My what a difference a few days can make! I feel like a completely different coloured snail compared to the one who posted only a few days ago!
In the last few days, I've been taking it easy, as promised. And I've started to see the results, bit by bit, day by day.
Yesterday, mom and I walked around most of the Halifax Seaport Farmer's Market -- North America's oldest farmer's market. Unfortunately hubby couldn't join us in relishing in the glorious sunshine, since he was working, but it seemed that most of the Saturday crowd had decided to head outside to soak up the rays, which means that the crowds had thinned out a little so the marked was easier to navigate. In any case, whether due to the positive energy of the Saturday morning crowd or the sun beaming down on Halifax yesterday, I felt like a completely different woman than I had only days ago, when I reported feeling quite sloth-like.
We wandered through many of the stalls, checking out the artisans' wares, and ran into my friend Dan of DC Art & Design at his stall where we chatted for awhile. Turns out he's started running too, from the second hill at Purcell's Cove, around the Frog Pond and then back to the hill. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll see him out at the races one of these days! Is it just me or is running kind of contagious?
After awhile, we lined up at the creperie for a couple of maple sugar crepes (not quite as good as I had expected -- I recommend the classic ham & cheese over these) and sat by the living wall, then bought a bottle of wine from Sainte Famille for my dad for Father's Day.
After all that, I felt like I had run 10k, so we returned home. This was a good reminder that not only am I not ready to start running again, I'm still just as thankful as ever for the great shape I was in before my surgery. And it's made me more determined than ever to get back there.
After a little siesta in the afternoon (napping is easy once you give in to the concept that it's a necessary part of healing and not just being lazy), we headed downtown to Spring Garden Road and into the Public Gardens, where it seemed like most of Halifax's promgoers had convened in their tuxes and princess dresses.
We bought an ice cream from Sugah and sat in the sun, marveling at how elaborate prom dresses have become (though I much prefer them to the short gowns we wore in the early nineties. If only we'd known!).
That was about all the activity I could handle for the day so I headed back home, but instead of hitting the sack at 9pm, I stayed up till 11!
It's amazing the little milestones you celebrate when you're on the path to recovery. Only a week ago, it was all I could do to sit up in my hospital bed, and I just about fainted when I walked the two feet from the bed to my chair, breaking out in a cold sweat in the process. Now I've managed to walk (more like meander) for about half an hour. Next week, I may make it around the block!
Today, the sun wasn't shining as bright;y but hubby was able to join us for brunch at Mix Fresh -- our final luncheon with mom before she returns home to Port Hope tomorrow, now that I'm on the road to recovery. As we headed back up the hill to our car, I joked that I almost felt good enough to return to work.
Except that when I got home, I napped for two and a half hours.
Not ready yet, I don't think. But I can feel myself getting stronger by the day. Much of this process is starting to feel like a Sunday long run. I can't remember the times when I dragged myself to the Running Room and forced myself through a run, knowing that it would pay off in the end but all the while willing myself not to stop and call a taxi. So often a long run is all about that -- patience and perseverance. And if you build a strong base through training, you'll thank yourself for it on race day.
This road to recovery is starting to feel the same way: I'm building my base now through patience and perseverance, gradually storing up my strength and increasing the distance and amount of activity I'm able to cover each day. I've come to accept that living slowly is a key part of the recovery process. And just when you're training, sometimes you push through the bad runs because you know the next one will be better, I'm sure there will be days in the coming weeks when all I want to do is say to heck with it and ignore the doctor's orders to take this time to heal.
But in the end, I'll cross the finish line to the all-clear, and you'll see me bounding through the streets of Halifax, my curly head bouncing in the breeze.
Week one of recovery is complete. Five more weeks to go!
~ HRG
Update: I just came back from a 2.5-k walk and didn't collapse! Yay! :D
Showing posts with label hubby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hubby. Show all posts
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Learning to be a snail...for a while...
So I was going to call this post "Learning to be a couch potatoe." But then I thought, well hang on -- I don't plan on being a couch potatoe for ever. Sure, much of my time lately has been spent on the couch or in bed, watching TV or reading a book. But I don't plan on making a permanent groove in this chair and growing sprouts.
Instead, I'll learn to be a snail. If only for a while. Because you know that old joke:
What did the snail say to the other snail as it drove by?
Look at that S-car go!
The thing about snails is, as opposed to potatoes, they may be slow but eventually they get to where they want to go, with dogged determination.
As a fairly active person, working out and running up to five or six times a week (if not more), it's been frustrating having to slow down since my operation. The doctor had recommended that I take it easy for six weeks, but being the active type-A woman that I am, I told myself that wouldn't apply to me.
Only days after my surgery, I took to going out one or two times a day, taking my mom (who's been here on a visit to help me with my recovery) around Halifax to make sure she wasn't bored. We went to Chez Tess for brunch one day (I could only eat half of my crepes Benny...I seem to have a teeny appetite these days), and walked up and down Spring Garden Road browsing through stores. Another day we bought geraniums for the front porch, and bird seed for the feeder on the back porch.
Sure, my stomach usually felt like it had been split open after only an hour of being out and about, and I couldn't walk further than a block, but I told myself that it was important to keep active if I ever want to run another race.
Until two days ago, when I started feeling absolutely drained with only the slightest effort.
"You've been doing too much," my mom and hubby admonished. "You have to slow down and let your body start to heal."
I've been taking it a lot slower since then, but even today, after folding laundry (which hubby had washed for me, thankfully) and then putting it away, I was finished for the day. In fact I've only just now woken from an afternoon nap. I've been napping lots lately.
I don't mean this to be a woe-is-me post, by any means. Instead, I hope it's a reminder to cherish your health and active lifestyle. Because although being a couch potatoe (sorry, snail) is a great way to catch up on reality TV and morning talk shows, it doesn't give you an iota of the sense of accomplishment and pride you get when you just came back from that amazing run or finished a really tough Body Pump class, let alone crossing the finish line after months of training. And there's definitely no rush of adrenaline surging through your body, even if you are surfing the TV waves.
Then again, there is something to be said for balance. I have caught up on a lot of my reading, which I hope I can maintain once I'm back on the road again.
I may feel tired now, but I know that's just my body healing. With every day, I'll start getting stronger and stronger. Pretty soon I'll be calling out to my hubby that I'm lacing on my shoes and heading out for a run.
I can't wait!
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
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Week 14 complete & 15 begins: the sun, the rain, the lows, the highs...the inspiration!
Where the heck is the sunny weather that graced us just last week? My fingers are still cold from tonight's speed training at the SMU track and a run home in rain and zero degree weather! But I felt pretty strong as I made my way around the track for two sets of four laps, averaging around 5:09-5:14/km, which isn't bad for a four-hour time goal, I'm told.
We are now into week 15 and race day is 24 days away! Little butterflies are starting to hatch from their cocoons and flutter in my belly when I think about running down Yonge Street along with thousands of runners...Eep!
Anyways, last week kinda went down like this:
Monday
In an effort to get some last-minute leg strength training in, I decided to do leg exercises at the gym prior to an hour-long Body Pump class. I felt ok, except that...
Tuesday
...On Tuesday I set out for my tempo run late after chatting with Wendy and Carol at the Running Room. Most of the group had already almost completed their 6k tempo as I started around the Commons, and I noticed my pace slowing and my legs struggling to keep up with a pace almost a minute slower than the previous week's tempo. I definitely wasn't coasting along like a running goddess. In fact, I was struggling at even 4k. So after my second lap around, I decided to head back to the Running Room -- a little deflated and worried, I will admit, especially after the difficult time I'd had with Sunday's long run.
Wednesday
Feeling a little stressed about how tough I'd been finding the runs, I emailed Bruce, our clinic leader (and manager of the Running Room on Spring Garden Road), and asked him for any advice. He was amazing and answered within a couple hours, saying that often times, difficulties in performance can be linked to iron deficiencies, especially in women. Which makes sense for me, as I've been diagnosed as being slightly anemic.
Bruce also suggested that I might be overdoing it -- that often we feel like we have to do all kinds of cross-training in order to be strong, but that with only four weeks away, I might want to cut back on the lower body strength training and just focus on having a strong core and upper body. His was advice was to take it easy for a couple days and put my legs up.
So I did.
Thursday
After work, we got together with some fellow runners to see our friends Wendy and Greg off for their Boston Marathon. We were so excited for them! We promised to watch their progress on Monday and send them all kinds of positive energy so they'd coast through the course. I love being part of a strong running community -- there is so much inspiration and support to draw on!
Bruce was there among us and I really appreciated him making a point of coming by and checking in with how I was feeling. He also made me feel a little better by admitting that he hadn't finished his hills the previous day, since he'd been feeling a little under the weather. "You're just going through a rough patch," he said. And I believed him.
Coming home that night, I told my husband I'd love to qualify for Boston one day. "I don't know which of you to believe," he joked -- referring to the fact that only a few days ago I'd been ready to quit running, and now I wanted to qualify for one of the largest marathons in North America!
"My heart wants to run, but sometimes my body doesn't listen," I said by way of explanation. I've never hidden that running is such a love/hate thing for me!
Friday
I opted for Zumba instead of a long run. I love Zumba -- one of my favourite cross-training cardio activities!
Saturday
In the morning, I stopped in at the Running Room and pick up some gels for Sunday's long run. I'd been debating hopping on the bike for half an hour or so, just to keep the impact off my legs, but then I decided to head out and see how I'd feel on a 6k run. My Garmin had died, but I didn't worry because I'd read Jon's blog only the day before about how he'd forced himself to run without a watch for a few runs and just enjoy the run instead of focusing on getting the last few 100 metres in or stay on pace. It was kind of refreshing, I must say.
The run itself was ok...Not great but not horrible. My left achilles tendon was a little tight, and when I stopped I had some weird throbbing ache in my right hamstring, but I worked that out with an hour and a half of Ashtanga yoga with Andrea and her sister Diana, and I felt so much better afterwards!
Another great thing that happened on Saturday -- I found out that my friend Jen was inspired by my blog to start running again! I'm so proud of her for starting again, because I myself know how intimidating starting to run again can feel, if you've been away from it for even a few months. And I'm so glad I've been able to inspire someone as others have inspired me.
Saturday night, my husband cooked me my favourite pre-race/long run meal: Gordon Ramsay's Pancetta Spaghetti. He gave me a great pep talk, encouraged me to get a good night's sleep and just get 'er done in the morning, even though the Weather Network was calling for rain. I felt encouraged by his support, and went to bed to try and get a few hours of shut-eye.
Sunday
Morning broke windy but not raining, although it was grey. I hadn't slept overly well, but I slept more than I usually do. Part of me really just wanted to stay in bed, but I knew that after Steve spending an hour and a bit cooking me my pre-run meal (after he'd had a long day at work) and giving me my pep talk, there was no backing out of this 29k run.
So I ate my oatmeal and half an apple, pulled on my gear, and headed out the door to drive downtown to the Running Room. Carol was there and had volunteered to be our pace group leader, since Wendy was in Boston enjoying a buffet with all of the Canadian runners before Marathon Monday!
We headed out, and actually had to pull back on our pace a bit since we were keeping pace with the four-hour group as we ran down Quinpool and turned right onto Connaught. I was a little worried that I hadn't dressed warmly enough, but since it hadn't started raining yet, I felt ok after about 10 minutes or so.
It's amazing what a difference running with friends makes when you're on a long run. Pretty soon we'd reached the start of Rails to Trails, and as we made our way along (with me trying to identify the songbirds in the bushes -- I spotted an American Goldfinch singing his heart out at the top of a trees and heard a few chickadees warbling away), we started picking up the pace. And then we were in Bayers Lake and at the Coke plant at kilometre 11.5. The wind was pushing us up the gradual incline, but didn't feel too strong on our backs. I was looking forward to running back downhill for the next 5k or so.
Or so I thought. Just as we turned around and started heading back into the city, the wind started driving rain into our faces. Cold. Wet. Drizzle. In fact it was so cold I started worrying I might have to flag down a cab at Bayers Lake before we headed back onto the trail. But I carrried on, knowing that if I stopped, I wouldn't want to start that run again.
Instead, I picked up the pace. I just wanted to get out of that weather, so I just put my head down and started pumping my legs a little more. The pasta dinner from the night before seemed to be doing its job, because I felt pretty strong.
Soon enough, Barry neared me and we started keeping pace with each other. We barely spoke until we reached the end of the trail -- we both just wanted to get it over with (he was wearing shorts and his legs were fairly cold -- nobody had expected this weather). Remembering that I'd once mentioned having Raynaud's syndrome, Barry kindly lent me his gloves, saying he didn't need them. Thank goodness -- he was a life saver!
As we got off the trail and could feel ourselves getting nearer the store, we started chatting again about vacation plans, work, whatever -- just shooting the breeze and making the time pass more easily by having someone to talk at.
When we reached the store, I decided to do the last 6k of my run on the treadmill. I just couldn't imagine going back outside for another 30 to 40 minutes. And after I finished those last kms, I still felt pretty good! Yay!
Monday
Marathon Monday! Woo! Andrea, Carol and I spent much of the day glued to our computers, watching Wendy and Greg's progress on the athlete tracker for the Boston Marathon. I also watched the #bostonmarathon feed, and was fascinated. In fact I'd have to say this was the first time I'd ever been so fully engaged in a sporting event in my life! Watching the play by play of the men's and women's races was just so exciting, and inspiring!
As we watched our friends' progress, we could see from their paces that they were just out there to have a good time and enjoy the experience. And what an experience it must have been! The Twitterverse was just buzzing with #bostonmarathon fever (at least among the runners)! I stand by what I said last week -- I'd love to be able to qualify for Boston one day. But now that the BQ has been made more aggressive, I'm not sure if that's achievable. Who knows!
Watching the buzz around Boston, I learned two things:
1) that even the pros have bad days. Kim Smith's interview after she had to bow out of the race when she had led it for almost half the course was especially heart-wrenching, but also reassuring;
2) that there is a difference between "racing" and "running" a marathon. And if you do the latter, you're more likely to have a fantastic time! Wendy and Greg's experience has inspired me to try and just run the GoodLife Marathon -- enjoy the course (dowhill most of the way, baby!) and the crowds, and soak in the experience. Here's hoping my type A personality will let me do it!
Finished the day with Body Pump but no leg weight training, hoping I wouldn't overdo it like last week. But...
Tuesday
...As it was another grey rainy day, and I'd had enough rain and cold with Sunday's run, I opted for Zumba. I did ok up until 45 mins in, then started to feel really really weak...I could tell my core and abductors/adductors just weren't recovered from Sunday's run yet (I just couldn't shimmy my hips like I usually can :P ). Maybe I should have eaten more before the run (I was hungry most of the day) or maybe I should have actually taken a rest day after a 29k run! I'm planning to just take it easy next Monday after Sunday's 32k.
But whereas a few weeks ago I might have beaten myself up for feeling tired after a workout, I opted to just see it as "a day" and move on to the next day. Just a day.
And race day is 24 days away! Woohoo!
~ HRG
We are now into week 15 and race day is 24 days away! Little butterflies are starting to hatch from their cocoons and flutter in my belly when I think about running down Yonge Street along with thousands of runners...Eep!
Anyways, last week kinda went down like this:
Monday
In an effort to get some last-minute leg strength training in, I decided to do leg exercises at the gym prior to an hour-long Body Pump class. I felt ok, except that...
Tuesday
...On Tuesday I set out for my tempo run late after chatting with Wendy and Carol at the Running Room. Most of the group had already almost completed their 6k tempo as I started around the Commons, and I noticed my pace slowing and my legs struggling to keep up with a pace almost a minute slower than the previous week's tempo. I definitely wasn't coasting along like a running goddess. In fact, I was struggling at even 4k. So after my second lap around, I decided to head back to the Running Room -- a little deflated and worried, I will admit, especially after the difficult time I'd had with Sunday's long run.
Wednesday
Feeling a little stressed about how tough I'd been finding the runs, I emailed Bruce, our clinic leader (and manager of the Running Room on Spring Garden Road), and asked him for any advice. He was amazing and answered within a couple hours, saying that often times, difficulties in performance can be linked to iron deficiencies, especially in women. Which makes sense for me, as I've been diagnosed as being slightly anemic.
Bruce also suggested that I might be overdoing it -- that often we feel like we have to do all kinds of cross-training in order to be strong, but that with only four weeks away, I might want to cut back on the lower body strength training and just focus on having a strong core and upper body. His was advice was to take it easy for a couple days and put my legs up.
So I did.
Thursday
After work, we got together with some fellow runners to see our friends Wendy and Greg off for their Boston Marathon. We were so excited for them! We promised to watch their progress on Monday and send them all kinds of positive energy so they'd coast through the course. I love being part of a strong running community -- there is so much inspiration and support to draw on!
Bruce was there among us and I really appreciated him making a point of coming by and checking in with how I was feeling. He also made me feel a little better by admitting that he hadn't finished his hills the previous day, since he'd been feeling a little under the weather. "You're just going through a rough patch," he said. And I believed him.
Coming home that night, I told my husband I'd love to qualify for Boston one day. "I don't know which of you to believe," he joked -- referring to the fact that only a few days ago I'd been ready to quit running, and now I wanted to qualify for one of the largest marathons in North America!
"My heart wants to run, but sometimes my body doesn't listen," I said by way of explanation. I've never hidden that running is such a love/hate thing for me!
Friday
I opted for Zumba instead of a long run. I love Zumba -- one of my favourite cross-training cardio activities!
Saturday
In the morning, I stopped in at the Running Room and pick up some gels for Sunday's long run. I'd been debating hopping on the bike for half an hour or so, just to keep the impact off my legs, but then I decided to head out and see how I'd feel on a 6k run. My Garmin had died, but I didn't worry because I'd read Jon's blog only the day before about how he'd forced himself to run without a watch for a few runs and just enjoy the run instead of focusing on getting the last few 100 metres in or stay on pace. It was kind of refreshing, I must say.
The run itself was ok...Not great but not horrible. My left achilles tendon was a little tight, and when I stopped I had some weird throbbing ache in my right hamstring, but I worked that out with an hour and a half of Ashtanga yoga with Andrea and her sister Diana, and I felt so much better afterwards!
Another great thing that happened on Saturday -- I found out that my friend Jen was inspired by my blog to start running again! I'm so proud of her for starting again, because I myself know how intimidating starting to run again can feel, if you've been away from it for even a few months. And I'm so glad I've been able to inspire someone as others have inspired me.
Saturday night, my husband cooked me my favourite pre-race/long run meal: Gordon Ramsay's Pancetta Spaghetti. He gave me a great pep talk, encouraged me to get a good night's sleep and just get 'er done in the morning, even though the Weather Network was calling for rain. I felt encouraged by his support, and went to bed to try and get a few hours of shut-eye.
Sunday
Morning broke windy but not raining, although it was grey. I hadn't slept overly well, but I slept more than I usually do. Part of me really just wanted to stay in bed, but I knew that after Steve spending an hour and a bit cooking me my pre-run meal (after he'd had a long day at work) and giving me my pep talk, there was no backing out of this 29k run.
So I ate my oatmeal and half an apple, pulled on my gear, and headed out the door to drive downtown to the Running Room. Carol was there and had volunteered to be our pace group leader, since Wendy was in Boston enjoying a buffet with all of the Canadian runners before Marathon Monday!
We headed out, and actually had to pull back on our pace a bit since we were keeping pace with the four-hour group as we ran down Quinpool and turned right onto Connaught. I was a little worried that I hadn't dressed warmly enough, but since it hadn't started raining yet, I felt ok after about 10 minutes or so.
It's amazing what a difference running with friends makes when you're on a long run. Pretty soon we'd reached the start of Rails to Trails, and as we made our way along (with me trying to identify the songbirds in the bushes -- I spotted an American Goldfinch singing his heart out at the top of a trees and heard a few chickadees warbling away), we started picking up the pace. And then we were in Bayers Lake and at the Coke plant at kilometre 11.5. The wind was pushing us up the gradual incline, but didn't feel too strong on our backs. I was looking forward to running back downhill for the next 5k or so.
Or so I thought. Just as we turned around and started heading back into the city, the wind started driving rain into our faces. Cold. Wet. Drizzle. In fact it was so cold I started worrying I might have to flag down a cab at Bayers Lake before we headed back onto the trail. But I carrried on, knowing that if I stopped, I wouldn't want to start that run again.
Instead, I picked up the pace. I just wanted to get out of that weather, so I just put my head down and started pumping my legs a little more. The pasta dinner from the night before seemed to be doing its job, because I felt pretty strong.
Soon enough, Barry neared me and we started keeping pace with each other. We barely spoke until we reached the end of the trail -- we both just wanted to get it over with (he was wearing shorts and his legs were fairly cold -- nobody had expected this weather). Remembering that I'd once mentioned having Raynaud's syndrome, Barry kindly lent me his gloves, saying he didn't need them. Thank goodness -- he was a life saver!
As we got off the trail and could feel ourselves getting nearer the store, we started chatting again about vacation plans, work, whatever -- just shooting the breeze and making the time pass more easily by having someone to talk at.
When we reached the store, I decided to do the last 6k of my run on the treadmill. I just couldn't imagine going back outside for another 30 to 40 minutes. And after I finished those last kms, I still felt pretty good! Yay!
Monday
Marathon Monday! Woo! Andrea, Carol and I spent much of the day glued to our computers, watching Wendy and Greg's progress on the athlete tracker for the Boston Marathon. I also watched the #bostonmarathon feed, and was fascinated. In fact I'd have to say this was the first time I'd ever been so fully engaged in a sporting event in my life! Watching the play by play of the men's and women's races was just so exciting, and inspiring!
As we watched our friends' progress, we could see from their paces that they were just out there to have a good time and enjoy the experience. And what an experience it must have been! The Twitterverse was just buzzing with #bostonmarathon fever (at least among the runners)! I stand by what I said last week -- I'd love to be able to qualify for Boston one day. But now that the BQ has been made more aggressive, I'm not sure if that's achievable. Who knows!
Watching the buzz around Boston, I learned two things:
1) that even the pros have bad days. Kim Smith's interview after she had to bow out of the race when she had led it for almost half the course was especially heart-wrenching, but also reassuring;
2) that there is a difference between "racing" and "running" a marathon. And if you do the latter, you're more likely to have a fantastic time! Wendy and Greg's experience has inspired me to try and just run the GoodLife Marathon -- enjoy the course (dowhill most of the way, baby!) and the crowds, and soak in the experience. Here's hoping my type A personality will let me do it!
Finished the day with Body Pump but no leg weight training, hoping I wouldn't overdo it like last week. But...
Tuesday
...As it was another grey rainy day, and I'd had enough rain and cold with Sunday's run, I opted for Zumba. I did ok up until 45 mins in, then started to feel really really weak...I could tell my core and abductors/adductors just weren't recovered from Sunday's run yet (I just couldn't shimmy my hips like I usually can :P ). Maybe I should have eaten more before the run (I was hungry most of the day) or maybe I should have actually taken a rest day after a 29k run! I'm planning to just take it easy next Monday after Sunday's 32k.
But whereas a few weeks ago I might have beaten myself up for feeling tired after a workout, I opted to just see it as "a day" and move on to the next day. Just a day.
And race day is 24 days away! Woohoo!
~ HRG
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