Dear running friends,
It's been awhile since my last blog post, I know! Bad Halifax Runner Girl!
Although I haven't blogged much, that doesn't mean I haven't been running. Since running the Hypothermic Half Marathon last February, I've kept up my training and ran the Bluenose Half in May. Not my best time (in fact, my worst), but I'll blog about that at some other point and share some of the lessons learned during that race.
In the meantime, I'm kicking things off again as I begin training for my third marathon this fall. And since I've been told that it takes at least five full marathons under your belt before you really get a sense of this distance, I've decided to sign up for my third Running Room marathon clinic. And this time, it's being coached by my friend and running mentor, Wendy, and the 4:15 pace group is being led by Andrea!
As this will be my third marathon clinic and my sixth Running Room clinic overall, I thought I would share some of the reasons why I think clinics are so invaluable if you're trying a new distance for the first time, or trying to improve your time.
There may be days when you don't feel like running, and other days where the run feels super easy. Days when your legs feel like lead, and others where you're feeling super confident. But here are five things you can expect from a marathon training program, based on my experience.
5 things you can expect from a running training program:
1. A training schedule that works
If you look at the training schedule for your running class or clinic for the first time, it may seem a little overwhelming - all these numbers in columns, and things like "tempo," "Fartlek" (I know, what the heck is a Fartlek, right?), "speed" and the dreaded, "hills."
But most training schedules - whether Running Room or otherwise - are designed to make sure that if you stick to them, you cros that finish line upright and smiling. Over the course of weeks, they'll build a solid base of strength and endurance, through the mix of various tempo, speed, hill or long runs.
As your instructor will explain to you, you can probably afford to swap out one run a week with cross-training. But otherwise, trust the training - these folks know what they're talking about.
2. A running mentor...or two...or three...
Of course, there may be the occasional clinic that happens to be led by some poor soul who's agreed to do it because no one else stepped up to the plate. But of all the classes I've taken, most of them were led by an experienced runner who could provide his/her experience and insight, whether on the course, or off. And while they were great leaders during the clinic, I've also found that I've maintained contact with a few of them even after the program finished and they've continued to be available to answer my questions or provide encouragement if I happen to run into them at a race.
In addition, most of the clinic leaders I've had have also been down-to-earth, genuine people who shared their struggles and experiences even from when they started as beginner runners. But some of my running mentors have also been fellow clinic members, many of whom have run several races but just like the feeling of fellowship that comes with a clinic.
3. A solid knowledge base
These days, there is no shortage of information about running to be found on the internet, if you're willing and/or able to do the research. But every clinic I've signed up for has also brought in a variety of experts on a range of subjects, such as cross-training, nutrition, sports psychology, stretching and more.
Sure, there have been the occasional overlaps between sessions where I felt I'd already heard something before, but for the most part, a lot of the knowledge and understanding I have about my own running has been from sitting in clinic sessions in the evenings and listening to these experts explain the way our bodies work when they are put under the stresses of running long distances. And somehow, some of that knowledge has stuck so that now I understand my own body better and can apply some of the lessons learned to my runs.
4. A source of inspiration
One of the most inspirational speakers I've ever heard speak about running wasn't a pro runner. In fact, he usually sticks to the back of the pack. But when James, a fellow runner from Halifax, was invited to speak about his experience training for his first half marathon in Colorado, I left the evening feeling inspired and energized. His emphasis was not about running your fastest time or being an elite athlete, but instead about enjoying the experience and celebrating your commitment to the training program. Throughout the years, I've met other inspirational runners through the clinics I've attended, and have often carried their stories with me on race day.
And inspiration doesn't only come from guest speakers - it also comes from sharing the trials and tribulations of an 18-week program with other fellow runners who are taking on the same challenge as you are. Each runner will have to face their own challenges - whether major or minor - at some point in those 18 weeks, and often it's those struggles and successes that become the source of even more inspiration.
Having trained for races on my own and in a clinic setting, I can also say that there's something about training with a group in a clinic format that also encourages me - inspires me - to push myself that much harder.
5. Friendships
Let's face it - commiting to a training program means that you're going to spend lots of time with the fellow runners in the class or clinic. And there's nothing better for distracting you from that long Sunday run than chatting away with fellow runners. Over the course of weeks, you soon find that you're learning more and more about the group. You're also sharing in each other's highs and lows, and soon become a strong support network for each other. Often times, the friends you make on the running course can understand the trials and tribulations of running much more than any non-runner ever can.
So, that's it from me for this week, running friends. But as the weeks progress and we count them down to race day, I plan to keep blogging about the highs, mediums, lows...and highs again...of my progress until I get to that starting line.
Until next time, may your feet be fleet, the wind in your hair and the hills flat.
~ HRG
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Week 14 of 18: Things I saw on my 18k run
I'll be honest: a week ago I just about gave up on training for the Valley Harvest Half Marathon. But after chatting with friends and fellow runners, after a pretty respectable tempo 5k and steady 6k, I thought I'd give it another shot. Which led me to dream up a future blog post that I'll publish shortly, tentatively called "Why blabbing on and on about running is important." More to come on that one.
To be honest, my husband probably would have told you he didn't think I'd follow through with it last night. I arrived at his work tired and grumpy after a busy day, and finding every excuse not to run - my t-shirt would be too hot, I didn't have my water belt or a pouch to hold my gels in...But he told me I shouldn't back out of it. So we agreed that we'd drive home, I'd go right upstairs and change out of my t-shirt and into a sleevless tank, grab my water bottle and drive back downtown again.
"You're doing this," he said. "You're going to go straight back out."
So I did.
Here is what I saw on my 18k (yes, 18 - I did it) run last night:
a white cat with a black patch leaving a church
a girl with a flute case
a runner (lots of runners)
a student (lots of students)
a dog walking its owner
a beautiful orange fuzzy cat sitting on a fence
an old friend with a new friend
a thug Kermit the frog in blue jeans on a t-shirt
a man shaking a Tim Hortons cup and asking for change outside the NSLC
a family out for a walk
a man pushing a shopping cart in the North End alleyways, looking for recyclables
a torn up sidewalk
a patched up sidewalk
a man checking the time an open grocery store would be open
a teeny dog getting tangled in a leash
a tortoiseshell cat cleaning itself on a driveway in the dark
a man watching tv next to his wife while playing the guitar
a big man on a small phone
a zig-zagging walker who couldn't decide what side of the pavement to be on
a sign on Quinpool Road that read "Everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile"
a young woman holding up a sign outside the Superstore, asking for help in the growing gloom
a baseball game under bright lights
an older man running for a tennis ball on a busy tennis court
a drive home - my car, and the finish of this run
~ HRG
To be honest, my husband probably would have told you he didn't think I'd follow through with it last night. I arrived at his work tired and grumpy after a busy day, and finding every excuse not to run - my t-shirt would be too hot, I didn't have my water belt or a pouch to hold my gels in...But he told me I shouldn't back out of it. So we agreed that we'd drive home, I'd go right upstairs and change out of my t-shirt and into a sleevless tank, grab my water bottle and drive back downtown again.
"You're doing this," he said. "You're going to go straight back out."
So I did.
Here is what I saw on my 18k (yes, 18 - I did it) run last night:
a white cat with a black patch leaving a church
a girl with a flute case
a runner (lots of runners)
a student (lots of students)
a dog walking its owner
a beautiful orange fuzzy cat sitting on a fence
an old friend with a new friend
a thug Kermit the frog in blue jeans on a t-shirt
a man shaking a Tim Hortons cup and asking for change outside the NSLC
a family out for a walk
a man pushing a shopping cart in the North End alleyways, looking for recyclables
a torn up sidewalk
a patched up sidewalk
a man checking the time an open grocery store would be open
a teeny dog getting tangled in a leash
a tortoiseshell cat cleaning itself on a driveway in the dark
a man watching tv next to his wife while playing the guitar
a big man on a small phone
a zig-zagging walker who couldn't decide what side of the pavement to be on
a sign on Quinpool Road that read "Everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile"
a young woman holding up a sign outside the Superstore, asking for help in the growing gloom
a baseball game under bright lights
an older man running for a tennis ball on a busy tennis court
a drive home - my car, and the finish of this run
~ HRG
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
My second marathon story: It's all about the journey!
Wow. I can't believe it's already been a week and a half since my Toronto Marathon. Things have been busy, but I figured I would take the time to write my second marathon story while it's still fresh in my mind.
The big news is: I finished my second marathon on May 15th, and I shaved off almost 7 minutes from my original time. A PB! And when I crossed that finish line, the feeling was one of elation, joy and pride...Such night and day emotions compared to my first marathon.
Here, then, is the story of my second marathon:
On the Friday before the race, after a busy week at work and catching up with friends who I hadn't seen in months (this included far too much eating and not much running) I drove to Exhibition Place in downtown Toronto to pick up my race kit. There was a pretty long queue for the 5, 10 and half marathons, but only a few of us walking over to the full marathon tables. Bruce had told me that there would be more than 2,800 of us running the full -- more than 10 times more runners than the 130 runners at the Moncton Marathon in the fall -- but I still felt like I was part of a small group and I had a little glow of pride as I picked up my race bag.
There wasn't much happening at the Race Expo, which surprised me, but I did get to meet John Stanton in person and shake his hand. When I told him I was visiting from Halifax, he said I'd enjoy the Toronto course because it's mostly downhill and pretty flat, compared to Halifax. I asked him whether I should head out for a short run that night, since I'd only done 4k that week, but he suggested that I do an easy 3k the following morning and then rest my legs.
So that's what I did, after a surprisingly good night's sleep, considering race day was only two sleeps away. The next morning, I pulled on the blue 2011 Toronto Marathon t-shirt, again feeling a little glow of pride buzzing inside me, and I jogged over to the local Blockbuster to pick out a few mindless DVDs to watch over the course of the day. It was a hot, humid day, so I hoped that the rain they'd been promising for Sunday would actually come.
Funnily enough, the Twitter buzz about #torontomarathon was all about people worrying that our chips wouldn't be waterproof, our numbers wouldn't last in the rain, or that they'd freeze. Others complained that there had been chocolates (Tofifees and Werther's chocolate caramels) in our race bags ("are they trying to sabotage us?" one tweep posted), but I didn't mind -- I shared the chocolates with my parents as we watched The Switch.
Later that afternoon, I started laying out my gear on the dining room table, including my pre- and post-race bags. I still wasn't 100% sure what I'd feel like wearing in the morning, so I laid out a few different outfits, along with my camera, water bottles, GU, the race cheering signs my Halifax friends had made for me (which had survived the trip to Toronto), Gatorade, Body Glide, Ibuprofen and other essentials.
The butterflies were definitely there, but more than anything, it almost felt surreal. I'd been so busy the previous week that it hadn't given my overly active brain too much time to obsess about anything. Secretely, the usual questions still hovered -- am I ready? Did I train enough? Am I strong enough? Do I even want to do this?
But then I remembered some of the quotes Wendy had emailed me the previous week: "You're stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and braver than you feel." And: "Trust your training." All of the hard work was done now. All that remained was to go out there and run.
That night, my mom made us Gordon Ramsay's Pancetta Pasta for dinner -- my favourite pre-race meal. Then after watching a bit more mindless TV and calling my hubby for one last pep talk ("Just run it like any other run," he said, telling me how proud he was of me), I headed to bed early. And got another surprisingly good night's rest.
In the morning, I woke up at around 6:30 because we had an hour-long drive into North York before the starting gun went off at 9. Although one Twitter follower told me "get a move on gurl" because they thought I'd never make it, what with traffic, parking, etc., I tried to make my mind a blank and not think, because there was nothing I could do in the car.
Eventually, we made it to Mel Lastman Square just as the half marathoners were leaving. My parents had dropped me off on the east side of the street while they went off in search of parking, and here was this human river of runners that just kept coming for what seemed like five minutes. After awhile I just decided to try and get into the crowd and run diagonally across, all the while making a mental note of what folks were wearing.
I tend to be a fairly warm runner, so when I noticed that there were a number of people wearing shorts and t-shirts or tanks, I decided to switch out of my t-shirt and into my tank and running sleeves. At that point, the rain was just drizzling but it was hovering somewhere around 9 degrees, and it was going to warm up.
Inside Novotel Hotel as I waited in line for the bathroom, the buzz of the gathering runners was electric. By coincidence, I met Bruce and Darryl outside the hotel even though we'd said we would meet by the bag drop. Bruce told me he was wearing his lucky running shorts and had a good feeling about the run.
"Every time I wear these shorts, something good happens," he said. "Make sure you keep them on then," said my dad with a chuckle. I gave my parents a hug, and they wished me good luck (my dad": "break a leg"; my mom: "merde" -- "which means 'shit' in French," I explained to Bruce with a grin).
So the three of us Haligonians headed over to North York City Hall, where the crush of runners and electric hum of anticipation was even greater. I was amazed by just how many of them were wearing garbage bags -- we were going to get wet anyways, so what did it matter?
After one last trip to the bathroom, where I met Gail -- another runner from our Spring Garden Road Run Club -- I followed the crowd, which was slowly making its way to the start line. Bruce (our coach from my marathon clinic) had suggested that I find the four-hour pace bunny and try to stick with him, so I looked out for the pair of pink bunny ears that said 4:00 and made my way to that place in the crowd. Strangely, I still didn't feel nervous. I was floating in an in-between zone and just trying to keep focused on being confident and feeling ready.
The only thing that had me worried was that we'd been out there a few minutes and still, my Garmin wouldn't kick in. There was just that little sliver of white on the black status bar, and it would keep creeping up, then back down, then up...But finally with only two minutes to spare it kicked in. I set my pace to 5:26 and the workout to 10:1 intervals, and then I waited for the starting gun to go off.
I didn't have long to wait. Suddenly, we were counting down the 10 last seconds with the announcer. The starting gun exploded, and we were off!
I gave my parents an excited wave as we filed by them, and then we were on our way. I felt strong, and the pace bunny was setting a manageable pace, as we ran around Mel Lastman Square and onto Yonge Street. The only thing in the back of my mind was the hill at Hog's Hollow. Once we made it up that hill, I thought, I could relax and settle into things.
As we ran under the 401 and down Yonge to the intersection at York Mills, we took our first walk break. The hill loomed in the distance. We were keeping at about a 5:17 pace and I still felt great. I headed up the hill feeling strong -- I was from hilly Halifax, after all!
And then, the pace bunny and the group started passing me, then moving ahead. I figured that I'd catch up to them once I got to the crest, but I was starting to feel tired. No matter that I'd spent months training in one of the hilliest cities; this hill was long. I was tired, but I told myself that I could rest once we made it to flatter ground.
The hill crested, I picked up my pace to catch up with the bunny as the four-hour group stopped to grab a drink. We had another walk break, and then started back up. But my legs started feeling sluggish, then leaden. My breathing wasn't relaxed anymore. And somewhere in that stretch from Lawrence to Eglinton, even as I drew on the energy of the group cheering us on outside Lulu Lemon and as I high-fived a couple of wide-eyed little girls holding out their hands to us by the side of the road, I started to fall back, then back and back.
At that point, I made a decision: I could either try to keep up with the bunny and tire myself out at kilometre 7, or slow down and pick up the pace later if I felt up for it. So I did the latter, and I decided to ignore the pace setting on my watch. I noticed that more and more runners were starting to pass me, but there seemed to be nothing I could do to pick up my pace.
As 7 kilometres turned into 10, then 15, my mind, which had been so calm at the starting line, started playing the doubt game with me. Why was I feeling so tired? Had I done something wrong in the days before? Had I really trained enough? Maybe there was something physically wrong that I was fighting. Or maybe I really wasn't cut out for long distance running. Maybe, I should just quit at the halfway point.
And my parents, who had said they'd see me at the 10k mark, were nowhere to be seen. As we wound around Casa Loma, I waved frantically to a woman about my mom's height and wearing a similar jacket. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so it took me a while to realize that it wasn't in fact my mom.
It was at about kilometre 16 or so that we entered the beautiful treed valley of Rosedale Heights (I think that's what it's called). Everywhere, little yellow pollen buds littered the wet ground, and we were surrounded by green. If I hadn't been so tired and playing mind games with myself, I'd have said it was pretty.
And then the 4:15 pace bunny passed me to my left.
Ok, I thought. Let's try and keep up with these guys. I did, for about 10 minutes, glancing up at a spectator who was cheering us from a bridge above the road.
And then, I started to drop back. I just couldn't maintain their pace.
Well you can imagine what this did to my already active brain.
If I quit, I'd have still done a half marathon.
But I wouldn't get a finisher's medal.
That's why they call it a finisher's medal. Because you finish.
But no one would care except for me.
And what about all the people who'd cheered me on all these weeks? What about the fundraising I'd done in the name of Japan relief efforts? What about all the training I'd done?
So I let the 4:15 group (and time goal) drift away from me, but I didn`t stop. At this point, I was near tears. Emotionally, I was exhausted. Something was definitely wrong. I was just a couple of kilometres till the half, where I'd see my parents and quit.
And then...
As we emerged out of the valley and turned left onto Front Street near the St. Lawrence Market, out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar face running towards me. It was my friend Kyla! She'd promised she would see me and would cycle the route to cheer me on, but with the rain and the winds, I had figured it was completely understandable that she'd decide to pass on her promise.
"How are you feeling?" she asked me, walking beside me as I took my walk break.
"I want to quit!" I half sobbed.
"Just think about all of the good things you're looking forward to when you cross that finish," she encouraged.
"Hugging your mom, taking a warm bath..." she chuckled. It was after all pretty chilly outside, though by that point I was hardly noticing the weather -- I was so stuck inside the battle in my brain.
I gave her a half smile, as I took in a gel and sipped on my water. I prepared to start running again as my Garmin counted down the seconds to the next running interval.
"I'll bike ahead and see you in half an hour on the course," Kyla said. "So you'd better be there or I'll start worrying about where you went!"
I promised to keep going, and started running again, my legs still feeling heavy, but somehow lightened by knowing that my friend had taken the time to come out here on a rainy Sunday just to cheer me on.
As I crossed Jarvis Street, I chuckled to myself as a cop started telling off an impatient Toronto driver who had tried to turn left and cut off the runners. He was gesturing and pointing in my direction, so I can only imagine that he was saying something like: "Can't you see there's a marathon going on here? What do you think you're doing?"
I had chuckled. So I guess I was starting to feel a bit better.
Approaching the halfway mark, I started looking out for my parents, but they were nowhere to be found. Part of me started worrying about them (which was a good way to distract me) and part of me was a little relieved, because if they'd been there, I'd have fallen, sobbing and tired, into their arms, and they would have let me quit if I felt it was the right thing to do.
So I kept on. We ran under the Gardiner, which was a nice change because it was warmer, but my hat blew off. All of a sudden I was at kilometre 23, then 24. At around that point, the front runners started coming back. I cheered for them, because they looked amazing. Inspiring, despite my fatigue.
And there was Kyla, on Lakeshore.
"How are you feeling now?" she asked, with a huge grin.
"A little better, but still not great." I admitted. "Thanks for showing up! You're amazing!"
"No, you're amazing," she said. "I'll see you in a bit!"
So I kept going, once again reflecting on what great friends and family I have, and thankful for their support.
Kyla showed up again a couple of kilometres later, as I was heading along Front Street towards the CNE.
"How are you feeling now?"
"I just don't know what's going on. I was aiming for a four-hour finish but my legs just felt like lead!" I agonized.
"It's raining and it's windy," Kyla said. "It's just a day."
I tried to believe her. I'd had so many "days" before, so this shouldn't be anything new. I handed her my hat, and I kept going.
As we ran along Lakeshore, more and more runners started coming back in the other direction, and I became focused on: A) spotting my parents; B) ticking down the kilometres. I had at this point long since given up any idea of keeping a pace or a time goal, but Kyla had encouraged me because she said she'd had to cycle a lot farther to find me between the last point and my current location than she'd expected.
"You're too fast!" she laughed.
I laughed too -- I hardly felt fast. But at this point speed didn't matter.
In Lake Ontario, the waves were slate grey against a dull sky. I could see a few dragonboat teams practising in the choppy waves.
I then realized that all along, I hadn't made much of a point of looking around me to gather images for my marathon story. So I looked up, only to find a guy passing me -- and running in completely bare feet. I'd heard about the barefoot running craze, and certainly seen quite a few "gorilla foot" runners in the last few months. But running barefoot in the streets of Toronto -- not to mention the rain-drenched streets of Toronto -- seemed not only painful, but quite gross, frankly. Better him than me!
As the stream of returning runners continued to my right, I also kept an eye out for the four-hour pace bunny, just to get a sense of how far back I'd slipped. I didn't see a bunny, yet, but I did catch a glimpse of a mouse: a grown man dressed in a brown velour mouse costume, complete with curly tail and pink ears. Better him than me!
Every so often, runners would spint by us wearing red "Relay" bibs on their backs. It was a little frustrating, because they only had a few kilometres to go so of course they could be fast. But that was their race, and this was mine.
And then, in the distance, somewhere around kilometre 27, I spotted a small woman in a red raincoat dancing and hopping from foot to foot, waving a fluorescent orange poster from side to side. Not wearing my glasses, I couldn't read what it said, but I knew the words that had been markered on to it:
"Go, Halifax Runner Girl!"
It was my parents! It was the first time they'd ever seen me at a road race, after years of hearing me talk about my running. And their glow of pride made me feel proud.
I took a walk break and asked my dad to walk alongside me for a quick minute.
"I wanted to quit," I told him.
"The 4:30 pace bunny is still behind you," he said. "So you're still ahead of that time."
Well that was it. That was my Plan B. No matter that my goal of breaking four hours had been shattered a couple of hours ago.
From that point on, the "race" (it had become more of a run) changed. Plan B was to achieve a personal best.
Never having run the course before, the next challenge on my list was learning to be patient: I kept on seeing so many runners heading back to the finish, but the turn seemed nowhere in sight. I knew it was only a few kilometres away, but when? And then we approached the white suspended bridge over the Humber River, ran under its footings, and I was running back.
By this point the rain had started in earnest. I pulled my sleeves back up and covered my hands, because the wind was hitting us full on. I could still see runners here and there wearing garbage bags, and I still couldn't understand it. Three hours of wearing a garbage bag? Yuck! Better them than me!
A few kilometres on, I saw my parents again, at around kilometre 33. My mom had switched to the neon green poster, and was doing another excited hop-hop-skip dance by the side of the road.
"The worst is over! We'll see you at the finish!" my dad said.
It felt so great having them there; Kyla, the support of all my friends and family. Who cared that I wouldn't break four hours? At this point, I was running a marathon. 42.2 kilometres. And if I had to walk to the finish, I would! But I knew that I could finish, even if it meant another nine very slow kilometres.
A couple of minutes later, I saw a volunteer hail a cab from the traffic next to us on the Lakeshore, and a runner in a Mylar blanket got in. I felt bad for him for the disapointment he must be feeling for not completing the race, but that was another reminder of just what an accomplishment actually finishing -- just finishing -- a marathon is.
Kyla was there on the way back, standing with another group of people cheering the runners on. The rain was really falling now, and was dripping onto them even though they were standing under a bridge. Seeing them huddled in the rain reminded me of how much I always appreciate the people who come to cheer runners on, even in miserable weather conditions.
I smiled at Kyla and gave her a thumbs-up.
"Still smiling!" she cried out.
It's true, I felt so much better than I had a couple of hours ago.
Funny how your mind plays games on you. Because although the trip along Lakeshore to the turnaround had seemed never-ending, the run back to the downtown core seemed quicker. The kilometres were ticking by. Maybe a little slowly, but that became my focus: from kilometre to kilometre, 10-minute walk interval to 10-minute walk interval.
To occupy my brain and stop it from wandering, I tried counting pylons, but that just became boring after 10 (I guess I had a short attention span at that point). So instead, I looked around me. At kilometre 37, a man ahead of me jumped up and slapped the 37-kilometre marker -- it seemed like a personal ritual to tell himself he'd run that far.
Then, another kilometre later, another man was standing to the side with a poster reading: "Free beer at the finish line." I gave him a thumbs-up (though I never did see that beer at the finish).
Kyla was there again as we turned left to head under the Gardiner. I gave her another wave and a thumbs-up. I was only a few kilometres away! The busy part of my brain kept on wanting to butt in, saying, "What if you choke? What if you have to quit now?" but I did my best to push it out and just focus on the pavement, and keeping on moving forward. Even if I had to walk the last few kilometres, I'd walk them!
We turned onto University, and I could see Queen's Park in the distance. John Stanton had said that Torontonians consider that part of the run a hill, but that I would find it flat. Sespite my exhaustion, I did. I tried to keep up on the flatter part of the road, because my left quad was starting to tire from running on the sloping side next to the streetcar tracks. Around us, lineups of cars waited, and I thanked the cops in bright yellow rainjackets for making sure we were safe.
About a kilometre and a half away from the finish I passed a younger guy, who looked up at me excitedly. "We're almost there!" he said. I could tell from his smile that this was his first marathon, so I congratulated him, and I kept going.
As I neared the brown buildings of Queen`s Park, I checked my distance, and I could see we still had around a kilometre to go. Something inside me told me that they'd make us run around Queen's Park to get to the finish. Rounding the bend, I started looking around me for the finish line.
The lawns in front of Queens Park were littered with flapping white event tents. I could hear an announcer's voice, and crowds were milling around. There in the distance was the blue inflated finish arch! Only a few more hundred metres, and we were done!
"You're home! You're home!" a man called out to us.
"Woohoo!" I yelled, raising my arms.
I felt amazing! I saw my dad to my left, his camera in hand. I gave him a thumbs up, and kept going, picking up the pace.
"Looking strong, Christine!" I heard a man say as I rounded the bend at the top.
I kept going, giving 'er all I had, drawing on the speedwork we'd done in recent weeks.
There were my parents, behind the red barricades on the side. I was so close to the finish!
I looked at them, raised my arms again, and cheered.
Give 'er, give 'er! You`ve done the speed work, you can do this!
A few more hundred metres, then a few more, and I crossed the Sport Stats mats!
I had just finished a marathon! I felt like the most amazing runner in the world, as I high-fived a couple of guys who had just crossed the mats at the same time as me.
"Christine!"
I turned around, to see my mom running behind me. She'd jumped around the barriers and run the last 100 metres with me. I hugged her, and looked for my dad.
A volunteer handed me a medal, and a photographer asked me to pose with my medal. I was sweaty and tired, but I beamed with pride as he snapped my photo.
Taking a Mylar blanket from one of the volunteers along with a banana and some chocolate milk, I took out my phone and dialed my hubby with frozen fingers.
"I finished! I'm so happy!" I said to Steve.
"I have a lump in my throat. I'm so proud of you!" he answered. He'd been watching my progress online for the last four and half hours, and said he felt like he'd been there with me the whole way.
Unlike my first marathon, this time, when I crossed that finish line line, the feeling of completing that race, the pride, the accomplishment, was 10 times bigger than the huge finisher's medal hung around my neck.
Because this time, I learned an important lesson: it's not how fast you run the race. It's about the journey.
Thank you to all of you who have supported me on this marathon journey. You have been amazing, and your support has meant the world.
~ HRG
The big news is: I finished my second marathon on May 15th, and I shaved off almost 7 minutes from my original time. A PB! And when I crossed that finish line, the feeling was one of elation, joy and pride...Such night and day emotions compared to my first marathon.
Here, then, is the story of my second marathon:
On the Friday before the race, after a busy week at work and catching up with friends who I hadn't seen in months (this included far too much eating and not much running) I drove to Exhibition Place in downtown Toronto to pick up my race kit. There was a pretty long queue for the 5, 10 and half marathons, but only a few of us walking over to the full marathon tables. Bruce had told me that there would be more than 2,800 of us running the full -- more than 10 times more runners than the 130 runners at the Moncton Marathon in the fall -- but I still felt like I was part of a small group and I had a little glow of pride as I picked up my race bag.
There wasn't much happening at the Race Expo, which surprised me, but I did get to meet John Stanton in person and shake his hand. When I told him I was visiting from Halifax, he said I'd enjoy the Toronto course because it's mostly downhill and pretty flat, compared to Halifax. I asked him whether I should head out for a short run that night, since I'd only done 4k that week, but he suggested that I do an easy 3k the following morning and then rest my legs.
So that's what I did, after a surprisingly good night's sleep, considering race day was only two sleeps away. The next morning, I pulled on the blue 2011 Toronto Marathon t-shirt, again feeling a little glow of pride buzzing inside me, and I jogged over to the local Blockbuster to pick out a few mindless DVDs to watch over the course of the day. It was a hot, humid day, so I hoped that the rain they'd been promising for Sunday would actually come.
Funnily enough, the Twitter buzz about #torontomarathon was all about people worrying that our chips wouldn't be waterproof, our numbers wouldn't last in the rain, or that they'd freeze. Others complained that there had been chocolates (Tofifees and Werther's chocolate caramels) in our race bags ("are they trying to sabotage us?" one tweep posted), but I didn't mind -- I shared the chocolates with my parents as we watched The Switch.
Later that afternoon, I started laying out my gear on the dining room table, including my pre- and post-race bags. I still wasn't 100% sure what I'd feel like wearing in the morning, so I laid out a few different outfits, along with my camera, water bottles, GU, the race cheering signs my Halifax friends had made for me (which had survived the trip to Toronto), Gatorade, Body Glide, Ibuprofen and other essentials.
The butterflies were definitely there, but more than anything, it almost felt surreal. I'd been so busy the previous week that it hadn't given my overly active brain too much time to obsess about anything. Secretely, the usual questions still hovered -- am I ready? Did I train enough? Am I strong enough? Do I even want to do this?
But then I remembered some of the quotes Wendy had emailed me the previous week: "You're stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and braver than you feel." And: "Trust your training." All of the hard work was done now. All that remained was to go out there and run.
That night, my mom made us Gordon Ramsay's Pancetta Pasta for dinner -- my favourite pre-race meal. Then after watching a bit more mindless TV and calling my hubby for one last pep talk ("Just run it like any other run," he said, telling me how proud he was of me), I headed to bed early. And got another surprisingly good night's rest.
In the morning, I woke up at around 6:30 because we had an hour-long drive into North York before the starting gun went off at 9. Although one Twitter follower told me "get a move on gurl" because they thought I'd never make it, what with traffic, parking, etc., I tried to make my mind a blank and not think, because there was nothing I could do in the car.
Eventually, we made it to Mel Lastman Square just as the half marathoners were leaving. My parents had dropped me off on the east side of the street while they went off in search of parking, and here was this human river of runners that just kept coming for what seemed like five minutes. After awhile I just decided to try and get into the crowd and run diagonally across, all the while making a mental note of what folks were wearing.
I tend to be a fairly warm runner, so when I noticed that there were a number of people wearing shorts and t-shirts or tanks, I decided to switch out of my t-shirt and into my tank and running sleeves. At that point, the rain was just drizzling but it was hovering somewhere around 9 degrees, and it was going to warm up.
Inside Novotel Hotel as I waited in line for the bathroom, the buzz of the gathering runners was electric. By coincidence, I met Bruce and Darryl outside the hotel even though we'd said we would meet by the bag drop. Bruce told me he was wearing his lucky running shorts and had a good feeling about the run.
"Every time I wear these shorts, something good happens," he said. "Make sure you keep them on then," said my dad with a chuckle. I gave my parents a hug, and they wished me good luck (my dad": "break a leg"; my mom: "merde" -- "which means 'shit' in French," I explained to Bruce with a grin).
So the three of us Haligonians headed over to North York City Hall, where the crush of runners and electric hum of anticipation was even greater. I was amazed by just how many of them were wearing garbage bags -- we were going to get wet anyways, so what did it matter?
After one last trip to the bathroom, where I met Gail -- another runner from our Spring Garden Road Run Club -- I followed the crowd, which was slowly making its way to the start line. Bruce (our coach from my marathon clinic) had suggested that I find the four-hour pace bunny and try to stick with him, so I looked out for the pair of pink bunny ears that said 4:00 and made my way to that place in the crowd. Strangely, I still didn't feel nervous. I was floating in an in-between zone and just trying to keep focused on being confident and feeling ready.
The only thing that had me worried was that we'd been out there a few minutes and still, my Garmin wouldn't kick in. There was just that little sliver of white on the black status bar, and it would keep creeping up, then back down, then up...But finally with only two minutes to spare it kicked in. I set my pace to 5:26 and the workout to 10:1 intervals, and then I waited for the starting gun to go off.
I didn't have long to wait. Suddenly, we were counting down the 10 last seconds with the announcer. The starting gun exploded, and we were off!
I gave my parents an excited wave as we filed by them, and then we were on our way. I felt strong, and the pace bunny was setting a manageable pace, as we ran around Mel Lastman Square and onto Yonge Street. The only thing in the back of my mind was the hill at Hog's Hollow. Once we made it up that hill, I thought, I could relax and settle into things.
As we ran under the 401 and down Yonge to the intersection at York Mills, we took our first walk break. The hill loomed in the distance. We were keeping at about a 5:17 pace and I still felt great. I headed up the hill feeling strong -- I was from hilly Halifax, after all!
And then, the pace bunny and the group started passing me, then moving ahead. I figured that I'd catch up to them once I got to the crest, but I was starting to feel tired. No matter that I'd spent months training in one of the hilliest cities; this hill was long. I was tired, but I told myself that I could rest once we made it to flatter ground.
The hill crested, I picked up my pace to catch up with the bunny as the four-hour group stopped to grab a drink. We had another walk break, and then started back up. But my legs started feeling sluggish, then leaden. My breathing wasn't relaxed anymore. And somewhere in that stretch from Lawrence to Eglinton, even as I drew on the energy of the group cheering us on outside Lulu Lemon and as I high-fived a couple of wide-eyed little girls holding out their hands to us by the side of the road, I started to fall back, then back and back.
At that point, I made a decision: I could either try to keep up with the bunny and tire myself out at kilometre 7, or slow down and pick up the pace later if I felt up for it. So I did the latter, and I decided to ignore the pace setting on my watch. I noticed that more and more runners were starting to pass me, but there seemed to be nothing I could do to pick up my pace.
As 7 kilometres turned into 10, then 15, my mind, which had been so calm at the starting line, started playing the doubt game with me. Why was I feeling so tired? Had I done something wrong in the days before? Had I really trained enough? Maybe there was something physically wrong that I was fighting. Or maybe I really wasn't cut out for long distance running. Maybe, I should just quit at the halfway point.
And my parents, who had said they'd see me at the 10k mark, were nowhere to be seen. As we wound around Casa Loma, I waved frantically to a woman about my mom's height and wearing a similar jacket. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so it took me a while to realize that it wasn't in fact my mom.
It was at about kilometre 16 or so that we entered the beautiful treed valley of Rosedale Heights (I think that's what it's called). Everywhere, little yellow pollen buds littered the wet ground, and we were surrounded by green. If I hadn't been so tired and playing mind games with myself, I'd have said it was pretty.
And then the 4:15 pace bunny passed me to my left.
Ok, I thought. Let's try and keep up with these guys. I did, for about 10 minutes, glancing up at a spectator who was cheering us from a bridge above the road.
And then, I started to drop back. I just couldn't maintain their pace.
Well you can imagine what this did to my already active brain.
If I quit, I'd have still done a half marathon.
But I wouldn't get a finisher's medal.
That's why they call it a finisher's medal. Because you finish.
But no one would care except for me.
And what about all the people who'd cheered me on all these weeks? What about the fundraising I'd done in the name of Japan relief efforts? What about all the training I'd done?
So I let the 4:15 group (and time goal) drift away from me, but I didn`t stop. At this point, I was near tears. Emotionally, I was exhausted. Something was definitely wrong. I was just a couple of kilometres till the half, where I'd see my parents and quit.
And then...
As we emerged out of the valley and turned left onto Front Street near the St. Lawrence Market, out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar face running towards me. It was my friend Kyla! She'd promised she would see me and would cycle the route to cheer me on, but with the rain and the winds, I had figured it was completely understandable that she'd decide to pass on her promise.
"How are you feeling?" she asked me, walking beside me as I took my walk break.
"I want to quit!" I half sobbed.
"Just think about all of the good things you're looking forward to when you cross that finish," she encouraged.
"Hugging your mom, taking a warm bath..." she chuckled. It was after all pretty chilly outside, though by that point I was hardly noticing the weather -- I was so stuck inside the battle in my brain.
I gave her a half smile, as I took in a gel and sipped on my water. I prepared to start running again as my Garmin counted down the seconds to the next running interval.
"I'll bike ahead and see you in half an hour on the course," Kyla said. "So you'd better be there or I'll start worrying about where you went!"
I promised to keep going, and started running again, my legs still feeling heavy, but somehow lightened by knowing that my friend had taken the time to come out here on a rainy Sunday just to cheer me on.
As I crossed Jarvis Street, I chuckled to myself as a cop started telling off an impatient Toronto driver who had tried to turn left and cut off the runners. He was gesturing and pointing in my direction, so I can only imagine that he was saying something like: "Can't you see there's a marathon going on here? What do you think you're doing?"
I had chuckled. So I guess I was starting to feel a bit better.
Approaching the halfway mark, I started looking out for my parents, but they were nowhere to be found. Part of me started worrying about them (which was a good way to distract me) and part of me was a little relieved, because if they'd been there, I'd have fallen, sobbing and tired, into their arms, and they would have let me quit if I felt it was the right thing to do.
So I kept on. We ran under the Gardiner, which was a nice change because it was warmer, but my hat blew off. All of a sudden I was at kilometre 23, then 24. At around that point, the front runners started coming back. I cheered for them, because they looked amazing. Inspiring, despite my fatigue.
And there was Kyla, on Lakeshore.
"How are you feeling now?" she asked, with a huge grin.
"A little better, but still not great." I admitted. "Thanks for showing up! You're amazing!"
"No, you're amazing," she said. "I'll see you in a bit!"
So I kept going, once again reflecting on what great friends and family I have, and thankful for their support.
Kyla showed up again a couple of kilometres later, as I was heading along Front Street towards the CNE.
"How are you feeling now?"
"I just don't know what's going on. I was aiming for a four-hour finish but my legs just felt like lead!" I agonized.
"It's raining and it's windy," Kyla said. "It's just a day."
I tried to believe her. I'd had so many "days" before, so this shouldn't be anything new. I handed her my hat, and I kept going.
As we ran along Lakeshore, more and more runners started coming back in the other direction, and I became focused on: A) spotting my parents; B) ticking down the kilometres. I had at this point long since given up any idea of keeping a pace or a time goal, but Kyla had encouraged me because she said she'd had to cycle a lot farther to find me between the last point and my current location than she'd expected.
"You're too fast!" she laughed.
I laughed too -- I hardly felt fast. But at this point speed didn't matter.
In Lake Ontario, the waves were slate grey against a dull sky. I could see a few dragonboat teams practising in the choppy waves.
I then realized that all along, I hadn't made much of a point of looking around me to gather images for my marathon story. So I looked up, only to find a guy passing me -- and running in completely bare feet. I'd heard about the barefoot running craze, and certainly seen quite a few "gorilla foot" runners in the last few months. But running barefoot in the streets of Toronto -- not to mention the rain-drenched streets of Toronto -- seemed not only painful, but quite gross, frankly. Better him than me!
As the stream of returning runners continued to my right, I also kept an eye out for the four-hour pace bunny, just to get a sense of how far back I'd slipped. I didn't see a bunny, yet, but I did catch a glimpse of a mouse: a grown man dressed in a brown velour mouse costume, complete with curly tail and pink ears. Better him than me!
Every so often, runners would spint by us wearing red "Relay" bibs on their backs. It was a little frustrating, because they only had a few kilometres to go so of course they could be fast. But that was their race, and this was mine.
And then, in the distance, somewhere around kilometre 27, I spotted a small woman in a red raincoat dancing and hopping from foot to foot, waving a fluorescent orange poster from side to side. Not wearing my glasses, I couldn't read what it said, but I knew the words that had been markered on to it:
"Go, Halifax Runner Girl!"
It was my parents! It was the first time they'd ever seen me at a road race, after years of hearing me talk about my running. And their glow of pride made me feel proud.
I took a walk break and asked my dad to walk alongside me for a quick minute.
"I wanted to quit," I told him.
"The 4:30 pace bunny is still behind you," he said. "So you're still ahead of that time."
Well that was it. That was my Plan B. No matter that my goal of breaking four hours had been shattered a couple of hours ago.
From that point on, the "race" (it had become more of a run) changed. Plan B was to achieve a personal best.
Never having run the course before, the next challenge on my list was learning to be patient: I kept on seeing so many runners heading back to the finish, but the turn seemed nowhere in sight. I knew it was only a few kilometres away, but when? And then we approached the white suspended bridge over the Humber River, ran under its footings, and I was running back.
By this point the rain had started in earnest. I pulled my sleeves back up and covered my hands, because the wind was hitting us full on. I could still see runners here and there wearing garbage bags, and I still couldn't understand it. Three hours of wearing a garbage bag? Yuck! Better them than me!
A few kilometres on, I saw my parents again, at around kilometre 33. My mom had switched to the neon green poster, and was doing another excited hop-hop-skip dance by the side of the road.
"The worst is over! We'll see you at the finish!" my dad said.
It felt so great having them there; Kyla, the support of all my friends and family. Who cared that I wouldn't break four hours? At this point, I was running a marathon. 42.2 kilometres. And if I had to walk to the finish, I would! But I knew that I could finish, even if it meant another nine very slow kilometres.
A couple of minutes later, I saw a volunteer hail a cab from the traffic next to us on the Lakeshore, and a runner in a Mylar blanket got in. I felt bad for him for the disapointment he must be feeling for not completing the race, but that was another reminder of just what an accomplishment actually finishing -- just finishing -- a marathon is.
Kyla was there on the way back, standing with another group of people cheering the runners on. The rain was really falling now, and was dripping onto them even though they were standing under a bridge. Seeing them huddled in the rain reminded me of how much I always appreciate the people who come to cheer runners on, even in miserable weather conditions.
I smiled at Kyla and gave her a thumbs-up.
"Still smiling!" she cried out.
It's true, I felt so much better than I had a couple of hours ago.
Funny how your mind plays games on you. Because although the trip along Lakeshore to the turnaround had seemed never-ending, the run back to the downtown core seemed quicker. The kilometres were ticking by. Maybe a little slowly, but that became my focus: from kilometre to kilometre, 10-minute walk interval to 10-minute walk interval.
To occupy my brain and stop it from wandering, I tried counting pylons, but that just became boring after 10 (I guess I had a short attention span at that point). So instead, I looked around me. At kilometre 37, a man ahead of me jumped up and slapped the 37-kilometre marker -- it seemed like a personal ritual to tell himself he'd run that far.
Then, another kilometre later, another man was standing to the side with a poster reading: "Free beer at the finish line." I gave him a thumbs-up (though I never did see that beer at the finish).
Kyla was there again as we turned left to head under the Gardiner. I gave her another wave and a thumbs-up. I was only a few kilometres away! The busy part of my brain kept on wanting to butt in, saying, "What if you choke? What if you have to quit now?" but I did my best to push it out and just focus on the pavement, and keeping on moving forward. Even if I had to walk the last few kilometres, I'd walk them!
We turned onto University, and I could see Queen's Park in the distance. John Stanton had said that Torontonians consider that part of the run a hill, but that I would find it flat. Sespite my exhaustion, I did. I tried to keep up on the flatter part of the road, because my left quad was starting to tire from running on the sloping side next to the streetcar tracks. Around us, lineups of cars waited, and I thanked the cops in bright yellow rainjackets for making sure we were safe.
About a kilometre and a half away from the finish I passed a younger guy, who looked up at me excitedly. "We're almost there!" he said. I could tell from his smile that this was his first marathon, so I congratulated him, and I kept going.
As I neared the brown buildings of Queen`s Park, I checked my distance, and I could see we still had around a kilometre to go. Something inside me told me that they'd make us run around Queen's Park to get to the finish. Rounding the bend, I started looking around me for the finish line.
The lawns in front of Queens Park were littered with flapping white event tents. I could hear an announcer's voice, and crowds were milling around. There in the distance was the blue inflated finish arch! Only a few more hundred metres, and we were done!
"You're home! You're home!" a man called out to us.
"Woohoo!" I yelled, raising my arms.
I felt amazing! I saw my dad to my left, his camera in hand. I gave him a thumbs up, and kept going, picking up the pace.
"Looking strong, Christine!" I heard a man say as I rounded the bend at the top.
I kept going, giving 'er all I had, drawing on the speedwork we'd done in recent weeks.
There were my parents, behind the red barricades on the side. I was so close to the finish!
I looked at them, raised my arms again, and cheered.
Give 'er, give 'er! You`ve done the speed work, you can do this!
A few more hundred metres, then a few more, and I crossed the Sport Stats mats!
I had just finished a marathon! I felt like the most amazing runner in the world, as I high-fived a couple of guys who had just crossed the mats at the same time as me.
"Christine!"
I turned around, to see my mom running behind me. She'd jumped around the barriers and run the last 100 metres with me. I hugged her, and looked for my dad.
A volunteer handed me a medal, and a photographer asked me to pose with my medal. I was sweaty and tired, but I beamed with pride as he snapped my photo.
Taking a Mylar blanket from one of the volunteers along with a banana and some chocolate milk, I took out my phone and dialed my hubby with frozen fingers.
"I finished! I'm so happy!" I said to Steve.
"I have a lump in my throat. I'm so proud of you!" he answered. He'd been watching my progress online for the last four and half hours, and said he felt like he'd been there with me the whole way.
Unlike my first marathon, this time, when I crossed that finish line line, the feeling of completing that race, the pride, the accomplishment, was 10 times bigger than the huge finisher's medal hung around my neck.
Because this time, I learned an important lesson: it's not how fast you run the race. It's about the journey.
Thank you to all of you who have supported me on this marathon journey. You have been amazing, and your support has meant the world.
~ HRG
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Week 11: It's a mystery!
Well, so far this week has been a bit of a mystery.
On Saturday night, I ate pizza to store up on carbs, knowing that I would be running a looong run in the morning. I tried to get to bed early, and catch some zs -- always a hard feat for me the night before a long run, since my mind just seems to race ahead of me in anticipation. So I caught about 5 hours of shut-eye, which for me is not bad.
In the morning, I took my time getting ready, ate a bowl of oatmeal and a half cup of tea. To be honest, for some reason I was dreading the run even though I'd done 27k the weekend before, so I took my time even more. I gave myself just enough time to get to the Running Room and head for one more loo break, then we were on our way.
The first part of the run went pretty well, though I must admit I was having trouble catching my breath and falling into the groove as Andrea and I chatted about the previous day's Ashtanga yoga class. Part of me wondered if I'd overdone it, because in addition to that hour and a half class that had me sweating buckets, I'd also thrown in a 10k before it -- my week had gotten a little messed up when I missed a run on Tuesday. Regardless -- I was about to find out if I had indeed overdone it, the day before a 29k run.
At around 7k, we made it to the Rails to Trails, which is remarkably close to my house and yet I never knew it was there! One more option for running routes close to our house! We started our way along the trail, and I noticed I was dropping back, and back, and back. I was worried about my IT and hamstring too, because I've been having trouble with them lately (an injury that actually stopped me from running for two months last year).
Part of the trail passes by streets and houses, but then there's a big chunk of it that's literally in the middle of nowhere for about 5k. It's pretty, but I didn't want to end up stranded in the middle of nowhere if I couldn't keep up with the group, and I also didn't want them to feel like they had to slow down for me, since they were keeping up a pretty good pace.
So I turned around and headed back to the streets of Halifax for another 16k or so. And that's when the going started getting tough. For the next 11k, I had a really difficult run, physically (I was running at around 7:20 for a while there) and mentally. I started asking myself whether I could do a full marathon again if I was finding this so tough and I wasn't even at the 20k mark yet. Did even I want to do it? The feeling on the run on Sunday reminded me of the angst of my first marathon -- not a fun feeling at all. So why was I doing this if I found it so agonizing? Was I perhaps just more suited to shorter runs? Etc, etc, etc.
Signs of spring are everywhere in the city now, and did help to keep me going through the physical and mental strain. So I pushed on, at a very slow pace, knowing that if I didn't get this 29k in today, I would regret it. I made it back to the Running Room at around 24k (by then my Garmin had died. I must remember to charge it on Saturday nights!). The fast runners of our group had already made it back and were stretching. Boy, are they fast!
I went to the loo, again (well we are out there for more than a few hours), then headed back out for my last 5k. Since my Garmin wasn't working, I approximated my route. As I was heading up Bell Road, the rest of the group I'd peeled away from was heading in. Given that I had taken a couple of bathroom breaks (and one break to text Wendy to let her know I was fine), I estimated that they were probably around 2 or 3k ahead of me, pace-wise.
I ended up doing around 6k, so all told I did 30k. And truth be told, although mentally I was a little messy, physically I wasn't too bad. After stretching for a few minutes, I went to Pete's Frootique for a Blue Moon (blueberry smoothie -- lots of antioxidants and so a good recovery drink, says Bruce). Standing at the counter, I dialed our home number.
"I think I want to quit running," I said to my husband. But he wouldn't hear any more of my negative talk, saying it wasn't good for me. Basically holding up a big red stop sign in front of the negativity train I had been riding for the last three and a half to four hours.
Paying for my smoothie, I headed back to the car and drove home. As soon as I got in, Steve was there, and told me to hurry up, because he was going to take me out for lunch to celebrate my run. God I love my husband for that -- he knows me so well, and he knew right away that if he didn't take me out, I'd just go upstairs, have a bath, and wallow in pity and self-doubt.
Instead, we went to Duffy's for lunch and I had a pretty good steak sandwich and fries. Then over to the Hart & Thistle for a few pints and some laughs with Greg. At around 6pm though I was dying. My legs were stiff but not sore. Mostly I was just dead tired. We drove home, stopping at Cold Stone Creamery for some ice cream (I'd just burned about 1,700 calories so I figured I could indulge in some comfort food. And boy is their ice cream yummy! So creamy!). At home, I changed into my jammies and then tucked in for a night of live-tweeting the Junos for work.
A perfect end to a difficult run.
Now what's the mystery behind all that, you wonder? We all have bad days, right? I know.
Here's the thing: yesterday, you would have thought that I'd be in some form of pain or discomfort, or that my legs would be feeling stiff. But you know what? I felt pretty good. So I decided to get some strength training in after work. My plan was to do Body Attack before Body Pump, to get a couple of hours of cross-training in.
Bear in mind, I've never taken Body Attack before. I didn't even know what it was, but the "attack" part of it made me think it involved some kind of punching or something.
Hehe...
Body Attack burns more calories than any other LesMills class, the instructor told us. Then she put on her mike, turned on the music, and we started stepping...and hopping...and jogging...And we jogged in circles. We jogged front and back. We did jumping jacks...And we didn't stop for a full hour...
But you know what? I didn't feel bad at all. I kept up with the whole class, and chose the level three or four high intensity option wherever I could. And despite being sweaty, I wasn't winded. Or at least nothing that I couldn't handle on a tempo run.
Coming out of that class was a realization that I am in pretty darned good shape, if I do say so myself. My confidence level was boosted again. I opted not to do the Body Pump, because technically Monday was supposed to be a rest day and I'd just finished Les Mills's hardest class (according to the instructor) when all I'd wanted was some strength training.
So you know what? Running remains a mystery to me. Some days, you have good days, others, bad. And other days when you think you'd have no energy, all of a sudden you feel like a superstar. The important thing is to find the positive in the pain, like spotting some crocuses blooming beside the sidewalk, or thinking of all the friends and family who have believed in you when you doubted yourself.
I owe so much of my perseverance to my husband and running friends who have pushed me on when the going got tough. Thank you. I won't be quitting running anytime soon, and my goal to run the GoodLife full in Toronto in May still stands.
Here's to a new day!
~ HRG
On Saturday night, I ate pizza to store up on carbs, knowing that I would be running a looong run in the morning. I tried to get to bed early, and catch some zs -- always a hard feat for me the night before a long run, since my mind just seems to race ahead of me in anticipation. So I caught about 5 hours of shut-eye, which for me is not bad.
In the morning, I took my time getting ready, ate a bowl of oatmeal and a half cup of tea. To be honest, for some reason I was dreading the run even though I'd done 27k the weekend before, so I took my time even more. I gave myself just enough time to get to the Running Room and head for one more loo break, then we were on our way.
The first part of the run went pretty well, though I must admit I was having trouble catching my breath and falling into the groove as Andrea and I chatted about the previous day's Ashtanga yoga class. Part of me wondered if I'd overdone it, because in addition to that hour and a half class that had me sweating buckets, I'd also thrown in a 10k before it -- my week had gotten a little messed up when I missed a run on Tuesday. Regardless -- I was about to find out if I had indeed overdone it, the day before a 29k run.
At around 7k, we made it to the Rails to Trails, which is remarkably close to my house and yet I never knew it was there! One more option for running routes close to our house! We started our way along the trail, and I noticed I was dropping back, and back, and back. I was worried about my IT and hamstring too, because I've been having trouble with them lately (an injury that actually stopped me from running for two months last year).
Part of the trail passes by streets and houses, but then there's a big chunk of it that's literally in the middle of nowhere for about 5k. It's pretty, but I didn't want to end up stranded in the middle of nowhere if I couldn't keep up with the group, and I also didn't want them to feel like they had to slow down for me, since they were keeping up a pretty good pace.
So I turned around and headed back to the streets of Halifax for another 16k or so. And that's when the going started getting tough. For the next 11k, I had a really difficult run, physically (I was running at around 7:20 for a while there) and mentally. I started asking myself whether I could do a full marathon again if I was finding this so tough and I wasn't even at the 20k mark yet. Did even I want to do it? The feeling on the run on Sunday reminded me of the angst of my first marathon -- not a fun feeling at all. So why was I doing this if I found it so agonizing? Was I perhaps just more suited to shorter runs? Etc, etc, etc.
Signs of spring are everywhere in the city now, and did help to keep me going through the physical and mental strain. So I pushed on, at a very slow pace, knowing that if I didn't get this 29k in today, I would regret it. I made it back to the Running Room at around 24k (by then my Garmin had died. I must remember to charge it on Saturday nights!). The fast runners of our group had already made it back and were stretching. Boy, are they fast!
I went to the loo, again (well we are out there for more than a few hours), then headed back out for my last 5k. Since my Garmin wasn't working, I approximated my route. As I was heading up Bell Road, the rest of the group I'd peeled away from was heading in. Given that I had taken a couple of bathroom breaks (and one break to text Wendy to let her know I was fine), I estimated that they were probably around 2 or 3k ahead of me, pace-wise.
I ended up doing around 6k, so all told I did 30k. And truth be told, although mentally I was a little messy, physically I wasn't too bad. After stretching for a few minutes, I went to Pete's Frootique for a Blue Moon (blueberry smoothie -- lots of antioxidants and so a good recovery drink, says Bruce). Standing at the counter, I dialed our home number.
"I think I want to quit running," I said to my husband. But he wouldn't hear any more of my negative talk, saying it wasn't good for me. Basically holding up a big red stop sign in front of the negativity train I had been riding for the last three and a half to four hours.
Paying for my smoothie, I headed back to the car and drove home. As soon as I got in, Steve was there, and told me to hurry up, because he was going to take me out for lunch to celebrate my run. God I love my husband for that -- he knows me so well, and he knew right away that if he didn't take me out, I'd just go upstairs, have a bath, and wallow in pity and self-doubt.
Instead, we went to Duffy's for lunch and I had a pretty good steak sandwich and fries. Then over to the Hart & Thistle for a few pints and some laughs with Greg. At around 6pm though I was dying. My legs were stiff but not sore. Mostly I was just dead tired. We drove home, stopping at Cold Stone Creamery for some ice cream (I'd just burned about 1,700 calories so I figured I could indulge in some comfort food. And boy is their ice cream yummy! So creamy!). At home, I changed into my jammies and then tucked in for a night of live-tweeting the Junos for work.
A perfect end to a difficult run.
Now what's the mystery behind all that, you wonder? We all have bad days, right? I know.
Here's the thing: yesterday, you would have thought that I'd be in some form of pain or discomfort, or that my legs would be feeling stiff. But you know what? I felt pretty good. So I decided to get some strength training in after work. My plan was to do Body Attack before Body Pump, to get a couple of hours of cross-training in.
Bear in mind, I've never taken Body Attack before. I didn't even know what it was, but the "attack" part of it made me think it involved some kind of punching or something.
Hehe...
Body Attack burns more calories than any other LesMills class, the instructor told us. Then she put on her mike, turned on the music, and we started stepping...and hopping...and jogging...And we jogged in circles. We jogged front and back. We did jumping jacks...And we didn't stop for a full hour...
But you know what? I didn't feel bad at all. I kept up with the whole class, and chose the level three or four high intensity option wherever I could. And despite being sweaty, I wasn't winded. Or at least nothing that I couldn't handle on a tempo run.
Coming out of that class was a realization that I am in pretty darned good shape, if I do say so myself. My confidence level was boosted again. I opted not to do the Body Pump, because technically Monday was supposed to be a rest day and I'd just finished Les Mills's hardest class (according to the instructor) when all I'd wanted was some strength training.
So you know what? Running remains a mystery to me. Some days, you have good days, others, bad. And other days when you think you'd have no energy, all of a sudden you feel like a superstar. The important thing is to find the positive in the pain, like spotting some crocuses blooming beside the sidewalk, or thinking of all the friends and family who have believed in you when you doubted yourself.
I owe so much of my perseverance to my husband and running friends who have pushed me on when the going got tough. Thank you. I won't be quitting running anytime soon, and my goal to run the GoodLife full in Toronto in May still stands.
Here's to a new day!
~ HRG
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