I completed my 20-mile run about a week and a half ago, which is the longest run I have to do before the marathon, which is now in… about a week and a half! I have always been a little confused about why training programs never take you the full race distance you are training for. I think when I trained for my first 10K (6.2 miles) I only “got up to” 5-mile runs. I put “got up to” in quotes because while I used to dread them, these 5-mile runs are now the ones I look forward to – the shortest runs of the week!
Anyway, I consulted one of my marathon training websites for the answer as to why I didn’t run the whole 26.2 before race day. Apparently, if you train well for the first 20 miles the “excitement of race day” will carry you the additional 6.2 miles. I put “the excitement of race day” in quotes because I don’t think I’ve ever been excited enough about anything to give me the energy to run 6.2 miles.
For my 20-mile run I said good-bye to Jason about 6:30am, who rolled over and went back to sleep with instructions to bring me reinforcements, or at least Powerade and food, at about 8am. I ran to the reservoir about 4 miles away from home, and ran the trail around it twice before running home.
The first time I had this idea to run around the reservoir was about a month ago. The problem was, as it so often is in Boulder, I didn’t know which trail to take. Fortunately, there are so many runners out there in the morning I just figured I would keep asking people for directions. On that run, a group of guys passed me and I took off my head phones to ask for directions. One of the guys pulled up beside me, and gave me the following instructions: “go over this hill, through the parking lot on the right and onto a trail. From there, just keep turning right, oh, and don’t mind the sign that says, “Certain Death if Entered.” I almost fell down. He laughed and said, “I’m serious, just keep going and don’t worry about it.” I waited for him to add something like, “…and don’t mind that large hungry looking mountain lion that’s been following you either,” but he didn’t. He just jogged off to catch up with the other guys.
I considered a different running route, but the only other trail I knew of in the area had a big hill, the size of a mountain on it. I was surprised the one time I stumbled to the top that there wasn’t snow on it. I figured I would rather take on certain death than to do it again.
It turns out that the sign is there and refers to the canal, that has so much fencing around it and a nice, safe little bridge across it that I couldn’t have gotten into it even if I wanted to die 7 miles into that particular 18-mile run.
I passed the sign twice on my 20-mile run. My early morning, pre-dawn jog to the reservoir was almost invigorating, on my first lap around the res I felt good, motivated by Jason waiting in the parking lot with reserves of Powerade and shot blocks. He got out of the car as I approached, I touched my toes, he refilled my water bottles that I wear on a big super cool fanny pack thing around my waist. Sleepily, he asked me how it was going, and I replied, “really well – I’m feeling great,” with more energy than I ever thought I would have after running about 10 miles.
There is a little red walking path about ¾ of a mile from my house that I frequent for my short runs. The path runs through the pretty little neighborhoods of North Boulder where families walking their dogs and kids playing in their yards distract me and the time on my short 4 and 5 mile runs just flies by. The path runs east and west, so at the beginning of my runs, when I’m going west, it’s all up hill for the first 2 miles, then I get to turn around and come back.
I found myself at the beginning of this path, ¾ of a mile away from home, with 2.5 miles to go. I wasn’t feeling as good 17.5 miles into the run as I had when I met Jason. My hips were really starting to hurt, which was a surprise because I don’t think my hips have ever hurt before, unless I ran into the pointy edge on the dresser coming out of the closet. Regardless, I turned off the ever-so-tempting way home and started up the little red path.
Up to that point, I think my body assumed that given the opportunity to cut a 20-mile run short and head home after 17.5 miles, I was smart enough to take it. After all, if the excitement of race day is suppose to carry me 6.2 miles, what’s another 2.5? After realizing that I actually intended to run the whole 20, even if it meant a ridiculous detour, my body tried to reject me. My hips hurt so bad I thought they were going to eject my legs, the backs of my knees burned, my ankles ached and my shoulders slumped.
I plodded along at a pace barely a jog, looking at my feet and muttering to myself. “You’re almost there,” I tried lying to myself, my body swore at me, “okay, you’re right,” I tried to laugh, “but you can turn around and go downhill soon.” My body swore at me again. I groaned. At this point, I had been running about 3.5 hours. It was 10am and families were out on their morning walks. Little old couples out on their morning walks stared at me, children pointed, dogs barked. Okay, I’m being overly dramatic, I’m sure no one even really noticed the soon-to-be-marathoner that passed them at a pace of a snail. I wanted to say to them, “I’m on mile 18! Congratulate me!” or “I’ve been running for 3.5 hours, what have you done this morning?” But I quickly realized I didn’t have the energy to say anything loud enough to be heard anyway.
I felt better when I turned around to go back downhill. I didn’t have to talk to myself anymore. I straightened out my back and lifted my head. I was finally almost there! My iPod announced in my ear, “Congratulations, you have met your goal of 20-miles.” I exhaled and thanked Paula Radcliffe, the voice on my iPod and the world marathon record holder.
I'm leaving for Washington D.C. in the morning. Apparently, the cold I caught about two weeks ago is coming with me. I tried to talk it into going away but it promptly refused, taking up residence in my sinuses. It has only been bothering me about the first couple of miles of every run but usually gives up after I try to Farmer Blow it out. For those of you not from the Midwest, a Farmer Blow is a technique in which you blow your nose without tissues by plugging one nostril and blowing in a quick little burst. Usually, the snot shoots out, leaving me able to breath. This technique works well on sparsely populated trails but I have a feeling that the other people running the marathon with me will not think this method charming.
