Can and Will, the eternal struggle

I know I can bust out a marathon.  I’ve done it before.  If I continue at my current pace, I know I’ll finish the marathon in January.  I can set my pace at 13 minutes per mile and grind out a slow, steady, 5:30 marathon without any major problems.  It won’t be pretty, but I won’t die trying.

 

The thing is, I don’t WANT a 5:30 marathon this time around.  LAST time I ran a 5:30 marathon.  I know what that feels like.  I’ve climbed that mountain, looked down and seen the valleys.  I don’t need to spend $100 to run another marathon slowly.  I want to run a little faster race this time. 

 

This time, I want to finish in the front half of the fourth hour.

 

But the question isn’t “what can I do?”

 

The question has NEVER been “what can I do?”

 

The thing that defines Man is the ability to run for long distance.  Man IS el cazador, el coreador.  Physiologically, the issue of “can” has never been in question.

 

However, the fact remains that much of the population of the world today has never run 26.2 miles in its entire life, much less 26.2 miles in one shot.  But even for them the question is not whether or not they can.

 

The question that begs an answer is “what WILL I do?”

 

Will I do the extra conditioning needed to extend my endurance so that I can maintain a 10 minute pace for 26.2 miles?

Will I do the extra training required to mentally prepare for the distance?

 

I know I can run a marathon.  I know a person can run a marathon in under 4:30—hell, people run the marathon in 2:05.

 

WILL I run a marathon in under 4:30?  Do I have the will to push through that time barrier?

 

I think so.  Time’s coming to prove it.

The whole half recap

This weekend’s half marathon is really the story of 3 races.  I started out strong, I fell into a nice, steady pace that I’m generally comfortable with and was cruising along for awhile at that pace, then things started to go south around the 10 mile mark and times started to drag, my quit caught up to me and I started to run/walk the last few miles, but managed to dig down and fight through the last mile and change to finish stronger than I had been dragging through those last few miles.

 

All in all, not a bad run, but not even close to a good run, either.

 

Final time (per my watch):  2:29

1.       9:14

2.       9:44  (end race 1)

3.       10:18

4.       10:24

5.       10:44

6.       10:15

7.       11:10

8.       11:13

9.       11:25

10.   12:13 (end race 2)

11.   13:58

12.   14:02

13.   13:13

.03:   1:01

 

Hydration was a problem.  Dietary preparation was a problem.  GI preparation was a problem (need to teach the gut what to expect as far as Gatorade on the run).  Training was too light.  The list can go on and on.

 

I’m not overly satisfied with the run, but I’m not devastated, either.  I knew going in it was going to be a challenging run, and I knew I was a little underprepared.  I didn’t expect it to be THAT challenging, though.  I thought I was going to finish about 10 minutes faster.  Oh well, I know what the road ahead looks like now.  I have a LOT of work to do over the next 2 weeks to get ready for the 25k, if I’m going to run that race strong.

 

The preliminary goal for the 25k (which is 15.5 miles), is 2:40.  That’s slightly slower than 10:00/mile.  That’s doable.  At least it SHOULD be doable.  A 10:00/mile marathon is 4:19:00.  That’s doable, too.

Is IT in you?

Admittedly, this has been a bad couple of weeks running.

 

After the 10 for Texas (which was a GREAT run), I got in a good 3 miles on Monday for recovery, but the speed work on Wednesday had to be cut short for a plethora of reasons.  Then I went down with some kind of stomach bug.  Then Tuesday was the first day I felt good enough to run again, so I got in a really good run that day.  Class on Wednesday ran long and cut out that run.  Company came over last night and precluded a run.  This morning I overslept my alarm and didn’t get out to run.  Tonight I’ve got a fall festival thing and likely won’t run (I might elliptical, though).  Tomorrow is the day before the half marathon, so I might only run 3, if I run any at all.

 

This has been a bad couple of weeks.

 

But I’m STILL going to go hit the half marathon on Sunday and see what happens.

The timeline will go like this:

5:00am, wake up

5:30am, eat—egg, toast, peanut butter, banana

6:00am, head to downtown.

6:30am, head to the starting area, mill around for a little while, chat with some real runners.

7:00am, gun

Run…

10:30am, church.  Here I get to be the liturgist, so the run needs to 1, go well enough that I can finish in less than 3 hours (shouldn’t be a problem), and 2, not be so exhausting that I can’t stand, sit, and be coherent while reading the scripted cues.

 

This will be a fun weekend.

 

So, the question is, even without really rigorous training over the last two weeks, is IT in me?

 

I think it is.  I’m so ready for this.  That antelope better be well rested.

The Tuesday run

Tuesday was the first day that I felt good enough to run since last Wednesday when I pulled the plug in the middle of my speed workout.

 

Here’s how it went.

 

Around lunch time, this drum cadence starts throbbing in my head. 

 

DA  -  DA  -  D-DA CH-CH  DA  -  DA  -  D-DA CH-CH  DA  -  DA  -  D-DA CH-CH 

 

Again and again and again…

Then my legs start getting all tingly and I just want to rip off my shirt and run.

 

But I left my bag at home because I was feeling pretty junky in the morning again.

 

Nonetheless, I jam on my headphones and start listening to my pre-race music mix—lots of RATM, Beastie Boys, some Black Eyed Peas…  mostly stuff with driving beats that can be jammed LOUDLY.  No drum cadence, though.  And the drums are getting louder.

 

The 6:00 whistle sounds and I’m out the door like a bullet.  Flying through traffic, weaving in and out of every open space on the freeway, doing my level best to get home NOW.

 

In the door, kiss the missus, kiss the boy, into the bedroom and back out wearing my running gear like Clark Kent in a phone booth.  My feet barely touched the carpet.

 

I jam out 9:30 miles over my 3.64 mile route (a route which I have been calling my “three and a half mile route” and believing it is actually 3.5 miles even though, for some inexplicable reason, it never dawned on me that 3.64 is not, in fact, 3.5 miles and is, in fact, 3.64 miles…) and made it home good and tired and ready for dinner.

 

The drums had gone silent.

 

Later that night, I hear them again—WHAT IS THAT SONG?!?

 

I go on to the electronic answer box and start looking.

And looking…

And looking…

 

Find nothing until the next morning when I chance across the current Gatorade commercial.

 

Yup.  That’s right.  It’s the song from the Gatorade commercial.  It actually has an artist, and a title (Lock it Up) and you can find it on You Tube and download the mp4 file and even a ring tone.

 

So thank you crass commercialism and marketing.  One of your commercials has made its way into my pre-race mix and I’m jamming THAT along with my other sets of music.

 

Is it in you?  It sure as hell is in me…  Bring on the half marathon.  I eat 13.1 miles for breakfast.

The morning after the morning after

I’m still not sore.

110 miles into my training and I have yet to wake up sore from any of my runs.

 

I’ve had tightness, sure.  But that would go away after about 15 seconds of walking into the other room.  There’s also been injury-type pain, but that’s a different problem than the lactic-acid buildup muscle soreness.  To date, there have been no lingering, non-injury related ill effects from any run that I have gone on.  What’s up with that?

 

Saturday morning was the 10 for Texas.  It was the first timed 10 mile run I’ve ever participated in, so a PR was guaranteed.  It was also the farthest I’ve run this season.  Fuel stops were set at each even mile, plus the 9 mile mark.  The weather was perfect.  It was a VERY well put together event and the course was pretty decent.

 

I had serious doubts going in to this run.  I wasn’t worried so much about my conditioning, because I know I can cruise at 11 or 12 minute paces for quite awhile.  However, I wasn’t sure I WOULD cruise at that pace, or any pace, for that amount of time.  In other words, the worry isn’t whether or not I can, the worry is whether or not I will.  My quit has been a near constant running companion for the last several weeks and the notion of running for more than an hour still seems pretty absurd.  The goal was to finish in the range of 1:30 – 1:45.  Worse than that would have been a bit disappointing, better would have been unfathomable.  I get nervous the day before, arrive early and still nervous, see some folks I recognize and am still nervous, run back to my car and I’m still nervous, lose the folks I recognized and I’m still nervous, take a leak and I’m still nervous, race to the starting line still nervous, the gun goes off and…  no more nerves.  That was pretty cool.

 

For the first mile I’m picking through the crowd waiting for things to thin out.  Eventually the crowd thins and around the half mile point I find two guys who keep the exact same cadence and stride length as me.  They’re also keeping a 9:30 pace for the first mile and keyed it back to a 9:45 for the second mile.  I slow down and grab some water at the refreshment stand, and they scoot on ahead, but not out of sight.  I begin to reel them in at about the 2.5 mile area and catch them at the 3.5 mile area.  At 4 miles I slow down again and grab some water, they scoot ahead.  I was feeling good and keeping a nice, steady pace.  A half mile later I spot the JuneBug up ahead of me, cruising along like the machine she is.  She has an equipment malfunction and we briefly chat, then she pours on the speed and leaves me behind.  At about 5.5 miles I catch her and my two pacers and push by them to get a little space at the water stand.  They blow by me anyway and for another mile or so I keep them in my sights, but lose them forever between mile 7 and 8.

 

The first 7 miles were really uneventful.

 

For what it’s worth, 6 miles is the longest I’ve run in a single stretch this year.  I’ve doubled up some runs in a day and run more than 7, but never at a single stretch.  The fact that I was able to clear the first 6+ without really slowing down much or stopping to walk at all (except while drinking, but that’s allowed), gave me a significant sense of accomplishment already.

 

Around mile 7, though, is where I started to feel the distance.  I began checking my watch to gauge how far until the next water stand (keeping steady 10 minute miles really makes it easy to estimate distance).  I started talking to myself to keep the focus and energy up.  I started counting breaths and paces to maintain focus.  I began pulling out as many tricks as I knew how to pull out, plus I was keenly aware that my speed was slowly dropping.  I wasn’t at all out of breath and my legs weren’t really tired yet, but I was beginning to feel it all the same.

 

This is where my quit began talking:  This is too far, no shame in walking, slow down, catch your breath, you have plenty of time to get ready for the half in 2 weeks, just relax, you knew you weren’t ready for this, 7 miles is better than nothing…

 

Mile 8, water, keep rolling.  Check the watch, focus, focus, check the tank, test the legs with a  little surge, ok that was a big mistake but they’re still responsive, keep pushing, keep pushing, don’t stop, don’t even THINK about stopping, measure the breathing, check the stride, lengthen the step, maintain the pace, doing good, doing good, keep it going.

 

You’re not going to make it, might as well pack it in now, no need to torture yourself for 2 more miles, just walk/run the rest of the way, you’ve already fought a good fight, you’re just not good enough to finish today, don’t worry about it, look at those guys running so much stronger than you, you don’t even deserve to be on the road with them, why are you even here…

 

Mile 9 is approaching and I hear music!!  This was just about the best placed water stand on the whole run.  The music was great, THE Jon Walk was there wearing his crown AND gorilla suit with a host of other super heroes.  A quick check and the watch told me I was 90 minutes into the run and WELL within my target of finishing before 01:45:00.  That put a little spring in my step, too. 

 

I start to push the pace, ever so slightly, which really only serves to get my pace back up to where it was when I started.  I check the breathing, and it’s still good.  I’m keeping a nice, steady cadence breathing out on every other left step.  The rhythm and tempo are keeping strong and steady.  (I’ve long since given up heart monitors and this is the best way I know to measure my exertion level.)  5 minutes in and I see the market square area where the finish line should be.  The problem is I don’t know EXACTLY where the finish line is, so I don’t really know when to kick it into another gear.  I surge just a little, anyway.

 

And you know what?  The voices have gone silent.

Where’s my doubt?  Where’s my quit?  Silence.  That’s a pretty damn nice sound.

 

We get on to the curbed streets which means the finish line is close.  I push the pace a little harder.  We turn a corner and I recognize a building.  I push a little harder still.  We turn another corner and there’s the finish line.  I break cadence, switch to the final kick, and press to the finish line.  I stopped getting passed when the curbs showed up and I finally begin passing people on this final stretch.

 

1:40:50.  10:05/mile pace.

 

Tasks for the next week and a half:  deepen the tank a little bit more, get at least 1x 10+ mile run, learn how to push through that wall of exhaustion a little harder.

Breaking the Quit

“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”

 

We all know the saying and have probably heard it so many times that it has lost just about all measure of impact.  That’s what clichés are, after all.

 

But I offer another twist.

 

We all have at least two forces working in us.  One force drives us forward.  We can call it fight, or pride, guts, determination, stubbornness, or whatever else you want to call it.  It’s the thing in us that makes us get up at 5:00am (or earlier), throw off the warm sheets and slide into the cold running kit to go pound asphalt for 60 minutes every morning.  It’s the thing that pushes us on in 200 degree heat with 100% humidity and mosquitoes the size of chickens swarming about.

 

But there’s another force working in us.  This force drives us back.  It’s what makes us hit that alarm button just one more time until it’s too late to run.  It’s the force that tells us it’s too hot, or too cold, or we’re too tired.  Or when our lungs are burning, but the legs are churning, we just decide it’s too much.  Call it what you want—doubt, uncertainty, “the wall”, fear, complacency—but I’ll call it my quit. 

 

I drag my quit around on several of my runs, and I know damn well it’s back there.  Or, maybe I’m not dragging it around so much as it’s stalking me, waiting for me to falter, waiting for me to take the next step at a slightly slower cadence so that it can catch up to me, climb on my back, and whisper in my ear the words I hate to hear:  you’re kidding yourself, you’re not good enough, there’s no way you will accomplish this, you can’t make it, just stop now, stop torturing yourself, what are you trying to prove, who do you think you are, you’re too small for this, you’re too fat, you’re not good enough, you’re not good enough, you’re such a disappointment, you might as well cut your losses now, you don’t want to feel that pain again…  just quit.

Right now I know my quit is a better runner than I am.  I know this to be true because I hear it whispering to me when I run and that insidious whisper drowns out the personal trainer soundtrack and the envelope of complete silence that surrounds me during the most blissful miles.

 

There will come a point, and I know this to be true as well, when my quit will falter and I’ll be able to look back over my shoulder and see it there, gasping on the side of the path, calling out for ME to wait up.  I don’t know when this point will come, but I know it WILL come.

Because it’s not about the dog in this fight, nor the fight in this dog.  It’s about the quit…  and breaking the quit…  and leaving it broken on the side of the road begging for a ride home.

ALWAYS HUNGRY!!

I have been hungry almost non-stop for the last 3 days.  What the hell?!?

 

Ok, so the speedwork last night was good.  I ran 2x800, then a series of 400s.  The first 800 was an easy pace of nearly 5:00, the second 800 was what I consider to be fast at under 4:00.

I trotted over to the small track and ran one slow lap at a 2:30 pace, then launched into 3 faster laps right at 2:00.  The final lap was another slow one at 2:30.

 

The intent was to break the 100m mark on my training log.  I thought I was at 97.79 going into the day and needed a cool 2.25 to put me over the century mark.

 

I was at 96.04 miles.  I was a little pissed off to find that out.  And after I got home I wasn’t allowed to go back out and play.

 

[pout]

 

So, I’m taking the next 2 days off to run the Ten for Texas up in the Woodlands.  I’ll break the 100 mile mark there…  right before the first mile marker.

 

Oh yea, I’m giving serious consideration to signing up for the Dallas Half in December.