally listened. Thanks!

Race Report: RnR Philadelphia Half

I lost my mojo.

It happened a few weeks ago; after a couple crappy workouts, I just didn’t feel like myself. My confidence was gone, taking my competitive fire with it. I thought the Philadelphia Rock and Roll Half Marathon would rekindle the fire. I love racing, especially big city races with thousands of people, where you feel like the whole city has shut down to welcome the runners. The fans are cheering, the adrenaline is pumping, the excitement from other runners is contagious. 

I ignored my shaky confidence and stuck with my original plan: a big PR. I planned to run with one of my teammates, B; our goal was 6:10 pace. It seemed ambitious, but I hoped that after a few miles I would settle in and the miles would tick off. With someone at my side, it would be infinitely easier.

Most of this post is going to be full of complaining, so let me take a moment to appreciate the best part of the race—I was seeded in the elite corral for the first time in my life. (The perks of having a coach who can vouch for you.) My number started with an F, which stands for Female, or Freaking Fast, I’m not sure which. I’m also pretty sure I didn’t deserve that, but I soaked up the moment anyway. We got to hang out in the elite tent, do strides off the starting line, and were inches from famous runners (Ritz!) It was awesome.

Mile 5. The crazy screaming spectators in the
background are my family. Love them.

Until the gun went off, when things went downhill fast. I stayed with B for as long as possible, trying to settle into a 6:10 rhythm. She got into it much faster, but I was struggling. The pace felt too fast. I was scared of what was to come. I couldn’t keep this up. Honestly, I worried I was going to drop out. Anytime you try to PR or really push your limits, there will be moments of doubt, of panic, of thinking “My God, this hurts, I'll never make it. I'll have to drop out.” You don’t beat your best past self painlessly. Every PR will come with some moments of fear and agony. But usually not so early in the race. I tried again and again to find a rhythm, but it wasn't coming. Around 4.5 miles, B forged on ahead, and I was on my own. Now guilt was added to the many emotions swirling through my head. We had agreed to run together and now I left her on her own too. I tried to stay near her, in reach, but she kept slipping further ahead. The temptation to drop out grew. My inner monologue was not pretty: it warned me the sooner I drop out the better, because once we leave the city the course goes out and back and I didn't want to be stranded miles away. 

As we headed out along the river, I tried to silence the negativity, focusing on maintaining and just not slowing down any more. I pushed and pushed and thought for sure I must not be slowing, but the splits kept telling me the ugly truth. People were cruising past and I was jealous—why couldn't I have their energy, their drive, what was wrong with me? My Freaking Fast seed number seemed completely inappropriate as I kept falling further and further back. I just wanted to make it to the bridge, the turn around point. Maybe heading back towards the city would bolster my spirits. My splits continued to slow; soon I was going at marathon pace. Marathon pace?! In a race half as long! I had given up on a big PR miles ago, but now any PR seemed impossible. I had lost hope for this race, I just wanted it to end.

Mile 12. With L, just trying to finish.

Finally we hit the bridge and headed back. I picked it up slightly, then saw my coach, and another teammate, L, who was having her own terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and had called it at 11 miles. She decided to run in with me, to carry me to the finish, and it helped enormously. Together we slogged through the final miles. My family cheered their heads off, much to the surprise of L who hadn't yet met my overly enthusiastic support crew. The sun was beating down on us now, and the finish would not come. Finally (finally!) we were there. I was just glad it was over.

In the end, it was a PR, by 24 seconds. I owe all of those seconds to L for dragging me through the final miles. I know you should always be happy with a PR, but I’m not. I know I worked harder than that and expected it to pay off in a much bigger way. I ran my old PR in the middle of marathon training, while holding back for the real race a few weeks later. (And I was even disappointed then.) I intended to destroy that PR. I thought I had more in me, but on this day, I just... didn't.

I took the next few days off, trying to figure out if I (a) was exhausted, overtrained, and burnt out, (b) have some kind of nutrient deficiency (iron, vitamin D?), or (c) was just mentally zonked. I didn't want to go running, but I didn't enjoy not running either. The rest of the season was looming but I couldn't muster any excitement for it. I was in a funk. After a few days of being a non-running grump, I realized I can’t feel sorry for myself forever. And so I went for an easy jog, and then next day a longer one, and then back to track practice, and slowly, slowly I’m coming around. Stay tuned.

In other sad news (that affects far more people), the University of Richmond recently cut their men’s track team (and men’s soccer team) to add men’s lacrosse. (FYI: the men’s track team had no scholarships.) You can read more about the reasoning here, sign a petition here, or vent your anger leave your own opinion in the comments below.

Dream big,

Teal

Science Friday: Calories and Aging

Note: This post doesn't have much to do with running or exercise, but it does talk about staying healthy into old age, which I think is something of interest to most active people. 

A few years ago I was watching a segment on the Discovery Channel about diets and aging. It was discussing how starvation conditions (a man was trapped in a cave) tell our bodies to shut down the aging process. (When the man emerged from the cave weeks later, he hadn't aged a day.) Fascinating stuff. It went on to suggest that if we reduced our calorie intake we would live longer. Still not too much of a stretch. But then it used an example of someone slashing their normal diet in half, from 4000 calories/day to 2000 calories/day, and (surprise!) that would lead to a longer life.

That's when I turned the TV off. First of all, 2000 calories/day is not near starvation, it's the recommended amount for the typical adult. (Whether or not people are actually eating closer to 4000 calories is besides the point.) Obviously cutting back from overeating will lead to a longer life. But what about reducing a 2000 calorie/day diet? Is there a benefit to that? Ever since the Discovery Channel completely misinterpreted the point, I've cringed a little when I read calorie restriction studies. 

Granted, it's difficult to do these studies in humans. There aren't many volunteers ready and willing to be nearly starving subjects, let alone graduate students who want to wait a lifetime to get the results. The next best thing is primate studies. In the 80s, two groups started putting monkeys on calorie restricted diets (30% fewer calories than normal diets) and then let them age (for 20+ years). One study was done at the Wisconsin National Primate Research Center (WNPRC) and published in 2009. It showed some promise for calorie restriction: the monkeys fed less outlived the monkeys on a normal diet. However, another study, done at the National Institute of Aging (NIA), came out this month and found much the opposite.

The NIA study looked at two cohorts, one that was started on the restricted diet at an old age, and one that started at a young age. The monkeys put on restricted diets in old age had no difference in survival compared to monkeys eating the normal amount of calories. However, there were some health benefits; compared to monkeys on a normal diet, they weighed less and had lower levels of triglycerides, cholesterol, fasting glucose, and oxidative stress. The animals put on a restricted diet at a young age also had no benefit in survival. Furthermore, no other health benefits were observed. Although they weighed less, there were no striking differences between triglycerides or glucose levels. They did have fewer cases of cancer, but diabetes and cardiovascular disease were not prevented.

The results from this study suggest that diet restriction doesn't increase longevity. The major difference between the WNPRC and NIA studies (besides the genetics of the animals, which is a factor, but I won't get into it) is the diets given the monkeys. The diets from the NIA study were healthier: they had less sugar, more antioxidants, and fish oil. (Give the WNPRC some credit; they started these studies in the 80’s when most people were concerned only with total calories.) Additionally and importantly, the control animals in the NIA study weren't allowed to eat as much as they wanted, like the WNPRC animals. They were slightly restricted in order to maintain a healthy calorie intake. The control animals in the WNPRC study may have represented more of an overweight population. So perhaps the WNPRC study was doing more of what I feared these studies would do: just slash the calories of a diet that's too caloric and not very healthy to begin with. Of course you'll be healthier after eating less of a poor diet.

There's a lot more research to be done here.  There may be some benefit to smaller, nutritionally complete (an important point!) diets, but we aren't sure yet. The diets themselves matter, as well as the genetics, the current age, etc. Another study looked at people and found those within a normal weight range (BMI 20.0-24.9) had the lowest mortality rates. So we shouldn't be gorging ourselves, but maybe not starving ourselves either. That sounds good to me.

Dream big,

Teal

Blast from the Past Race Report: Boston 2011

I signed up for Boston yesterday, as soon as it opened. It’s by far my favorite race and just signing up makes me excited for next spring. Since the race has been on my mind (and Paul Ryan got everyone talking about sub-3 hour marathons), I got to reminiscing about my first serious attempt at sub-3, at Boston 2011. I’d like to do a Blast from the Past/RunnerTeal History Lesson/very late Race Report from 2011. Please pardon the fact that it’s outdated, and any mistakes or inaccuracies are completely unintentional.

I first ran Boston in 2009. It was awesome; I loved the excitement of a big city event, got a PR, and realized this “marathon phase” I was going through would be longer than originally anticipated. In 2011, I returned, but with entirely different goals. I wanted to PR again (don’t we always want a PR?) but I already had the Boston experience, fought Heartbreak, bought the jacket. This time, I was in it for a sub-3. I had had a disappointing fall; my worst marathon to date was 2010’s Chicago, where I fell wildly off pace and blamed the heat (and my lack of respect for it.) I was heading to Boston for redemption, but with even higher expectations than Chicago. It was sub-3 or bust.

I told everyone who cared to listen (and many more who probably didn’t) that I was going for sub-3. I figured if I told enough people it would hold me to it, but in the weeks leading up the race I was more nervous than ever. I wished I hadn’t blabbed to everyone about a ridiculous goal like that. If I missed it, even by a second (especially by a second), I knew I would be devastated. At the pasta fest the night before, Dad tried to put an end to the madness: “Wouldn’t you be happy with a big PR? If you have a great race, but finish just over 3 hours, won’t you be happy?” No, I won’t.

In an attempt to win the Brother of the Year Award, Brother offered to pace me. My parents, Sister-in-law, and (future) Fiancé came all the way to Boston to cheer. The conditions were perfect. (In fact, more than perfect, as determined later when the men destroyed the world record, but it didn’t count because of the tailwind and net downhill.)

As always, I started a little slow, partly due to necessity because of the large crowds and partly from the fear of starting too fast: a dead man’s game. Once Brother and I got going, I felt pretty good. I tried not to assess myself too much, but focused on staying out of my own head. I enjoyed the crowd, the course, the fact that this is Boston. Brother had GPS in his ear, I had GPS on my wrist, the mile markers were in our sights. There were no excuses for pacing errors. At one point, a fire truck had to veer onto the course (!!) but we got just ahead of it and barely missed a beat.

At the 10k we saw our cheering squad. High fives, high spirits. I love this part of Boston; you’re still so excited just to be there, you’re absorbing everything with nothing but a grin on your face. Best of all, your legs haven’t started rebelling yet.

When we got to the half, I was still repeating “stay out of your head,” but I had to admit I was feeling pretty good. Until Brother broke the news: he had to make a pit stop. This was bad news; I was to go on ahead into the hills, into the pain, into the actual hard part of a marathon—alone. I remained calm, he promised to try to catch up (is he crazy?!) and I just glued myself to some unknown strangers for a few miles. I was on my own. Without the extra pacing technology (how much technology do I need?), I somehow missed a mile marker and started to wonder if I had lost pace. Don’t focus on it, just keep forging on.

Around mile 17, just before the turn towards the Newton hills, I heard someone behind me: “Teal, I’m here. I’m here, Teal.” It was Brother! He was back. If you thought he deserved the Brother of the Year Award for pacing me (you were right), here he was going for some kind of Brotherly World Record. He had timed the pit stop, knew how much he lost, how much he had to cut his pace by to catch up with me before the hills. It was madness, but he was committed to getting me my sub-3. He knew after the hills it would be over. My relief was so great it made me realize maybe I had been freaking out slightly.

We started heading up the hills. They weren’t as bad as my first Boston, maybe because I knew I had tackled them once and could do it again. I had memorized the times I had to hit in 5 mile increments (the splits for 5 miles, 10 miles, etc.) We hit the 20 mile mark and were 9 seconds ahead of pace. I thought that was pretty good, but Brother said later that scared him. Nine seconds are lost in a heartbeat. Or a Heartbreak, which was looming.

Turning onto Beacon, with Brother just behind.

Indeed, Heartbreak’s mile was the slowest of the day. But the other side of Heartbreak was where things really went downhill. I started to feel it, all at once, just as predicted. Brother was screaming at me, “C’mon, Teal, C’mon!” There was fear in his voice. I tried to stay optimistic, telling myself it was just exhaustion in his voice, but he said later it was fear. Then the turn onto Beacon, make it or break it time. I had practiced it in my mind over and over again. The crowds are amazing, there are only a few miles left. You’re hurting and exhausted, but you’re through the hills, done the majority of the race, this is the time to fight for it. Brother started slipping behind (he had sacrificed everything to come back to me and take me through the hills) but he kept screaming cheers at me from behind. I was hurting, but his screams kept me going. When I hit the 23rd mile, I did some calculations (I’d say quick calculations, but at this point in a marathon, simple math is difficult) based on the time I knew I had to be at mile 25. I calculated (whether accurately or not, I'll never know) I had 14 minutes to get there = 7 minute pace. I could do it. I just couldn’t slow down a step. The realization that sub-3 was still possible, that I could do this, kept me going. By mile 25, I was 20 seconds ahead of pace. 20 seconds! I could lose that in a mile, so I tried not to get ahead of myself. Keep pushing, keep pushing, until I cross that line.

The turn onto Boylston is the biggest tease. You dream about it for 26 miles, you will make that last turn, see the finish line, and you will be there. The thing is, you make the turn, see the finish line, and it is still SO FREAKING FAR AWAY. It’s enough to stop you in your tracks, doubt you’ll ever make it, but you must keep pushing, pushing, pushing, until you’re under it and you’re done.

As I got closer and closer I started realizing I was going to do it, finish in sub-3. A few meters from the line I knew I had it, but no celebrating until I crossed the line and checked the watch. 2:59:30. I beat it by 30 seconds! Thirty seconds is nothing, but I didn’t care if it was 1 second or 100, the first number of my time was a two, and that is all that mattered.

TWO hours! (...and 59 minutes.)

I waddled through the finish, got my medal, my food, my belongings, and waited to meet my family. I could barely contain myself; I wanted to jump up and down and celebrate, but I had to wait to share it with someone. After a few minutes, Brother arrived. “I did it! I did it!” I told him. His face lit up, he had no idea if I would make it, and we rejoiced. Then the cheering squad arrived and joined the celebrations. We went out for a post marathon meal (burger, fries, and beer) and I don’t think I’ve been as excited, happy, relieved, exhausted, thankful, and thrilled.

The next day, in post-marathon I-can’t-move-my-legs bliss, I got an email from Dad with a link to the Boston Globe list of the top 100 women. The kicker was the end of the URL, where they referred to the list as the “elite women.” It was certainly the first time anyone had put my name on a list with the word elite, and I teared up reading it. (Disclaimer: I tear up a lot.)

We did it! (Yes, "we." My support team deserves a lot of the credit.)

Some non-runners wonder why the heck it matters if you’re 2:59 or 3:00. It’s so much more than a number. It’s a sign that you belong to a group of (dare I say it?) elite runners who have put in the hard work, trained their butts off, and made sacrifices (along with their families) to make themselves into great marathon runners. There are no awards or prizes for being sub-three, just pride. But it is so worth it. It's the same with qualifying for Boston; others may not understand, but runners do. A BQ is a badge of honor. And you've earned it the hard way.

In April, I’ll be back on the hallowed roads of Boston. Back to the guys who jump off the course at mile 1 to pee in the woods. The endless smiles of the early miles. The signs to beat the Kenyans, that you’re crazy, that you're a "wicked fast runnah." The girls of Wellesley, of course. (Even for women, it’s awesome.) The college kids handing out beer. The downhills you don’t notice until you start going up, and simultaneously begin hating yourself for loving marathons. The excruciating pain that doesn’t come at the top of Heartbreak, but just on the other side, when the crowds thin and your quads revolt. The turn onto Beacon, where the crowds are going wild and won’t stop until you do. The turn onto Boylston, when you can finally see the finish line. The last moments of doubt, will you make it? The moment you realize you will, and you have.

Good luck to all those signing up for next year’s Boston, to all those going after BQs this fall, to all those dreaming of someday lining up in Hopkinton. It’s worth all those miles and all that dreaming.

Dream big and go after Boston,

Teal

Hiccups

I hate hiccups. My friends and family know this about me; I can't stand having them and I despise when other people are overcome by them (call me overly empathetic). Not only are they uncomfortable and annoying, but they make you wonder if they will ever stop.

Similarly, I hate hiccups in training. Inevitably, every workout won't go well. But when a couple bad ones string together, it seems like a downward spiral. It's annoying, uncomfortable, and you wonder if and when it will stop. 

This past week has been full of hiccups. It started last Wednesday at track practice; right from the beginning, I felt a little off and just didn't seem to have it. But I surprised myself, held on, and handled it. 

Two days later I was back at it, trying to squeeze a long run in before a holiday weekend getaway. It wasn't the best of plans, realizing I wouldn't have ample recovery after the track workout, but it was a "now or never" situation. I had planned to do a few miles at a good clip, but faded quickly. I hit every water fountain, splashed water all over myself, nothing helped. I gave up on my pace. But by the end, I was crawling, slower than I've run in a long time. When I got home, I was completely drained. I skipped my strength exercises (against my blogger advice) in favor of recovery. Looking back, I could come up with a zillion excuses as to why this run went poorly (too little recovery time, a killer combo of heat and humidity, a new sports drink that I was a "tester" for; it will not be getting good reviews), but all I can think about is how that was the last solid long run before the half and I bombed it.

I enjoyed my vacation for the next few days, relaxed at the beach, the pool, went for one short, slow run, and took two days completely off. I figured I'd return extra recovered and ready to go. 

But I wasn't. Tuesday's run wasn't anything special, but I couldn't help but notice that it was quite a bit slower than the same route last week. I blamed the humidity. 

But then came Wednesday. I started feeling a tickle in my throat, and my stomach was a bit off all day. The track workout was daunting: 4 x 2k, much faster than I prefer to go (or, possibly, am capable of going). Again, I felt it from the beginning. But I hung on last week, so I tried to keep at it. My stomach was not having it, and threatening action. On the second repeat, I fell far back. The second repeat!? I usually fall off on the last, but we were barely started. And the pace was continuing to drop. On the third, far back again, Coach made me call it at a mile. I took the extra break, debating if I had one more in me. I decided I would it give it another go, but only a mile. Once again, I fell back after 2 laps, and barely got through it. I felt completely wiped and drained. I couldn't even keep up with the girls on the cool down. Moreover, I was upset because I can't honestly remember the last time I cut a workout short. I've definitely adjusted my expectations and slowed (see above for the long run disaster) but never didn't finish. I feel like endurance is my thing, and until now, I've been able to at least endure the workouts, even if they are at a slower pace than I'd like. Maybe that's a silly philosophy to have -- there is certainly no reason to run yourself into the ground if you don't have it in you -- but I'm disappointed I couldn't complete it. 

The biggest problem is the half marathon is looming, a short week and a half away. My confidence is lacking, and that's not the attitude I want to go into a race with. With no marathon this fall, I feel like this is my moment to shine. This will be my favorite and best distance until the spring. Of course I'm shooting for a big PR, but I need to build my confidence back up to believe that's possible. 

One way to get rid of hiccups is to focus on something else--to ignore them. Easier said than done. There is a great quote in the Wear Sunscreen graduation speech-turned song: "Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how." Everyone has bad workouts, but they are so much harder to forget than the good ones. Particularly in the days leading up to a race, why can't we forget the discouraging days and focus on the encouraging ones? If anyone knows how to do this, how to ignore the hiccups, tell me how. 

Dream big, 

Teal