The soundtrack to my life these days is Brand New's Daisy, their most recent release following the epic The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me. The perfect blend of raw yet melodic dissonance is precisely the way that I am feeling in my heart and in my head. Each morning, I listen to the first 6 songs on the way to work. On the way home, I drive to the last 6, culminating with a bonus version of the third track on the album, "At The Bottom." Fitting.
"Wait. I watched you through out your bouquet. Now I think about you every day. I'm alone now in my bed."
We are taking the easy way out.
On another note, the humidity continues to be stifling.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Self-Medicate
I signed up for the Richmond Marathon in November. Self-medicate, self-medicate, self-medicate. Trial of miles, miles of trials. Self-medicate, self-medicate, self-medicate. As endurance athletes, we treat our extreme manic depression with endorphins through high levels of endurance activity. Self-medicate, self-medicate, self medicate... This will be my 8th marathon.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Brita, Cartel, and Iron
These are the things that I've decided that I am very partial to at the moment:
1. Brita Water Pitchers
This item that I inherited from my old roommate upon my return to my old apartment is really hitting the spot right now. First of all, we don't have an ice maker in our freezer, so we have to do it manually, with those little ice cube trays. Pain in my ass. Since I'm not motivated enough to make the ice cubes, I drink the water at the coldest temperature that it comes out of the tap -- not terribly cold. Although I am too lazy to make ice cubes, I do like cold water, particularly after a run in the brutal Richmond heat. My Brita not only provides me with excellently cold water, but clean as well. Plus one for Brita.
2. Cycles by Cartel
This album, released by Cartel in 2009, is a redeeming effort following their previous effort, Cartel (which was terrible). This album is the perfect soundtrack to an acute post-breakup life. It has the right mix of upbeat pop songs to make me happy, while also blending in typical "emo/pop punk" lyrics that help poor sad souls (me) and highschool losers alike (not me) get over lost romances and romances that will never be. Kudos to Cartel.
3. Lifting weights
Today I benched 100 pounds on my 4th set, 8 reps. This is the first time I have benched a triple digit number in 11 months. All in all, I am getting into that "obsessed with lifting weights" zone that I get into 2 to 3 times per year. It is my goal to continue lifting 3x per week through the rest of the summer, while I simultaneously increase my running volume. The current loose goal is either the Richmond Marathon or Half Marathon in November. I'm not concerned with a concrete goal or training plan at the moment, just trying to get back to fitness.
All three of these things are contributing to my overall goal of self improvement. In times like these, it is important to go back to the drawing board and determine where improvements can be made. This is a very epic time of my life. I am starting my first real job as a physical therapist in 2 days, and am finally making the transition to adulthood. Along with that comes a strong desire to be a better person. Armed with my Britra, Cartel, and Iron, I'm confident I'm moving in the right direction.
1. Brita Water Pitchers
This item that I inherited from my old roommate upon my return to my old apartment is really hitting the spot right now. First of all, we don't have an ice maker in our freezer, so we have to do it manually, with those little ice cube trays. Pain in my ass. Since I'm not motivated enough to make the ice cubes, I drink the water at the coldest temperature that it comes out of the tap -- not terribly cold. Although I am too lazy to make ice cubes, I do like cold water, particularly after a run in the brutal Richmond heat. My Brita not only provides me with excellently cold water, but clean as well. Plus one for Brita.
2. Cycles by Cartel
This album, released by Cartel in 2009, is a redeeming effort following their previous effort, Cartel (which was terrible). This album is the perfect soundtrack to an acute post-breakup life. It has the right mix of upbeat pop songs to make me happy, while also blending in typical "emo/pop punk" lyrics that help poor sad souls (me) and highschool losers alike (not me) get over lost romances and romances that will never be. Kudos to Cartel.
3. Lifting weights
Today I benched 100 pounds on my 4th set, 8 reps. This is the first time I have benched a triple digit number in 11 months. All in all, I am getting into that "obsessed with lifting weights" zone that I get into 2 to 3 times per year. It is my goal to continue lifting 3x per week through the rest of the summer, while I simultaneously increase my running volume. The current loose goal is either the Richmond Marathon or Half Marathon in November. I'm not concerned with a concrete goal or training plan at the moment, just trying to get back to fitness.
All three of these things are contributing to my overall goal of self improvement. In times like these, it is important to go back to the drawing board and determine where improvements can be made. This is a very epic time of my life. I am starting my first real job as a physical therapist in 2 days, and am finally making the transition to adulthood. Along with that comes a strong desire to be a better person. Armed with my Britra, Cartel, and Iron, I'm confident I'm moving in the right direction.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Realizations
Approximately one month from now will mark the 1 year anniversary of The Legend of the Torn Pec -- my most epic weight room war story. While I would love to say that the notorious event happened while I was attempting to bench a new one rep max of 280 pounds (just to be clear, I have never lifted, nor will I ever be able to lift 280 pounds), the reality is that it happened while on my third rep (of 5) lifting 155. Mediocre at best. As the bar crashed to my chest to a soundtrack of tearing muscle fibers, the weight room attendant quickly rushed to my assistance. The details of our conversation are vague to me, but I do remember him trying to help me differentiate what muscle I had injured -- my response to him was a curt, "Dude. I'm in Physical Therapy school. I'm pretty sure I know what happened." It was clearly not a time for politeness.
Today, I returned for the first time to lift weights at Cary Street Gym, the site of the legend (disclaimer: that is only half true, I have lifted weights there recently but not in any structured manner). My first lift of the day was, you guessed it, the bench press. I have only just started bench pressing again in the last 3 weeks, and my weight has been low -- very low. I have worked my way up from 65 pounds, and am now able to lift a whopping 95 pounds! Unfortunately, this amount of weight does not do much to impress the "Alpha Male" weight lifters that inhabit the weight room at 4:30 -- prime lifting hour.
As I progressed through my 4 sets, starting with 75 pounds and finishing with 95, I began to notice various lifting duos glancing at this skinny kid lifting his cute 95 pounds. And they were smirking at me. Me. In my head: "I fucking tore my pec the last time I was benching on this bench you asshole." Me. In the weight room: *continues to lift cute 95 pounds while listening to my music in my headphones* Which brings me to my next realization.
Today was the very first day that I felt old working out at Cary Street Gym, a gym predominately used by VCU undergraduate students. Maybe it is purely psychological since I have recently graduated and am begin to start my first real big boy job -- but today even the biggest meat head looking douche bag looked young to me. It didn't bother me, per say, but it was an interesting realization to have. Something that further amplifies the change that is taking place in my life right now. While I plan to reap the benefits of my student privileges to use Cary Street Gym through the end of the summer, I will not be terribly upset when I have to start paying my 30 dollars a month to become a member of Gold's Gym, the land of the young professional meat head douche bags.
The last realization I had today happened when I was walking back into my god-forsaken, depressing apartment. As I was walking into the front doors, a couple that I have frequently seen in the past was walking out. Over the last couple of years, I always saw this couple sitting outside together smoking cigarettes. Often times when I would see them, I would be leaving for or returning from a run. The fitness elitist that I am, I would always spew internal verbal venom at their lack of initiative to partake in any sort of fitness, and the senseless practice of repeatedly smoking ciggys together.
Today, when I passed them, they were dressed in workout clothes, water bottles in hand, and bright exercise-esque shoes on their feet. They looked healthy. It made me realize that people can change.
Today, I returned for the first time to lift weights at Cary Street Gym, the site of the legend (disclaimer: that is only half true, I have lifted weights there recently but not in any structured manner). My first lift of the day was, you guessed it, the bench press. I have only just started bench pressing again in the last 3 weeks, and my weight has been low -- very low. I have worked my way up from 65 pounds, and am now able to lift a whopping 95 pounds! Unfortunately, this amount of weight does not do much to impress the "Alpha Male" weight lifters that inhabit the weight room at 4:30 -- prime lifting hour.
As I progressed through my 4 sets, starting with 75 pounds and finishing with 95, I began to notice various lifting duos glancing at this skinny kid lifting his cute 95 pounds. And they were smirking at me. Me. In my head: "I fucking tore my pec the last time I was benching on this bench you asshole." Me. In the weight room: *continues to lift cute 95 pounds while listening to my music in my headphones* Which brings me to my next realization.
Today was the very first day that I felt old working out at Cary Street Gym, a gym predominately used by VCU undergraduate students. Maybe it is purely psychological since I have recently graduated and am begin to start my first real big boy job -- but today even the biggest meat head looking douche bag looked young to me. It didn't bother me, per say, but it was an interesting realization to have. Something that further amplifies the change that is taking place in my life right now. While I plan to reap the benefits of my student privileges to use Cary Street Gym through the end of the summer, I will not be terribly upset when I have to start paying my 30 dollars a month to become a member of Gold's Gym, the land of the young professional meat head douche bags.
The last realization I had today happened when I was walking back into my god-forsaken, depressing apartment. As I was walking into the front doors, a couple that I have frequently seen in the past was walking out. Over the last couple of years, I always saw this couple sitting outside together smoking cigarettes. Often times when I would see them, I would be leaving for or returning from a run. The fitness elitist that I am, I would always spew internal verbal venom at their lack of initiative to partake in any sort of fitness, and the senseless practice of repeatedly smoking ciggys together.
Today, when I passed them, they were dressed in workout clothes, water bottles in hand, and bright exercise-esque shoes on their feet. They looked healthy. It made me realize that people can change.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Stuck.
"Instead of taking action, why don't you begin routine. And instead of being tired, why don't you become machine?"
In the past, I used to identify most with the line about becoming a machine. Now, I can most identify with beginning routine. My routine is this:
I wake up around 7:30. Open my eyes, and assess the situation. After a long night of gut-wrenching dreams that are not reality, I decide that things have not gotten any better over night.
I get out of bed, make my bed (still keeping it up), and go downstairs where I make my breakfast and coffee. I read my book for approximately 30 minutes while I enjoy the last bit of my coffee. This keeps my mind occupied for a short period of time.
Then it is off to the library. I leave by 9:50 so that I can get there as the doors open at 10, where I join the mad rush of the other lonely/nerdy souls who have nothing better to do at 10 AM on a week day morning but browse through the non-fiction section or hole up in a silent study room that I am unlucky enough to miss out on if I don't make it by 10 on the dot.
I study mindlessly for 2 hours for a test that I will most certainly pass in 6 weeks, but have nothing better to occupy my time/mind with these days. I do allow for a 5 minute "lap around the library" walking break to break up the 2 hours.
At some point in the afternoon comes the best part of my day. As was once written by John L. Parker Jr., endurance athletes use their training to self-medicate for their manic depression. Well, these days, I am definitely self medicating -- although I do not think that my depression is manic. Whether it be a run, a hard bike ride, or most recently, a weight lifting session, the flood of endorphins I get usually is enough to stabilize me through the rest of the evening.
I eat dinner, maybe watch some baseball, and retire to my quarters by approximately 10 pm, where I read some more before lights out.
Rinse and repeat.
I used to have a reputation of being a mean, manipulative, cold-hearted bastard when I wanted to be. If I believed I was wronged, the opposing party would pay the price -- and I didn't feel bad about doing it. I would rather encase my heart in ice and inflict pain on the other person than allow myself to feel the hurt that they were inflicting on me. It saved me a lot of heart-ache over the years, and also probably made me look like a prick a lot of the time.
About a year and a half ago, I somehow lost the ability to do this. Now, I feel every last ounce of heart-ache that is inflicted on me. I have no ability to put up a wall and go cold. On the contrary, I am full of emotion. Maybe, it's because this time the thing that is inflicting the heart-ache actually means something -- I don't know.
For the time being, I will keep self-medicating. Since this is supposed to be a blog about training, I will say this: I am motivated, if for no other reason, to keep my mind busy. Unfortunately, I find myself getting the biggest adrenaline shot from that one Gotye song when it comes through my headphones these days.
To Max and Kyle, if you think that I am the most pathetic piece of shit on the face of the earth, I am. Whatever.
--Ant
And P.S. If this is Austin...
In the past, I used to identify most with the line about becoming a machine. Now, I can most identify with beginning routine. My routine is this:
I wake up around 7:30. Open my eyes, and assess the situation. After a long night of gut-wrenching dreams that are not reality, I decide that things have not gotten any better over night.
I get out of bed, make my bed (still keeping it up), and go downstairs where I make my breakfast and coffee. I read my book for approximately 30 minutes while I enjoy the last bit of my coffee. This keeps my mind occupied for a short period of time.
Then it is off to the library. I leave by 9:50 so that I can get there as the doors open at 10, where I join the mad rush of the other lonely/nerdy souls who have nothing better to do at 10 AM on a week day morning but browse through the non-fiction section or hole up in a silent study room that I am unlucky enough to miss out on if I don't make it by 10 on the dot.
I study mindlessly for 2 hours for a test that I will most certainly pass in 6 weeks, but have nothing better to occupy my time/mind with these days. I do allow for a 5 minute "lap around the library" walking break to break up the 2 hours.
At some point in the afternoon comes the best part of my day. As was once written by John L. Parker Jr., endurance athletes use their training to self-medicate for their manic depression. Well, these days, I am definitely self medicating -- although I do not think that my depression is manic. Whether it be a run, a hard bike ride, or most recently, a weight lifting session, the flood of endorphins I get usually is enough to stabilize me through the rest of the evening.
I eat dinner, maybe watch some baseball, and retire to my quarters by approximately 10 pm, where I read some more before lights out.
Rinse and repeat.
I used to have a reputation of being a mean, manipulative, cold-hearted bastard when I wanted to be. If I believed I was wronged, the opposing party would pay the price -- and I didn't feel bad about doing it. I would rather encase my heart in ice and inflict pain on the other person than allow myself to feel the hurt that they were inflicting on me. It saved me a lot of heart-ache over the years, and also probably made me look like a prick a lot of the time.
About a year and a half ago, I somehow lost the ability to do this. Now, I feel every last ounce of heart-ache that is inflicted on me. I have no ability to put up a wall and go cold. On the contrary, I am full of emotion. Maybe, it's because this time the thing that is inflicting the heart-ache actually means something -- I don't know.
For the time being, I will keep self-medicating. Since this is supposed to be a blog about training, I will say this: I am motivated, if for no other reason, to keep my mind busy. Unfortunately, I find myself getting the biggest adrenaline shot from that one Gotye song when it comes through my headphones these days.
To Max and Kyle, if you think that I am the most pathetic piece of shit on the face of the earth, I am. Whatever.
--Ant
And P.S. If this is Austin...
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Time on Feet
Time on feet is the amount of time that one spends on his feet. It's a vital part of training.
This evening, after spending an entire day working on my feet and fifty minutes running on my feet, Kyle convinced me to spend an additional ten minutes on my feet. During those ten minutes, we slogged-up some hills. We complained about our aches. We discussed the staleness that we were feeling. And we mourned the blow-up that we suffered on the W&OD.
This blow-up came at the hands of a pale, boyish-looking man, who was wearing a white tank-top, headphones that blasted techno beats, and basketball shorts. That's right -- basketball shorts. Legend has it that this fellow was sprinting to meet Tory and Damien at the basketball court. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. Regardless of this runner's destination, he crushed us.
Embarrased
Us
Bad.
Blew by us.
Instantaneously.
The embarrassment that we felt obviously weighed heavy while we completed the day's time on feet. It noticeably affected our strides. For me, that meant that we had had enough time on feet for the day. For Kyle, we needed ten more minutes.
Time on feet.
Time on feet.
So, after some bullying, we spent ten more minutes on our feet. Well, I spent ten more minutes on my feet. Then, as my chronometer ticked to 60 minutes, I packed-it-in. And Kyle kept going for a Duke Dog Mile.
Thanks to this extra time on feet, one thing is certain --
We'll get you next time, JJ Redick. See you on the trail.
I got a Basketball Jones
As Max and I were in the midst of a less than satisfactory 8 miler, we realized that no one has contributed to the blog in some time. Thus, we made a pact. A pact sealed in blood, by the means of a bear claw cutting our wrists, and with the alternative purpose of collecting each others' blood to wear around our neck in vials, smearing on our face and drinking it so that we can integrate into each others genomes thereby creating 2 equal and perfect training partners(There's more about collecting feces and leg hair but perhaps Max can elaborate on those details....).
I think it's about my 4th week back to any semblance of training now, and i'm on track for about 45 miles this week(Note to self: start a log). I've been steadily increasing mileage while at the same time trying to do 1 workout a week to keep the legs used to a quicker pace. The workouts have been as follows:
1. 12 minute warm up, 15 minutes at what was supposed to be 5:45 pace, and about 20 minutes cool down.
- At first the pace felt fine, then not so fine, then sort of uncomfortable, then uncomfortable, then uncomfortable but sustainable, then laboring until finish. We ended up with a mini progression of 5:47/48 to start, followed by a final mile in sub 5:30. I was very satisfied with how the workout went and we finished with a few striders.
2. warm up, Fartlek ladder of quick to hard pace for a specified duration, followed by an equal amount easier pace, cool down. 1-2-3-3-2-1.
- This workout went surprisingly well as well. While not by any means easy, the last 2 intervals felt smooth and by slight prodding from Max, i showcased some of my weaponry and blew the doors off the last 10 seconds with my newly acquired Jamaican speed. However, my legs have been sore since and i'm not sure when i'll next be able to perform such a feat of strength...
Yesterday was a day off, and as happens the day after most days off, i felt like crap on the run. Max and I had intentions of going 8 miles and while my spirits were high, my legs and lungs didn't quite seem to want to cooperate. What was sore became more sore, what was heavy felt more heavy, what little breath i was able to suck down I only seemed to exhale more, and to top it all off....we got passed. We got straight up passed by a Basketball Jones. I heard the muted techno blaring from the side, but it didn't quite register until a flash of lightening wearing a tight white underarmor shirt and baggy shorts struck by our meager pace as if thrown from the hand of Zeus himself. Defeated and demoralized, it took every ounce of our strength to not throw in the towel and walk in the last 4 miles. We finished the run, Max paying homage to the Tribe by finishing with a customary Tribe Mile , and I with a customary Duke Dog Mile/Ride Upon Black Beauty.
(Play This as you read the next paragraph slowly....)
Building up mileage is not pleasant, and there are very few days when i feel fresh. But i'm confident that balance will be brought to the force, that i will reach equilibrium, and that running will start to feel effortless once again. A day may come, when the courage of men fail, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship....but it is not this day. I will remain vigilant in my cause. I will persevere. I will endure this discomfort, this monotony, and yet i will only initially find even more discomfort and monotony in double the mileage...but there may also be GLORY. And i intend to find it...
-Kyle
I think it's about my 4th week back to any semblance of training now, and i'm on track for about 45 miles this week(Note to self: start a log). I've been steadily increasing mileage while at the same time trying to do 1 workout a week to keep the legs used to a quicker pace. The workouts have been as follows:
1. 12 minute warm up, 15 minutes at what was supposed to be 5:45 pace, and about 20 minutes cool down.
- At first the pace felt fine, then not so fine, then sort of uncomfortable, then uncomfortable, then uncomfortable but sustainable, then laboring until finish. We ended up with a mini progression of 5:47/48 to start, followed by a final mile in sub 5:30. I was very satisfied with how the workout went and we finished with a few striders.
2. warm up, Fartlek ladder of quick to hard pace for a specified duration, followed by an equal amount easier pace, cool down. 1-2-3-3-2-1.
- This workout went surprisingly well as well. While not by any means easy, the last 2 intervals felt smooth and by slight prodding from Max, i showcased some of my weaponry and blew the doors off the last 10 seconds with my newly acquired Jamaican speed. However, my legs have been sore since and i'm not sure when i'll next be able to perform such a feat of strength...
Yesterday was a day off, and as happens the day after most days off, i felt like crap on the run. Max and I had intentions of going 8 miles and while my spirits were high, my legs and lungs didn't quite seem to want to cooperate. What was sore became more sore, what was heavy felt more heavy, what little breath i was able to suck down I only seemed to exhale more, and to top it all off....we got passed. We got straight up passed by a Basketball Jones. I heard the muted techno blaring from the side, but it didn't quite register until a flash of lightening wearing a tight white underarmor shirt and baggy shorts struck by our meager pace as if thrown from the hand of Zeus himself. Defeated and demoralized, it took every ounce of our strength to not throw in the towel and walk in the last 4 miles. We finished the run, Max paying homage to the Tribe by finishing with a customary Tribe Mile , and I with a customary Duke Dog Mile/Ride Upon Black Beauty.
(Play This as you read the next paragraph slowly....)
Building up mileage is not pleasant, and there are very few days when i feel fresh. But i'm confident that balance will be brought to the force, that i will reach equilibrium, and that running will start to feel effortless once again. A day may come, when the courage of men fail, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship....but it is not this day. I will remain vigilant in my cause. I will persevere. I will endure this discomfort, this monotony, and yet i will only initially find even more discomfort and monotony in double the mileage...but there may also be GLORY. And i intend to find it...
-Kyle
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Words of Wisdom
Ant, i promise i will take the time to read your Boston saga....
However....
I'd like to say one thing to all shoe companies out there, specifically Saucony in this instance....
DON'T CHANGE YOUR FUCKING SHOES.
Do you want to know why the Kinvara was your highest selling shoe the past few years? Because it was a good shoe. You want to know what happens when you start arbitrarily changing what was once good? You make it FUCKING BAD.
THE KINVARA WAS PERFECT. NOBODY COMPLAINED ABOUT A LOW HEEL. SO DON'T MAKE IT A FUCKING INCH HIGHER CAUSING LACERATION AND MUTILATION OF THE ACHILLES.
Thanks,
Kyle
However....
I'd like to say one thing to all shoe companies out there, specifically Saucony in this instance....
DON'T CHANGE YOUR FUCKING SHOES.
Do you want to know why the Kinvara was your highest selling shoe the past few years? Because it was a good shoe. You want to know what happens when you start arbitrarily changing what was once good? You make it FUCKING BAD.
THE KINVARA WAS PERFECT. NOBODY COMPLAINED ABOUT A LOW HEEL. SO DON'T MAKE IT A FUCKING INCH HIGHER CAUSING LACERATION AND MUTILATION OF THE ACHILLES.
Thanks,
Kyle
The Legend of the Marathon: 2012 Boston Ed.
It's somewhere around mile 18 and I glance to my right. There, on the sidewalk, I see an amputee seated on a portable stool, changing his liner and sock in order to prevent blistering. "If this guy can do this race on one leg, I can do this," I think to myself. I am immediately filled with a shot of adrenaline, and pick up the pace ever so slightly. After approximately 15 seconds, I start to walk. Again...
The 10-day forecast called for a high of 63 degrees with a chance of thunderstorms. I was bitter. 63 degrees is on the warm side, compared to the 45 that would be ideal marathon running weather. The thunderstorms just seemed like adding insult to injury. As I'm sure all runners did in the day's leading up to the race, I checked weather.com religiously, often hourly, to assess the latest forecast. I watched as it crept to 72, then back down to 62, and bounced around temperatures somewhere in between. Then things got weird. 80 degrees. 82 degrees. I got on the plane to Boston on Saturday morning with the forecast calling for a high of 83 degrees -- but no rain! In my head, I was in denial, knowing that on race day, it would be a cool 57 that might hit the mid 60s by the end of the race. But it just kept going up. And up.
By Sunday night, the high was projected to be 89 degrees, and every major media outlet had written a story on the potentially dangerous heat facing the runners in the oh-so-prestegious Boston Marathon the next morning at 10:00. By this time, I had been drinking Nuun electrolyte supplement for the past 36 hours, doing everything I could to prevent my body from going into the uber-dehydrated state that seemed inevitable the following day. I was peeing like a race horse -- seemed like I was right where I needed to be.
I woke up the next morning and took down a cup of coffee (stupid? caffeine is a diuretic...), a bagel, and a banana. At 5:45, we were off to the buses, to meet up with the rest of the 24,000 who would become my brethren-in-arms in our soon to be battle against Boston's notoriously difficult course, the heat, and ourselves. Interestingly enough, however, no one seemed to be worried. The atmosphere was light, and the runners seemed cool and collected. Although this was my 7th marathon, and 2nd Boston, I felt like I was the rookie -- or maybe the coward. Why weren't these people sucking down bottles of water and gatorade for last minute hydration? Talking race strategy about the best way to prevent dying (literally) of heat stroke at mile 15? Everyone seemed like this was just another race -- another 26.2 mile fun-fest that would be over a few hours after it started, and then we could all just get back to our normal lives. I certainly did not feel that way.
I was afraid. I spent the previous day thinking about how painful this was likely to be. No matter how conservative I planned to be, I knew it would eventually get ugly. I didn't know just how ugly, and that the beat down would begin only 2.5 miles into the race.
When the cannon fired at 10:00 on the dot, I was already sweating and had to pee. The first 3 miles is a steep down-hill, so I made sure to keep my pace easy. 6:50 on the dot for the first mile. Followed by a 6:48 for mile two. For me, this was conservative, just like I'd planned. The weird thing was, I couldn't feel my left foot, because my calf was so tight. WAY too early for something like this to happen. And I still had to pee. At mile 2.5, I felt the back of my leg catch the other leg as some moron cut behind me, causing me to almost hit the pavement. After a super-athletic save, and a "F- you" (in my head) to that guy, I settled back in, only to realize that two of my Gu packets were no longer bouncing at my hip, where I had safety-pinned them before the race. Less than 3 miles in, and I had already gone from my standard 5 gels to 3, without having taken any. This was already going swimmingly.
At the water station after the third mile, I decided that I needed to stretch. Yes. I stopped running 3 miles into a marathon. I pulled off to a guard rail behind the water stop, and stretched my calf. And then I did something else that I'd never done in a marathon: I peed in my pants. It was a beautiful combination, stretching to relieve my tight muscle while simultaneously relieving my bladder. After approximately 60 seconds, I was back on the road, took off my singlet, removed my nipple guards, and settled into an even more conservative 7:05 pace. I was on my way.
Mile 5, 6, 7 go by. I'm bitter. I'm mentally defeated and know that I might end up running over 3:10 because this is just not the day for running a decent marathon. At the 10k, I briefly think about the fact that I still have 20 miles to go, and that the sun is RELENTLESSLY beating down on me. No shade. Zero. At this point, I may have already pulled to the side to stretch, again. I have zero mental toughness, and I'm pissed at myself.
I'm drinking water and gatorade at every water stop. Walking through the aide stations and losing more and more time off of my per-mile average pace. I watch as my Garmin shows me 7:45 pace, and I think that I am now running slower than an average training run, let alone the 6:35 pace that I had trained at for the last 4 months. I'm embarrassed.
At mile 12.5, I run past the Wellsley girls screaming, search for a "Kiss me, I'm a Redskins fan," but find none. No kiss for me this year either. After approximately 2 minutes, the novelty is over and I am back grinding it out, left leg numb, hips starting to cramp, and calves closely behind. And I'm just getting to the half way point. 3 miles ahead lie the hills...
When I get to mile 16, I have talked myself into being tough through the next 5 miles. I do some quick calculations and realize that if I average a 9-10 minute mile through these hills, I can run under 3:20. At this point I deem this respectable. I quickly pussy out, and start walking.
My hips are in pain like I've never felt. The insertions of my IT bands on my tibias feel like I may have an avulsion fracture by the end of this race. My calves cramp like little aliens are living in my gastrocs. I walk. I run. I do enough to stay at a respectable 9:45 per mile. As long as I'm under the double digits, I am not a complete waste of a runner (I know that I am, I'm just telling myself that to make myself feel better). As I approach Heartbreak hill at mile 20.5, I tell myself that "I WILL NOT WALK ON THIS HILL." If nothing else, I will be able to tell people that I did battle with Heartbreak, and won. Psyche. I lost. I started walking approximately half way up the hill. As I looked up and could see the crest of the hill, I started to run. I'd make it from this point.
Fat chance. Start walking again.
Miles 21 -26.2 are a blur. I quickly realize that it becomes incapable for me to run more than 0.1 miles without having to stop due to the cramps in my calves. At this point, I am also cramping in my right bicep and neck. Weird. Oh yeah. I stopped sweating at mile 16.
Jog, walk. Jog, walk. Suffer, walk.
As I turned the corner to reach the home stretch, down the last 0.5 miles, I told myself I would not walk. And I didn't. I danced my way across the finish like in 3:35, one minute slower than my slowest ever marathon. I walked through the sea of bodies strewn about, politely declined medical attention from the medical staff, watched as countless others were escorted away in wheel chairs. I walked on. I got a protein drink.
I finally found the bus with the bags from bibs 4000-4600, and headed off the meeting area for the people who's last name begin with P. As I approached the area, my lip started to tremble. And for the second time following a marathon, I began to cry. I sat down on a curb, buried my head so no one would see, and sobbed. The last thing I wanted was for my parents to see me cry. So I sobbed -- I'm not sure if it was disappointment, sadness, or just the emotional drain of the experience I'd just gone through in the last 3 hours and 35 minutes. But I sobbed. Then I got up and walked to the P section and sat down and sobbed some more.
A couple minutes later, after I'd stopped crying, the kid sitting next to me says "Starting the pity party?" "Yep," I say with a chuckle. "We all are," he says.
The temperature reached 86 degrees during the course of the race, and 89 for the day. A record high for that date in Boston, and the 3rd highest ever in the race's 116 year history. The defending race champion, who ran the fastest ever time just one year before (2:03:02), dropped out at mile 18. The winner (A Kenyan!) ran 2:12, a mediocre time for the 2nd tier elite Americans. Over 200 were treated medically, with 50 taken to the hospital (actually probably lower numbers than it could have been).
Never a more painful experience in my life. Never a more humbling experience in my life. Never an experience that made me feel like a bigger pussy. And I will NEVER again enter a race as un-prepared, mentally or physically, as I was for this on. I was defeated before I started (my MO?)
I will now heal my wounds, and begin training, relentlessly. I'll save that plan for another blog. But for now, I will say this. Ramp up to 60, 70, 80 miles per week. Become an aerobic monster. When the time is right, add the speed. Add the strength.
Richmond 2012, let's go.
The 10-day forecast called for a high of 63 degrees with a chance of thunderstorms. I was bitter. 63 degrees is on the warm side, compared to the 45 that would be ideal marathon running weather. The thunderstorms just seemed like adding insult to injury. As I'm sure all runners did in the day's leading up to the race, I checked weather.com religiously, often hourly, to assess the latest forecast. I watched as it crept to 72, then back down to 62, and bounced around temperatures somewhere in between. Then things got weird. 80 degrees. 82 degrees. I got on the plane to Boston on Saturday morning with the forecast calling for a high of 83 degrees -- but no rain! In my head, I was in denial, knowing that on race day, it would be a cool 57 that might hit the mid 60s by the end of the race. But it just kept going up. And up.
By Sunday night, the high was projected to be 89 degrees, and every major media outlet had written a story on the potentially dangerous heat facing the runners in the oh-so-prestegious Boston Marathon the next morning at 10:00. By this time, I had been drinking Nuun electrolyte supplement for the past 36 hours, doing everything I could to prevent my body from going into the uber-dehydrated state that seemed inevitable the following day. I was peeing like a race horse -- seemed like I was right where I needed to be.
I woke up the next morning and took down a cup of coffee (stupid? caffeine is a diuretic...), a bagel, and a banana. At 5:45, we were off to the buses, to meet up with the rest of the 24,000 who would become my brethren-in-arms in our soon to be battle against Boston's notoriously difficult course, the heat, and ourselves. Interestingly enough, however, no one seemed to be worried. The atmosphere was light, and the runners seemed cool and collected. Although this was my 7th marathon, and 2nd Boston, I felt like I was the rookie -- or maybe the coward. Why weren't these people sucking down bottles of water and gatorade for last minute hydration? Talking race strategy about the best way to prevent dying (literally) of heat stroke at mile 15? Everyone seemed like this was just another race -- another 26.2 mile fun-fest that would be over a few hours after it started, and then we could all just get back to our normal lives. I certainly did not feel that way.
I was afraid. I spent the previous day thinking about how painful this was likely to be. No matter how conservative I planned to be, I knew it would eventually get ugly. I didn't know just how ugly, and that the beat down would begin only 2.5 miles into the race.
When the cannon fired at 10:00 on the dot, I was already sweating and had to pee. The first 3 miles is a steep down-hill, so I made sure to keep my pace easy. 6:50 on the dot for the first mile. Followed by a 6:48 for mile two. For me, this was conservative, just like I'd planned. The weird thing was, I couldn't feel my left foot, because my calf was so tight. WAY too early for something like this to happen. And I still had to pee. At mile 2.5, I felt the back of my leg catch the other leg as some moron cut behind me, causing me to almost hit the pavement. After a super-athletic save, and a "F- you" (in my head) to that guy, I settled back in, only to realize that two of my Gu packets were no longer bouncing at my hip, where I had safety-pinned them before the race. Less than 3 miles in, and I had already gone from my standard 5 gels to 3, without having taken any. This was already going swimmingly.
At the water station after the third mile, I decided that I needed to stretch. Yes. I stopped running 3 miles into a marathon. I pulled off to a guard rail behind the water stop, and stretched my calf. And then I did something else that I'd never done in a marathon: I peed in my pants. It was a beautiful combination, stretching to relieve my tight muscle while simultaneously relieving my bladder. After approximately 60 seconds, I was back on the road, took off my singlet, removed my nipple guards, and settled into an even more conservative 7:05 pace. I was on my way.
Mile 5, 6, 7 go by. I'm bitter. I'm mentally defeated and know that I might end up running over 3:10 because this is just not the day for running a decent marathon. At the 10k, I briefly think about the fact that I still have 20 miles to go, and that the sun is RELENTLESSLY beating down on me. No shade. Zero. At this point, I may have already pulled to the side to stretch, again. I have zero mental toughness, and I'm pissed at myself.
I'm drinking water and gatorade at every water stop. Walking through the aide stations and losing more and more time off of my per-mile average pace. I watch as my Garmin shows me 7:45 pace, and I think that I am now running slower than an average training run, let alone the 6:35 pace that I had trained at for the last 4 months. I'm embarrassed.
At mile 12.5, I run past the Wellsley girls screaming, search for a "Kiss me, I'm a Redskins fan," but find none. No kiss for me this year either. After approximately 2 minutes, the novelty is over and I am back grinding it out, left leg numb, hips starting to cramp, and calves closely behind. And I'm just getting to the half way point. 3 miles ahead lie the hills...
When I get to mile 16, I have talked myself into being tough through the next 5 miles. I do some quick calculations and realize that if I average a 9-10 minute mile through these hills, I can run under 3:20. At this point I deem this respectable. I quickly pussy out, and start walking.
My hips are in pain like I've never felt. The insertions of my IT bands on my tibias feel like I may have an avulsion fracture by the end of this race. My calves cramp like little aliens are living in my gastrocs. I walk. I run. I do enough to stay at a respectable 9:45 per mile. As long as I'm under the double digits, I am not a complete waste of a runner (I know that I am, I'm just telling myself that to make myself feel better). As I approach Heartbreak hill at mile 20.5, I tell myself that "I WILL NOT WALK ON THIS HILL." If nothing else, I will be able to tell people that I did battle with Heartbreak, and won. Psyche. I lost. I started walking approximately half way up the hill. As I looked up and could see the crest of the hill, I started to run. I'd make it from this point.
Fat chance. Start walking again.
Miles 21 -26.2 are a blur. I quickly realize that it becomes incapable for me to run more than 0.1 miles without having to stop due to the cramps in my calves. At this point, I am also cramping in my right bicep and neck. Weird. Oh yeah. I stopped sweating at mile 16.
Jog, walk. Jog, walk. Suffer, walk.
As I turned the corner to reach the home stretch, down the last 0.5 miles, I told myself I would not walk. And I didn't. I danced my way across the finish like in 3:35, one minute slower than my slowest ever marathon. I walked through the sea of bodies strewn about, politely declined medical attention from the medical staff, watched as countless others were escorted away in wheel chairs. I walked on. I got a protein drink.
I finally found the bus with the bags from bibs 4000-4600, and headed off the meeting area for the people who's last name begin with P. As I approached the area, my lip started to tremble. And for the second time following a marathon, I began to cry. I sat down on a curb, buried my head so no one would see, and sobbed. The last thing I wanted was for my parents to see me cry. So I sobbed -- I'm not sure if it was disappointment, sadness, or just the emotional drain of the experience I'd just gone through in the last 3 hours and 35 minutes. But I sobbed. Then I got up and walked to the P section and sat down and sobbed some more.
A couple minutes later, after I'd stopped crying, the kid sitting next to me says "Starting the pity party?" "Yep," I say with a chuckle. "We all are," he says.
The temperature reached 86 degrees during the course of the race, and 89 for the day. A record high for that date in Boston, and the 3rd highest ever in the race's 116 year history. The defending race champion, who ran the fastest ever time just one year before (2:03:02), dropped out at mile 18. The winner (A Kenyan!) ran 2:12, a mediocre time for the 2nd tier elite Americans. Over 200 were treated medically, with 50 taken to the hospital (actually probably lower numbers than it could have been).
Never a more painful experience in my life. Never a more humbling experience in my life. Never an experience that made me feel like a bigger pussy. And I will NEVER again enter a race as un-prepared, mentally or physically, as I was for this on. I was defeated before I started (my MO?)
I will now heal my wounds, and begin training, relentlessly. I'll save that plan for another blog. But for now, I will say this. Ramp up to 60, 70, 80 miles per week. Become an aerobic monster. When the time is right, add the speed. Add the strength.
Richmond 2012, let's go.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Intermission Is OVER
FEAR NOT MAX....for i have returned! And while i cannot speak for Anthony(who has not just been absent from our blog, but from life in general...), my absence has been due to the fact that i had not been running much since my half in November, and did not feel that i had many inspiring tales from the weight room either. Though that is not to say i still hadn't been drinking beers and training like an animal!
I now work my way up the crest of my sinusoidal wave of running fitness once more. 2 weeks ago marked the return to running. However, this running doesn't quite stack up against the 11 mile runs and workouts at sub-6 pace that Max is dominating just yet. My primary goal at the moment is consistency, and i have made it a focus to get out and run almost every day between 30 to 45 minutes.
My calves and legs are sore, my knee is no better but no worse than it has been a few weeks before starting to run, and sitting at my desk in the fluorescent light-polluted office for long periods of time creates a very stiff lower-body. But i know that as long as i get up and walk around frequently, continue to drink water, chug protein shakes like a meathead, ice my wounds, stretch/massage my tight muscles, and get ample rest, that my body will adapt and once again become comfortable with what it means to be a runner once more. ADAPTATION.
I always somehow manage to forget how rewarding and satisfying it can be to dedicate the majority of my free time to working out and running, as opposed to playing video games and otherwise wasting away my evenings in front of a computer/TV screen. The sun is high in the sky, the weather is warm, and somewhere in there i'm starting to catch whiff of the reassuring sense of purpose that is unique to training.
Today's Activities: Arm and Core workout done during lunch [Never said i was going to stop lifting;) ]. Shake drank. Triple Delight lunch being cooked. 30-40 minute run scheduled for the evening.
EDIT: The 30 minute run last night taught me that i need new shoes, that i need a day off(it still feels so guilty to), and that at 164 lbs i may want to consider dropping some poundage...
I now work my way up the crest of my sinusoidal wave of running fitness once more. 2 weeks ago marked the return to running. However, this running doesn't quite stack up against the 11 mile runs and workouts at sub-6 pace that Max is dominating just yet. My primary goal at the moment is consistency, and i have made it a focus to get out and run almost every day between 30 to 45 minutes.
My calves and legs are sore, my knee is no better but no worse than it has been a few weeks before starting to run, and sitting at my desk in the fluorescent light-polluted office for long periods of time creates a very stiff lower-body. But i know that as long as i get up and walk around frequently, continue to drink water, chug protein shakes like a meathead, ice my wounds, stretch/massage my tight muscles, and get ample rest, that my body will adapt and once again become comfortable with what it means to be a runner once more. ADAPTATION.
I always somehow manage to forget how rewarding and satisfying it can be to dedicate the majority of my free time to working out and running, as opposed to playing video games and otherwise wasting away my evenings in front of a computer/TV screen. The sun is high in the sky, the weather is warm, and somewhere in there i'm starting to catch whiff of the reassuring sense of purpose that is unique to training.
Today's Activities: Arm and Core workout done during lunch [Never said i was going to stop lifting;) ]. Shake drank. Triple Delight lunch being cooked. 30-40 minute run scheduled for the evening.
EDIT: The 30 minute run last night taught me that i need new shoes, that i need a day off(it still feels so guilty to), and that at 164 lbs i may want to consider dropping some poundage...
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Workout #1
Thanks for reading my third consecutive post. We'll be renaming the blog "Max's Blog About Running" soon. But, for now, the title will remain the same.
Today was "the first official workout of my 'comeback'." The effort was held at the softball loop. It included a twelve minute warm-up at 6:15 pace (a pace calculated based on the clocked first mile) directly into a ten minute brisk run at - you guessed it - brisk run pace. The ten minute brisk run was always the first workout during my time at William & Mary. I decided to stick with tradition because, as you'd learn after thirty seconds in Williamsburg, the Tribe is ALL ABOUT TRADITION.
Anyway, half mile softball loops were clocked at 2:45/:47/:47/+1:46. The 5:33 per mile average was faster than I expected and intended, but I had decided before the workout that I would find - you guessed it, again - brisk run pace, and stick to it. Mission accomplished.
The workout was followed by a three minute walk, then a fairly slow twelve minute cooldown.
Overall, a good effort, which was soundtracked in the following way:
1. Warm-up: Immortal Technique's "Revolutionary Vol. 2"
2. Workout: The National's "Alligator"
3. Cooldown: Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane over the Sea"
That's right, you can find me on facebook by searching "white guy" + "i like indie music and pretty much everything but country."
A final note -- I ran in my cat suit, again, today (black half tights and a black t-shirt). I've been told, and am starting to believe, that black is slimming. And until I'm actually slim, I've got to trick myself into thinking that I am. Feel fast, run fast.
Besides, Mr. Gibby always preached that "distance runners should look like skeletons with condoms pulled over them." I don't look like that, yet, but a girl can dream, can't she?
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Running Logs
The keeping of a running log has always been a nuisance to me. Perhaps that's because keeping a running log always seemed like something to do for coaches rather than for myself, or perhaps it's because keeping a running log is tedious and boring. Like awards, logs seemed like trivial artifacts from my running career.
But, now, as I resume serious training for the first time in two years, I wish that I had some of my old logs so that I might better design training programs for the upcoming seasons. C'est la vie.
In an effort to better save my logs, and ease the recording process, I've decided to document my training (and plan upcoming weeks) with Google Docs. The app, I hope, should resolve the difficulties that I've had with keeping a running log in past seasons.
If you are interested in tracking my progress, looking at my training plan, or contributing your results to a group Google Doc, please email me so that I can add your email address to the approved document access list.
Next post will discuss the goals that were mentioned in my previous post.
Until next time,
M
But, now, as I resume serious training for the first time in two years, I wish that I had some of my old logs so that I might better design training programs for the upcoming seasons. C'est la vie.
In an effort to better save my logs, and ease the recording process, I've decided to document my training (and plan upcoming weeks) with Google Docs. The app, I hope, should resolve the difficulties that I've had with keeping a running log in past seasons.
If you are interested in tracking my progress, looking at my training plan, or contributing your results to a group Google Doc, please email me so that I can add your email address to the approved document access list.
Next post will discuss the goals that were mentioned in my previous post.
Until next time,
M
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A Long Time Coming
I started to write this post two-ish weeks ago (today is actually 4 April) to announce that I MAY need to resume training in mid-April. Just before starting the post, I had made a deal with Sean (Mahoney, my travel-mate) that I would begin training upon returning home if I defaulted into doing just that - returning home. The deal also noted that I neednt begin training if I returned to not-Sterling. Anyways, after missing/declining a few job opportunities, I'll be returning to the United States (and, thus, to Sterling) on Thursday to give running an honest try.
By now, I've been "out of" running for over two years. And, after writing the Legend of the Marathon in early November, throwing-away my trainers in late November, chain-smoking in late December on an especially rowdy night, I am grateful that I can report that I am looking forward to training seriously.
On 1 January - New Years Day - I banned myself from smoking, became determined to exercise each day, and, generally, made an effort to think about the future of my "running career." I successfully stopped smoking, stopped drinking (without realizing/actively trying to do so), hiked over 800K with my pack in tow (teach me how to PFHS 500 mile club, old-man-style), and decided that goal-oriented running was a worthwhile activity. So, training will ensue.
Returning after such a long period of non-training will not be easy. On one hand, getting into one's best shape can be mentally challenging because it requires entering new physical territory. That can be intimidating if one is not properly motivated. On the other hand, returning to fitness can be challenging because the athlete in question is familiar with the sensations and activities required of achieving such fitness, and re-experiencing those things can be less exciting than the first time. The athlete's familiarity with the experience may also render him discouraged by the prospect of re-feeling the same aches and overcoming the same challenges of seasons past. Awareness of these mental pitfalls is vital to improving. Addressing them prior to a training season is important for an athlete who will doubtlessly experience such a variety of mental challenges posed by returning to, and surpassing, former fitness. Hopefully, I will be that sort-of athlete in the coming months (and years).
So, with approximately fifty-five hours until my flight home, in a gaming internet cafe in Auckland (in which I'll be staying all night [gaming, obviously] because it was cheaper [and more entertaining] than a hostel), I'll be refining my goals. I will officially post them next week. The goals will include some goals to be evaluated after one month of training, three months of training, six months of training, and one year of training. Surely, they will need to be adjusted as training progresses, but they will be some things toward which I will be able to direct my training.
Perhaps posters (and readers, if there are any readers) can list some of their goals for their respective upcoming training seasons.
Until next time,
Happy training,
M
P.S. TO ANTHONY & KYLE - UPDATE ME ON YOUR LIVES IN COMMENTS OR VIA EMAIL
P.P.S. TO KYLE - DO YOU WANT TO TURN YOUR ROOM INTO A TRAINING DOJO, FIGHT CLUB-STYLE? IN IT, WE'LL PROPERLY EMBRACE THE BLOG'S THEME.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Correction
I just realized a serious blunder in my most recent post. With training, cardiac output does not decrease. That would be insane, as you would be pumping less blood to the muscles -- not much of a training adaptation. What I meant to say, and I'm sure those of you who understand exercise physiology understood, is that the body is able to increase cardiac output -- but do it more efficiently by decreasing heart rate and increasing overall stroke volume (the amount of blood the heart pumps with each "beat").
Just caught that error and needed to rectify it. I feel a lot better now. New post coming soon.
Just caught that error and needed to rectify it. I feel a lot better now. New post coming soon.
Monday, January 16, 2012
The Long Run
The purpose of the long run is to make ever-so important physiological changes to the body's aerobic system. With increased aerobic needs, the body is forced to respond by making necessary changes to accommodate for the increased stress placed on the system: capillary density increases, number of mitochondria increases, and cardiac output decreases, allowing the heart to work more efficiently.
Yesterday, I accomplished something that I hadn't in over a year: A long run over 12 miles. Although it doesn't sound dazzling to say it, running 14 miles was a very positive step in my training for Boston. If nothing else, there is something positive mentally about getting in a run that is over 12-13 miles. Though it's the low end, a 14 mile run really starts to get into the true "long run" distance.
Traditionally, I have used a 12-week training cycle for my marathon running. Right now, I am (exactly) 13 weeks away from Boston, and have to say that I am content with where my fitness is currently, and where it can progress to. Although I am not running the exact same workouts or times or mileage as previous years, I am fairly close. My paces are all similar. Perhaps the most important thing, however, is that I am not feeling beat up at all. One difference is that I am only running 5x per week, and haven't even hit 50 miles in a single week yet. This is sort of intentional, sort of accidental, but I'm okay with the way it's working out for me. I am doing my best to listen to my body more, so that I can allow it to make those important physiological changes before I dump more stress onto it.
Who knows. Maybe this is what I've needed to do all along -- let go a little bit of the anal, obsessive training mindset, and give in a little more to the "art" side of training. I guess we will find out in 13 weeks.
Yesterday, I accomplished something that I hadn't in over a year: A long run over 12 miles. Although it doesn't sound dazzling to say it, running 14 miles was a very positive step in my training for Boston. If nothing else, there is something positive mentally about getting in a run that is over 12-13 miles. Though it's the low end, a 14 mile run really starts to get into the true "long run" distance.
Traditionally, I have used a 12-week training cycle for my marathon running. Right now, I am (exactly) 13 weeks away from Boston, and have to say that I am content with where my fitness is currently, and where it can progress to. Although I am not running the exact same workouts or times or mileage as previous years, I am fairly close. My paces are all similar. Perhaps the most important thing, however, is that I am not feeling beat up at all. One difference is that I am only running 5x per week, and haven't even hit 50 miles in a single week yet. This is sort of intentional, sort of accidental, but I'm okay with the way it's working out for me. I am doing my best to listen to my body more, so that I can allow it to make those important physiological changes before I dump more stress onto it.
Who knows. Maybe this is what I've needed to do all along -- let go a little bit of the anal, obsessive training mindset, and give in a little more to the "art" side of training. I guess we will find out in 13 weeks.
Friday, January 13, 2012
The night joggers were out as usual...
As I mentioned in one of my most recent posts, this week marked the start of my new clinical rotation at VCU Hospital. It is going quite well so far -- but along with my new work schedule comes a new workout schedule as well. My workout days are scheduled for Tuesday and Thursday, and since this is the case, I have spent the last Tuesday and Thursday evening at the track. In the dark.
This is not a foreign experience for me, as I have run many workouts in the dark during the long, cold winter months while at JMU. On Tuesday, I arrived at approximately 5:45 (30 minutes after leaving my house, due to insane traffic in the city), to find the track bustling with people. It appears that Tuesday night is also workout night for at least one marathon training group, and the SEAL team (not real, badass SEALs, but a "boot camp" type program for adults). Immediately, I was faced with a serious dilemma: To run, or not to run, with my trusty iPod shuffle. I have been working out (I shamefully admit) listening to my trusty iPod shuffle, but thought it may not be the best option safety wise (and just plain embarrassing) with a track full of people. Due to this rationale, I decided to use my trusty iPod shuffle anyway. After a two mile warm-up off the track, and taking note of how crowded the track actually was, I re-assessed, and opted to not use my trusty iPod shuffle. Ok -- now that all of that red tape is out of the way, I can move on.
The workout went well. I am running all of my "speed" workouts at approximately the same mile pace as previous marathon training blocks, so I am feeling good about that. Currently, the volume is what is lacking. With 14 weeks of training still to go, I am not too worried yet. I do feel that my speed is improving, and obviously have ample time to improve even more.
Yesterday's workout (also in the dark), was a 5 mile marathon pace run. The goal was to really stick to race pace (6:40), so my actual goal was to not run a single mile below 6:40. Long story short, I ended up averaging about 6:43 pace for the run (score!). The good news: my legs felt awesome -- no fatigue. The bad news: my breathing sucked. I did not feel like I was aerobically able to sustain that pace for 26.2 miles.
As I cooled down and wrapped up my workout session, I was slightly disappointed. The more I thought about it, however, I realized that this is the purpose of training. If I was ready to run 26.2 miles at that pace tomorrow, I'd be about 14 weeks pre-mature. I still have 14 weeks worth of speed work, tempo work, and the ever important aerobic building long runs to do. That is called marathon training. Even though will be my 7th marathon and I am a wealth of training knowledge, sometimes I am a complete idiot. Whatever.
In other news: the Olympic Marathon Trials is tomorrow morning at 9am. My money is on Ryan Hall, but wouldn't put it past him to implode, giving the title to some other contender such as Ritz. Should be interesting.
This is not a foreign experience for me, as I have run many workouts in the dark during the long, cold winter months while at JMU. On Tuesday, I arrived at approximately 5:45 (30 minutes after leaving my house, due to insane traffic in the city), to find the track bustling with people. It appears that Tuesday night is also workout night for at least one marathon training group, and the SEAL team (not real, badass SEALs, but a "boot camp" type program for adults). Immediately, I was faced with a serious dilemma: To run, or not to run, with my trusty iPod shuffle. I have been working out (I shamefully admit) listening to my trusty iPod shuffle, but thought it may not be the best option safety wise (and just plain embarrassing) with a track full of people. Due to this rationale, I decided to use my trusty iPod shuffle anyway. After a two mile warm-up off the track, and taking note of how crowded the track actually was, I re-assessed, and opted to not use my trusty iPod shuffle. Ok -- now that all of that red tape is out of the way, I can move on.
The workout went well. I am running all of my "speed" workouts at approximately the same mile pace as previous marathon training blocks, so I am feeling good about that. Currently, the volume is what is lacking. With 14 weeks of training still to go, I am not too worried yet. I do feel that my speed is improving, and obviously have ample time to improve even more.
Yesterday's workout (also in the dark), was a 5 mile marathon pace run. The goal was to really stick to race pace (6:40), so my actual goal was to not run a single mile below 6:40. Long story short, I ended up averaging about 6:43 pace for the run (score!). The good news: my legs felt awesome -- no fatigue. The bad news: my breathing sucked. I did not feel like I was aerobically able to sustain that pace for 26.2 miles.
As I cooled down and wrapped up my workout session, I was slightly disappointed. The more I thought about it, however, I realized that this is the purpose of training. If I was ready to run 26.2 miles at that pace tomorrow, I'd be about 14 weeks pre-mature. I still have 14 weeks worth of speed work, tempo work, and the ever important aerobic building long runs to do. That is called marathon training. Even though will be my 7th marathon and I am a wealth of training knowledge, sometimes I am a complete idiot. Whatever.
In other news: the Olympic Marathon Trials is tomorrow morning at 9am. My money is on Ryan Hall, but wouldn't put it past him to implode, giving the title to some other contender such as Ritz. Should be interesting.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Waddling Around
So i've basically been a hobby jogger the past 3 weeks. Upon entering a 2+ week long vacation with nary a thing work-related to consider the entire time, i thought i was going to have ample time to do nothing but run and lift. I was sorely mistaken. As it turned out, visiting relatives involves a far more strict and irregular schedule than my normal work week. With 2 days consumed by 9 hour drives, numerous family meals and outings (such as visiting the Newport Mansions which was pretty cool), some late nights spent with my cousins who i don't see often, i found sleep, and consequently runs, hard to come by. A relapse of WoW on the days that i wasn't on family vacation also sent my desire to run plummeting(Though a relapse i believe i have recently regained control of...until the Alliance once more beckons my sword and shield to battle!). Ant may(or may not) be proud to know that i actually sucked up my hatred for all things early in the morning and woke up 4 times at 6:30 to get in a double out and back 7 miler in the bitter, windy, cold of the North.
Right now i'm not training for anything, and am simply running 5 days a week, and lifting the other 2(for the aesthetics and lols). When i run, i run between 6 - 7 min pace, or basically however quick i feel like going. Friday was a quick 7 with strides, Saturday a medium 58 minutes, Sunday a medium/hard 10 miles, and today was an impromptu progression run on the treadmill for 45 minutes starting at speed 6.5 and ending at 11 while increasing the pace 0.5 roughly every 5 minutes. Unlike Ant, i can afford to not be disciplined, and am in fact relishing it at the moment.
It's been fun running quicker, and i think i will make some trips up to the track to do some intervals and maybe get in decent mile/5k shape as long as i don't have any long distance races on the horizon?
I've started listening to some new music and while i haven't really gotten into the indie scene(not that i even really know much about music genres anyway), i'm obsessed with this song and it will be the pioneer of new digs to my ipod...
http://vimeo.com/26265524 (no doubt Max has heard it in NZ by now or well before)
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/82172699/ (awesome cover. the girl vocals melt my cold heart)
Right now i'm not training for anything, and am simply running 5 days a week, and lifting the other 2(for the aesthetics and lols). When i run, i run between 6 - 7 min pace, or basically however quick i feel like going. Friday was a quick 7 with strides, Saturday a medium 58 minutes, Sunday a medium/hard 10 miles, and today was an impromptu progression run on the treadmill for 45 minutes starting at speed 6.5 and ending at 11 while increasing the pace 0.5 roughly every 5 minutes. Unlike Ant, i can afford to not be disciplined, and am in fact relishing it at the moment.
It's been fun running quicker, and i think i will make some trips up to the track to do some intervals and maybe get in decent mile/5k shape as long as i don't have any long distance races on the horizon?
I've started listening to some new music and while i haven't really gotten into the indie scene(not that i even really know much about music genres anyway), i'm obsessed with this song and it will be the pioneer of new digs to my ipod...
http://vimeo.com/26265524 (no doubt Max has heard it in NZ by now or well before)
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/82172699/ (awesome cover. the girl vocals melt my cold heart)
Monday, January 9, 2012
In other news...
I now have a tumblr account. I'm still toying with the overall feel of it, but I am going somewhere between sarcastic social commentary on my life blended with little blurbs on running and fitness. Visit it if you feel so inclined.
http://therelentlesslife.tumblr.com/
http://therelentlesslife.tumblr.com/
Staying on Pace
Hello friends, it has been so long. I will start with a brief, yet stimulating update. Over the past few weeks, I have been on "winter break," so I have spent a significant amount of time in various locations over the great Commonwealth of Virginia. During break, I have been consistent with my training, which is going fairly well to this point. Today, I am beginning my second to last clinical of PT school, which marks approximately 4 months until graduation... oh how time flies.
Like I said, my training is going well. I have gotten back into the rhythm of running one or two workouts each week, as well as a weekend long run. The familiarity of marathon training is comforting. The workouts themselves have been successful in the sense that I am running them all at or below my intended paces without any difficulty. The problem lies, however, in the fact that the purpose of this training plan is to really work on maintaining the prescribed paces for my workouts, particularly the marathon pace runs.
Last Thursday, I did my first marathon pace workout (4 miles on the track). Long story short, I ended up with the same old problem that I usually encounter in these types of workouts: running too fast. By the end of the 4 miles, I ended up averaging 14 seconds per mile faster than race pace. In layman's terms, that is a recipe for implosion at mile 20. Or before. Or with 2 miles to go in a race that you are on pace to PR but you actually end up running the last 2 miles at approximately 12 minute pace. I'm not trying to do that. (Again).
Bottom line, I have to be doing a better job with my pacing on all of my runs -- normal training/recovery runs, speed workouts, and the marathon pace tempo workouts. The double edged sword is my Garmin, which allows me to monitor my current pace during my runs. Although this should be a valuable tool to keep myself in check, it also acts as an enabler to my running faster than I should be problem.
Discipline, my children, is the answer.
Like I said, my training is going well. I have gotten back into the rhythm of running one or two workouts each week, as well as a weekend long run. The familiarity of marathon training is comforting. The workouts themselves have been successful in the sense that I am running them all at or below my intended paces without any difficulty. The problem lies, however, in the fact that the purpose of this training plan is to really work on maintaining the prescribed paces for my workouts, particularly the marathon pace runs.
Last Thursday, I did my first marathon pace workout (4 miles on the track). Long story short, I ended up with the same old problem that I usually encounter in these types of workouts: running too fast. By the end of the 4 miles, I ended up averaging 14 seconds per mile faster than race pace. In layman's terms, that is a recipe for implosion at mile 20. Or before. Or with 2 miles to go in a race that you are on pace to PR but you actually end up running the last 2 miles at approximately 12 minute pace. I'm not trying to do that. (Again).
Bottom line, I have to be doing a better job with my pacing on all of my runs -- normal training/recovery runs, speed workouts, and the marathon pace tempo workouts. The double edged sword is my Garmin, which allows me to monitor my current pace during my runs. Although this should be a valuable tool to keep myself in check, it also acts as an enabler to my running faster than I should be problem.
Discipline, my children, is the answer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)