Rudy. ARGH!

Watching Biggest Loser. Rudy just bested my marathon PR by 14 minutes, having not really trained.

I have many thoughts about this, most of which would reflect badly on me if I posted them.

Central Park Run, Thanksgiving

Early in November I told Jess I needed a month off from training, and promised to get back on the bus in December. Stick season passed with afternoon sunsets and gray mornings, and I put very few miles on my running shoes.

Knowing that my hiatus would end soon, I packed running gear for my trip to NYC Thanksgiving weekend. My sister has the good sense to live at the edge of Central Park, and Friday after Thanksgiving I joined legions of repentant over-eaters for a run there.

The general plan was to circle the reservoir a few times, but that was actually more boring than I expected it to be. I headed into the park near the Lennon memorial, did one lap around the reservoir and started a second lap, but peeled off near the Guggenheim and headed south toward the Met, then west into the Ramble -- which is aptly named and an easy place to get disoriented. I found my way back to the West 80s, and headed down Central Park West back home. Along the way I stopped to walk, stretch, look around.

I mapped it afterward – 4.7 miles, a little over an hour. Today being December 1, I’ve got to find a new commitment to getting back into shape. Possible goal: Begin 2010 running 10 miles comfortably (or as comfortable as possible with frozen snot on my face).

Nadine, Beth, Thao, Chad -- great job!

Philadelphia Marathon started at 7:00 a.m. this morning. Have a great race, everyone!

Half-marathon splits (not sure if this net time):

Chad: 1:20
Thao: 1:53
Beth: 2:05
Nadine: 2:23

Final times - congratulations!!

Chad: 2:39
Thao: 3:43
Beth: 3:59:33 PR!!!
Nadine: 4:48 PR!!!

Tomorrow's the day

Here's how it's going to be:

I'm going to pack a gym bag tomorrow -- running tights, long sleeves, reflective wrist bands. At 5 p.m., I'm going to head out the door from work and hit the road. Three miles is enough, it doesn't need to be much. I just have to get going again.

Update:

Ok, maybe tomorrow....

Life intervenes

My blogging was sporadic all summer, but there is more than laziness and busyness behind the month-long hiatus since my last post on Oct 18. On Monday, October 19, my dad had a serious fall while working at Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego and he passed away early the next morning, October 20.

While I was home in San Diego for two weeks, I tried to run. I did run, a few miles here and there. There's a trail near my parents' house that circles the canyons around their neighborhood. The dry air caught in my throat and I stopped on the path to sob and take deep breaths and try to make sense of a new reality in which my dad is suddenly gone, and I am still here, trying to go for a run.

I haven't been running since I've been home in Vermont. I haven't even seriously thought about it. I imagine being a few hundred yards down the road from my house, wondering if I really have it in me to be out for 5 miles, 3 miles? Would I be able to keep my breath and mind in check, to not double over in frustration and sadness and cry on the side of the road? After staying awake too, too late and thinking pointless thoughts, could I find my way outside while there's light in the morning?

I had dreams of running and doing strength training all through fall and hitting January in top shape, ready to start training for VCM and finally run the marathon I think I'm capable of. Now, I'm muddling through the fall and hoping that January brings a fresh start.

Foundering, in need of perspective

My dad died two weeks ago. He fell in an accident Monday afternoon, and died in the hospital early the next morning. In the intervening hours, I booked a one-way ticket to San Diego and stuffed a bag full of clothes. Most of what I packed was thoughtlessly tossed in; the only things I took care with was a suit of clothes appropriate for a funeral and plenty of running shorts and socks.

I thought running would be a respite, a way to shake off the grief for a short while. The hilly canyons of San Diego's suburbs smell of eucalyptus and scrubby chaparral. Last week, the air was as dry as one could imagine, skin-itching, nose-stinging dry air. Breathe in, breathe out dry fragrant air and try not to think, just concentrate on footsteps, vistas, pace. That is useless advice. The air caught between my throat and lungs, and I felt the full misery unyielding, exhausting grief.

A flat dirt trail encircles the housing development where my parents live, but you have to choose between two extreme downhill routes to reach that trail: one is a long hill, a paved road with sidewalk; the other is straight down, gravelly and treacherous but very short. Coming back up either hill after a run offers two different experiences. The long hill is an endurance effort - you grind away it and it grinds away at you; it feels insufferably long but you look up occasionally and see that you've gained elevation and you're making progress toward the top, toward home. The short hill offers little and demands a lot. Descending it is dangerous, even in mincing steps and grasping the timber fence posts. Ascending it is futile. There is no maintaining a run, there is barely a possibility of hiking the path. Scaling it with the aid of hands and feet is required, it's exhausting and when you get to the top... you are exactly where you would be if you had taken the more methodical, long-term approach. And you have no energy or capacity left to appreciate how far you've come.

Islands marathon, scheming

Saturday was the GMAA Green Mountain Marathon in South Hero and Grand Isle. Cold, beautiful day for race, with bright orange and red leaves still hanging on to the trees on South Street. I had never volunteered at a race before and it was pretty fun to drive water around to water stops and yell maniacally for the runners on back roads where spectators were few and far between. I was at the finish line with time to kill before the first finishers would arrive, so I went for a jog down to Langdon Road, and followed the race course for a couple of miles. I cheered wildly for the first few runners who came by far ahead of the rest with lots of space between them. And then realized that I better start running back to the finish area before the pack comes through -- it would be right to be 'out for jog' among people who are trying to finish a race. (Not to mention super embarrassing to get passed by people who've already run 25 miles.)

Good fun to see Chad and Thao (hi guys!) who both had spectacular times -- 3:05 and under 4:00:00, respectively. And this was just a training run for them! (Jerks.....) Have great races in Philly, both of you!

I had considered running the Islands race to redeem Montreal. I did 16 miles two weeks after the Montreal marathon and had a good schedule of weekday runs. But I got sick that following week and ended up at Dr. Hobbs office the following Saturday morning. Even the teeny, tiny office of Keeler Bay Family Practice has Saturday hours, AND they have rapid Strep tests. Impressive. Dr. Hobbs was jubilant when he announced I did not have strep and I should go home and wait it out. "If you aren't better in a week, come on back and we'll take a second look. And watch that swollen lymph node." Actually the better answer would have been, "Yes! Strep throat! And here are the antibiotics to make you right in no time flat."

I stayed home, and rested, I drank fluids, and waited. The scheduled day for my last long run (20 miles) came and went, and still I felt crummy. All that pissed off, fiery, "I need one more chance!" determination I had after Montreal disappeared into the pile of Ricola wrappers strewn around the house.

The current plan is too keep in shape this fall, maybe run a 1/2 marathon and begin training for Vermont City Marathon in January. I'm going to hit 2010 in the best start-of-training shape I've ever been in. Boo-ya.

Busted

Initial thoughts from a demoralizing weekend:

My goal was4:55, or at least just under 5 hours. My chip time was a defeated, sad 5:50 -- my slowest marathon yet, despite being better-prepared and better-trained than ever.

There's plenty of blame to go around. First, let's take a few cheap shots at the city of Montreal:

Your race has zero crowd support, and many many miles of ugly industrial neighborhoods. Even the people in the residential neighborhoods seemed surprised that a race was going on, as I noticed several times when nearly colliding with people who were crossing the street in front of me. Also, the Expo was lame-o. A handful of sad booths advertising better races being held somewhere else. The participant packet also left something to be desired. No maps of the start area, no cool swag, and every runner got the same shirt, no matter the distance. (Did the 5K runners get that shirt too?)

Second, we examine GI ailments and a common cold making unexpected appearances mid-race:

I felt good the first 8 or so miles, when I got a side stitch. At this point I was two minutes under pace, but the cramp wouldn't subside. I took a bathroom break (I didn't know then it was the first of many, many stops at port-o-lets), and was now running right at pace. By Mile 10, at the top of steep hill, I walked a block to try to stretch out a stomach cramp. I fell apart in this stretch, running and walking, and feeling ill. I was ferociously thirsty, and it seemed like the water stations were impossibly far away from each other. When I could get water I was trying hard not drink too much, but I wanted to guzzle gallons of water and not stop. It was during these miles that a small head cold became difficult to ignore. I'd had a small sore throat for two days, but nothing more than that. After a few miles of running, I had stuffy, runny nose that wouldn't quit. I think the sniffling and post-nasal drip must have added to the churning feeling in my guts that grew worse the longer I was out there. Around the half-way point I had run about 2 1/2 hours, which should have been cause for faith but I was feeling pretty terrible by then: stomach cramps were worse than ever, port-o-lets not nearly frequent enough, a stuffy head and weird earache that felt like I was in an airplane that was repeatedly taking off and landing.

In the second half I tried to rally. "Just do what you did in the first half one more time and you'll be close to your goal." But the farther I went, the worse I felt. At one water stop, I choked on the Gatorade (sorry, "jus") and nearly threw up, much to the alarm of the volunteers there. (How do you say, "Nothing to see here, folks," in French?) By mile 18 I was calculating my finish time at different paces and realized my goal was lost but not by a huge amount. Then at mile 20 I realized I had badly miscalculated my arithmetic and I was only in a position to match my personal best.

But here's the hard truth. The rest of the blame (most of the blame?) falls with a total breakdown of will power:

I could not keep it together in the last 6 miles. I tried commanding myself to run, I tried bargaining with myself, I tried thinking about all those hours and miles of training. Ultimately, I walked. I walked hunched over with a crampy stomach, taking solace in the fact that at least I won't soil myself by running. My friends met me at the corner with 5K to go and we walked that distance together. I rallied only enough to jog into Olympic stadium and across the finish line with a smile for the camera's benefit only. Then I yelled at three pre-teen boys who were sword fighting with plastic tubes and blocking my exit from the finish chute.

There were a few highlights. Tops among them are my fantastic friends who went with me, ran their own races and cheered me on along the way. Congratulations to Liz for running her first race ever, to Maria for running even after she forgot to register, and to Nadine for a great training run before Philly. Thanks to Rhet for driving across New England to get to the race, and for making it to so many spots along the course.

Also, a runner from Dallas, whose name is either Rurford or Berford, or Murford? He ran in a Wonder Bread racing shirt, this was his 27th marathon and he finished a few minutes behind me. At some point during the race, I told him I was disappointed that I was already off of my time goal, and he told me that finishing is achievement enough. I didn't want to take too much comfort in that idea when he said it (mile 14) but later it felt reassuring.

Also thanks to the Globe and Mail newspaper, for publishing a horoscope that predicted I would stun my friends with what I could accomplish. It literally stated that I would not be able to "keep up this pace forever, but this weekend you will be a human dynamo." If only....

Welcome to the '80s, Saucony

As I have written about before, I am devoted to Saucony Triumph running shoes. I have purchased several pairs, from Progrid 4-6. On a few occasions, they've had ugly colors, but if you ask and look around, you can avoid the drab gray mesh with drab gray trim. I have run in the white and sparkly blue, white and light green, white and bright red, and currently white with black and pearly green. All lovely.

I also really like buying shoes at the Fleet Feet store near my work. They are smart, friendly people, they keep track of the shoes and sizes I've bought (not difficult, I suppose, when you always buy the same shoe in the same size) and they give good discounts and coupons.

But today, my allegiance was tested. I went to Fleet Feet ready to buy the shoes that will take me through the last weeks of training and through the race, and I left the store with a pair of socks as consolation.

My dear sweet Saucony: how in the name of all that is decent can a team of your designers look at a running shoe that is trimmed in silver as shiny as aluminum foil, accented with purple the color of grape Hubba Bubba and detailed with reflective black plastic and say to themselves, let's do it! No. No, no, no. This is not a running shoe. This is a bedazzled '80s nightmare.

The shoe fits right, it feels so cushy and springy. And when I ran through the parking lot I could squint enough that the shoe looked fairly normal as I glimpsed it mid-stride. But back in the store, as I adjusted the laces, I couldn't get over it. These shoes are UGLY. I can't get inspired by these aerobicized Cindi Lauper oddball colors.

I know this shoe is available in other, more humane colors - just not at Fleet Feet. (Maybe I should lend my services to the Fleet Feet buyer: "Ugly, ugly, ugly, ooh -- that's a nice one, ugly, ugly...") . So now I begin to scour the city for my shoes in other stores. Wish me luck.

Update:

I found my shoes... somewhere else. They are identical to the white-pearly-green-charcoal trimmed shoes I've been running in for most of the summer. I feel at peace with Saucony again, and I hope I can get back in the groove with Fleet Feet soon.

Hey, Paul Mailman!

So I had to work in Montpelier this afternoon, and ended the day with a run through the Capital City. Started downtown at by the movie theater and went out toward the bike path on the river. As I came around the curve of the soccer field, I caught a glimpse of the track and flashed back to the 2008 Paul Mailman 10-miler. (Insert horror film music here.) The track, the bike path, the bored the finishers, the nice old guy in the van looking after me...... oh the memories. I still can't believe I didn't win that jar of BBQ sauce.

On a happier note, I ran 1/2 mile last night in 3:45!!! Seriously, that just happened.

Gurgling, churning guts

It's not pleasant, but there it is: I was brought down by some kind of stomach virus early this week. Conversation with my doctor, roughly transcribed:

Dr. D: "Do you feel nauseous?"
Patti: "Yeah."
Dr. D: "Do you feel like you have a heavy stone sitting in your guts?"
Patti: "Yeah."
Dr. D: "Do you want to fall asleep on the bathmat near the toilet and not be conscious of how rotten you are feeling?"
Patti: "Yeah."
Dr. D: "Yep, that's going around. It'll pass in day or two."

Feeling much better now, thank you very much. Still a little queasy. Who was I bragging to recently that I don't ever have GI issues like most runners do? Jinx.

Roadside sociology: 18 miles in upstate NY

Rugby fans have an annual date on their calendars: the first weekend in August is Can-Ams, the largest rugby tournament in North America, held in Lake Placid and Saranac Lake. Leading up to this weekend I had to balance a fun annual rugby weekend with getting in a quality long run.

The plan was to camp out for the weekend outside of Saranac Lake, sleeping in Rhet's recently acquired, super-awesome, dark green VW bus. The Pickle. And while The Pickle was perfect for sleeping, I wasn't sure if camping in general was a good way to prepare for 18 miles.

Here's how things worked out: We got up wicked early Saturday, took the ferry and hit the road through the rual, forested northern counties of New York. About 18 miles out of Saranac Lake, Rhet dropped me off on Route 3. How's that for ensuring that you will finish your run?

As soon as The Pickle pulled away, I realized my iPod was still in my tote bag. So having no podcasts to pass the time (4 hours), I kept a catalog of roadside observations:

• People in NY give runners less space than people in Vermont. Oddly, in both places, it doesn't seem to matter where the driver is from, they just seem to behave more generously in Vermont.
• New York has less roadkill. They either have better carnage cleanup crews, smarter animals, or fewer animals.
• New Yorkers throw diapers out the window. Seriously, why do this? You can't pin it all on one badly behaved family - I saw many diapers with different designs on them.
• Keystone Light and Busch beer, very popular.
• Exception to the roadkill observation: in one 20-yard stretch I saw a dead rabbit, a squashed turtle, and tiny yellow and black baby bird. Weird.
• Most curious litter: cardboard packaging of nicotine gum. I imagined this driver tearing open the box and tossing it out the window in a fever pitch. Gotta get the gum.
  

I was expecting to hit the town of Vermontville around 5 miles into the run, a good chance for quick pit stop. Apparently it's not a town, but a place with a few houses and one sketchy convenience store. I ran through it before I realized it happened, leaving another 3 miles to go before another bathroom opportunity.

By the time I got to Bloomingdale (9 miles in) I was seriously famished and badly needed to pee. Thank you Bloomin' Market! Usually I don't notice if I'm hungry while running, though I probably am hungry most of the time. This was different. I didn't feel just a small hunger pang, I wanted to eat huge quantities of food. Peanut butter, bananas, crackers, a side of beef.... I blame this on not eating enough for breakfast, and the hills. Oh, the hills. There were many of them, one after another. This is probably why the Saranac Lake rugby team calls itself the Mountaineers. I should have checked the elevation chart for this run.....

After that break, I was back on the road and getting closer and closer to town. Hallelujah! With just the last couple of miles to go, I literally ran into Rhet and most of the Burlington men's rugby town in the center of town. It would have been easy to stop there, but I kept going and finished the run.

And when I finished, I was back in the center of town standing in front of... a day spa. I went inside. I said, "Do you take walk-in massage appointments, and do you have a place where I could shower?" And they said, "Why yes, of course." And I said, "I'm going to get something to eat. Can I come back in a half-hour?" And they said, "You betcha."

So even though rugby was the purpose of being there, I didn't watch my first rugby game of the weekend till 2 o'clock Saturday afternoon. I didn't mind one bit.

Congratualtons to the Burlington men's and women's teams for doing well in the tournament!

Best 5K ever

Maria has been faithful to her plan of running one 5K each month in 2009. Last Wednesday we were among the... 12?... people who ran a 5K at Sports & Fitness Edge in Essex.

A 5K is 3.1 miles. This is not a long distance. This is a short distance. But this was meant to be my speed workout for the week, and I was actually getting nervous as the afternoon wore on. Could I keep a fast pace for three straight miles? What if I started too fast and petered out to a humiliating walk of shame to the finish line? What if, after months of training, Maria beats me having run only once a month for the last sixth months? I worried. I ate a garlic twice-baked potato. I regretted it. I drove over to the race after work.

The day had been sweltering, up until a massive rainstorm broke open an hour before the start. This turned out to be perfect timing: the skies were overcast, the temperature was cool, but no rain was falling.

The race was two loops with no mileage markers. As we broke from the starting line, I flubbed starting my watch. Dang! Maria kept time for us, and as we finished what I think was Mile 1 I asked for a time check. 8:15. Craaaaap! That's way too fast. We got to the half way mark in around 14 minutes. I got a little ahead of Maria around Mile 2 and then - blast her! - she caught me and PASSED me going UP a hill. I hate hills. We ran together for a ways, and then Jessica's yelling, ahem, encouragement, got me going and I was off toward the finish line. I think I even increased my pace, rather than just holding steady.

Final time: 27:50! Maria's time: 28:36!

I was really psyched for both us. That was a hard, successful run. Thank you to Chiara for coming out in the blah weather to cheer us on. Thank you to the race organizers for the sweet goodie bag. Thank you to Jessica for threatening to make me do a track workout if I didn't give this race my all.

Best mile time: 8:45!

Dear City of Burlington,

The bike path was awesome tonight -- a little warm, but not raining (for a few hours) and great views of the lake as always. Thanks for repaving the section between Leddy Park and North Beach, that was long overdue. Now, not to be picky, but could you put the mileage markers back, pretty please?

Sincerely,
Patti Daniels

I tried my first ever tempo run this evening: jogged 2 miles, ran a 10:00-minute mile; jogged 2 miles, then ran a mile in 8:45!!! I was amazed. Jogged the last mile back to the car. (For the sake of personal bests, I do believe my fastest mile ever was 8:30 at the Emerald Junior High School track during eight grade P.E., 1989.)

Probably not the recommended treatment for a blister

I wasn't sure I would write about this, but after hearing this story, a friend said, "Please tell me you're going to put that on the blog!" And frankly, it's by far the most interesting thing that's happened in training this season, so here goes:

For the last three weeks I've been developing blisters on the ball of my left foot. They hadn't been too bad but the previous week I had a deep blister and it tore open, leaving a good amount of exposed skin. Then came Saturday's long run: hot as blazes and really sunny. (The one day all summer we have decent weather and it ruins my long run. Nice.) Maybe it was the hot pavement, maybe not, but around mile 5-6 I could feel a blister forming in the exact same spot of the recent one. By mile 8, the midway point, each step off of that foot was really uncomfortable. I took a break to fill my Camelbak with ice at the Grand Isle ferry dock and examined the situation.

Sitting on the wooden steps of the information booth, I took off my sock and saw that a puffy blister had formed under the delicate new skin where the previous blister had popped. I pressed on it, but it was too deep and tender to pop it with my fingernails. I sipped my water, I looked around, I assessed my options. Among my possessions that I considered for MacGuyver-like duty were:

- driver's license, which I carry in case the run destroys me and I have to be lugged home by helpful strangers, but the hard plastic edge was not sharp enough to do the job;

- a few dollar bills, but not up to the challenge of causing a paper cut;

- Camelbak's zippered pouch -- seemed too unwieldy and painful to try to get blister caught in zipper;

- fence post! this I seriously considered. Maybe I could pry loose a splinter that was clean enough to jab into my foot;

- splinter idea led to small sharp pebble idea -- seemed cleaner but harder to execute;

Sitting there, cataloging these options, I suddenly understood the easiest, most sterile solution to the problem. I sneaked a look to my left, where cars were waiting to drive onto the ferry. After the last car passed, I crossed my left foot over my right knee, stared down at the blister and went in for kill: I chewed it open with my front teeth, in one strong, precise chomp.

I wasn't surprised that I had the reached the nadir of personal integrity that allowed me to do this: it was hot, I was desperate. I was surprised, kind of impressed actually, by how much water gushed out of my foot.

The people I've told have generally had two reactions to this story: 1) that is vile and disgusting. 2) How the heck are you flexible enough to put your foot in your mouth (literally)?

Sedentary day, yet totally exhausting

7:30 a.m.: arrive at work

(spend entire sunny day inside, in meetings and in windowless production studios)

6:15 p.m.: leave work, get dinner

7:00 p.m.: meeting

9:00 p.m.: meeting ends, leading to more beneficial post-meeting discussion (oh, the irony)

10:oo p.m.: leave meeting. gym closes. no strength workout today.

"That means you're doing it right!"

Track workout this morning: Jess displayed her sadist streak by instructing me to run 800s - two laps around the track, 1/2 mile. Six of them.

The first 800, I felt like my legs were in concrete, that I was slowly slogging through molasses. But when I checked my watch at 200 meters, I was under a minute, and I finished the 800 in 3:54 - my fastest 800 yet. What gives? My brain and my legs are totally disconnected.

I got a little slower with each 800 after that, creeping up to 4:11. (This is what happens when you think to yourself, in a sleep deprived state having risen at 5:20 a.m., 'Oh yeah! All six 800s under 4 min today!')

I took a long rest before the last one, during which Jess gave me advice: it should hurt, it should be uncomfortable. "Sometimes I get tunnel vision when I run really fast." Yes, friends, vertigo IS a sign of success at the track. "Jess, I'm so I tired..." "You should be! It's a track workout! What do you expect?!"

Summoning all my reserves, I focused on form and commanded the oatmeal I ate in the car on the way to the track to settled down, and pushed through the last 800 in 4:01!!!

Afterward Beth and Jess had celebratory comments on the workout. Yes, sometimes running makes your stomach turn, you may drool a bit, and you might limp for the rest of the day. Basically, it's like being in nursing home, running is. But running fast makes you a faster runner, that's the whole point here.

Postscript:

Rhet is out front running 100-meter sprints now. He thinks he can extend his pace to run a 1:20 marathon. Also, he had a churro and hot dog for lunch. He says he has it on good authority that this is good training fuel....

Three long runs

A lapsed blogger, I've been. Here's a recap of the last three weeks of long runs:

Stowe, Vt, Moscow loop- 10.5 miles

Annual Mad River rugby tournament can't be missed, so we made a plan to arrive at the field in Stowe as early as possible and I immediately took off for run. Did you know that Stowe is hilly? My legs were toast after this run. Watching rugby for the rest of the day was fun, but I had to take a nap around 3 p.m.

Grand Isle, Vt, Ferry loop road - 12 miles

The week preceding this run stank - workouts went badly, or didn't go at all. (Note I didn't write about it.) I got some inspiration from Andy Roddick's against-all-odds Wimbledon performance and decided to forget about the week and focus on the long run. I mentally broke up the run into 2 mile segments and focused only on the next 2 miles in front of me. It went really well! This run resurrected the week for me, and has propelled me into a streak of strong workouts ever since.

Grand Isle, Vt, Route 2/East Shore Road - 14 miles

And that streak flagged a bit on this run, on Sunday. A synopsis:

Miles -- Little voice in my head

0-2 You're always tired at the beginning, shake it off

2-4 Now you're into it, this isn't hard

4-6 Should I pick up that fallen garbage can? Nah, keep going.

6-8 Shade feels nice, pretty view of the lake from here.

8-10 Great pace! Cue the theme song to "Rocky"! You are an underdog running hero! Bit breezy though.

10-11 This wind is RIDICULOUS. There are white caps on the water, hold onto your hat (literally).

11-12 Oh god help me. This wind is the running equivalent of those infinity pools. Am I running place, here?

12-12.5 I could hitchhike! Look, she's leaving the farmer's market - she'd give me a ride.

12.5-13 Alright, get it together. Only 1.5 miles to go, just make it happen.

13-13.85 Screw it - walking is exercise, too.

13.85-14 Jog it on home. Just in time to escape the rain.

4:00 mile

Driving to work this morning, I heard a story on NPR’s Morning Edition about high school runners and the elusive 4:00 mile. Only four students have run the mile in under four minutes this in the U.S. Ever.

I can’t help but note that my fastest HALF-MILE time at yesterday’s track workout was 4:04. Pass the Rice Krispies Treats.

Guinea pig update

A tragic and surreal turn of events for the guinea pigs this weekend: while Piggy recovered well from emergency surgery, Porkchop took an unexpected downward turn. She was mopey and lethargic during the week, but Saturday night she declined quickly and passed away, surrounded by stunned (human) friends. Piggy continues to do well but has tired of my constant checking to see if she’s still alive.

This has nothing to do with running, really, except that I was too worn out to do my Monday run. RIP Porkchop.

Guinea pig emergency, running in a dress, and so much more!

The guinea pig
So. The plan was to get to get a good night's sleep, wake early-ish, eat breakfast, take my trash/recycling to the dump, then start my 8-mile run by 8:30 a.m.

I stayed up a little too late reading this month's excellent issue of Vanity Fair. No matter - I woke up and was ready to enact the plan. Before going downstairs to eat breakfast, I stopped by the guinea pig cage to give some good morning hay to Piggy and Porkchop. Piggy loves to have her chin scratched but this morning she shrugged away from it because she had a huge mass the size of a golf ball on her throat. I was astonished! When did this happen? How could I not have noticed?!

I thought about the run, and then checked out the goiter again. I called the awesome guinea pig vet, and 10 minutes later I was in the car on my way to Essex. I still hadn't eaten yet, and at this point I was realizing that my run would not be during the cool morning hours but in the heat of the afternoon. I grabbed some berries from the fridge and stopped at Keeler Bay. (Avoided the Rice Krispies treats; I grabbed a Gatorade and a Power Bar.)

The rest of Piggy's morning was dramatic, but ended well. Dr. Francois Miquel biopsied the large mass on her throat and dramatically produced the syringe full of milky yellow pus to show me that it was, in fact, an abscess and not a tumor. However, to avoid sepsis and poisoning, he recommended immediate surgery under general anesthetic to drain her throat. (Imagine the vet's French accent, "We have to put her under the mask.")

They sent me away for an hour and half, so I aimlessly did errands and wished I had dressed for running - that would have been a good distraction.

When I got back, Piggy was awake with weepy sad guinea pig eyes, a shaved neck and inch-long open incision across her throat. Say what?! "Yeah, we don't suture it so that it can continue to drain." Lovely. They sent me home with a bagful of iodine swabs and antibiotics and bill that was, I must say, much, much smaller than I would have guessed.

So the run. It's now midday. The dump closes at 2 and I still hadn't eaten much. I took care of trash and lunch and then stared at Piggy for awhile, trying to decide if she was being her normal lazy self, or her deathly ill lazy self. She seemed annoyed by my constant attention, so I got it together and went running. (Evening update: she chowed her lettuce, grumbled only a little about the antibiotic and handled the iodine swab like a pro. Go, Piggy!)


The running dress
At the Burlington marathon I saw a runner wearing a dress and got the Skirt Sports web site from her. My order came this week and I tried out the running dress today -- loved it! Glad I ordered two of them. It's very comfortable with a pair of running shorts underneath and it has a built-in pocket for Gu. Another plus: it's decent enough to wear to the grocery store after a run - much better than spandex and a tank top.

So today the running dress and I did 8 miles on East Shore Road, out toward the Grand Isle Lake House (hi KP!). Topographical note: the Islands are NOT flat. People think they are, and compared to the rest of the state it's true. But every time I go running I find myself thinking, that was hillier than I expected. The northern stretch of East Shore? Definitely hills out there. Just saying.


Other highlights from the week:

• On Monday I was to run three miles. I didn't want to run in the evening because I had to run early on Tuesday morning. I wanted to believe I could take time at lunch to run, but really? That's never going to happen. So I got out the door at 6:45 a.m. and ran three really pleasant miles -- clear blue sky, perfect temperature, open fields to the east, open water to the west. Did I mention it was 6:45 a.m.? Renaming the blog, www.ineverlikedgettingupearly.com
• Tuesday morning I woke up at 5:30 to do the weekly interval workout at Burlington High School. Woke up, I should say, to the sound of rain drumming steadily on the roof. Dang. Got out the door anyway, drove 40 min through a downpour to Burlington, and found the track deserted and locked. I knew Jess wouldn't be there this week, but I didn't expect the entire school to be shut down! I ran 1.5 miles on the bike path to warm up, came back soaked but hoping the track would be open. No dice. I contemplated how completely reasonable it would be to abandon the workout, but since I needed to go to the gym to shower and change for work, I figured I could approximate the workout on a treadmill, which I did. This whole, wet morning was mostly a moral victory, rather than an athletic accomplishment: I so did not want to be up that early and out in the rain, and most reasonable people wouldn't have faulted me for skipping it. But did I ditch the workout? No, no I did not. Good job, Patti.
• Saw my physical therapist for the first time in nearly a year. Last summer he helped me along in my injury-ridden attempt at training for Chicago. He was somewhat stunned I made to the starting line, let alone the finish line. I believe his exact words were, "I didn't say it then, but I thought you were crazy for trying it." Awww, thanks Andy. This time I got in there early in the training at the first sign of soreness. Possible bursitis in my right hip, but nothing to worry about right now.

Procrastination

I sooo do not feel like running right now. If I wait any longer the bugs will be out in full force, followed by sunset. Putting it off won't make it better, and won't erase it form the training schedule. I just need to get my butt out the door. It's only 3 miles.

Update:

Did it. Whew.

Track workout: your key to breaking an 11:00 mile

Tomorrow morning I am leaving the house at 6:00 a.m. to meet Jess for my first early morning track workout at Burlington High School. What the heck is '200' anyway?

Her workout plan calls for four to six 200s easy and four to six 200s fast. I mean, I know it's 200 meters, but what does 200 meters look like? Basically it's half a lap on an outdoor track, or 1/8 mile. Thank you, Google!

I'm meant to warm-up with a 1 mile jog, do the workout ("it's ok to throw up" Jess told me, reassuringly) and run another mile to cool down. Krikies!

Jess is aware that I'm a total newbie to this, and I'm aware that I'm the slowest person she coaches by a pace of several minutes a mile. However, the marathon was just last weekend, so a lot her athletes are in recovery mode right now. To wit, Jess wrote me this encouraging note:

"I think it will be just you and one other client so nobody to point and laugh at you." Excellent!


Update:

I was pretty daunted when I walked up to the track this morning and saw how huge it looked. So much for trying to minimize "just half a lap." And I refused to be intimidated by the very nice man with thighs the size of tree trunks who was also there for interval training.

This workout was fun! Yes, that sounds psycho, but I found out that I'm faster (over short distances) than I suspected and I was able to run five 200 sprints without throwing up. Best time: 43 seconds, slowest time: 55 seconds. (I think -- I might be a second off).

For sale: Fuel belt, almost new

Got up early to run 7 miles before heading into town to watch a women's rugby game. For two years I have been convinced that I would not like running with a fuel belt -- a huge elastic thing with pockets for several water bottles. But, I also spent 30 years thinking that I would not like running, so I picked up a fuel belt last weekend at the marathon expo and gave it shot on this run.

Confirmed: I do not like running with a fuel belt.

Here's the thing: it's elastic. Elastic contracts and worms its it way to the smallest shape it can't get itself into. On a human body, this is what people in the clothing industry call the "natural waist." About 1/2 mile into the run I seriously considered returning home, but then I'd have to rechart my course to get the right mileage and I figured I should give it a more thorough road test.

For about five yards, the fuel belt was comfortably below the waistline, and just that small amount of running was enough for the fuel belt to creep up until it was hanging loosely around my middle. As images of Jessica-Simpson-in-Mom-Jeans flashed through my head, I thought, "Ok, big deal. Just see if it's comfortable. Hydration is more improtant than style, sort of."

I gave it a try, but it felt running with one of those old school life preservers encircling me. The more water I drank from the bottles, the more I had to rejigger the calculation of keeping the fuel belt in place. Next weekend, I'm going back to using a CamelBak.

Fake it till you make it

Sunday was the Vermont City Marathon, the race I gamely signed up for last November 1st, the day that registration opened. I was scheduled to run 6 miles, and I had friends who running so I figured, why not put on the bib and run the beginning of the race?

I have to say, race weekend is much more relaxing when you're not racing. I went to the Expo on Friday afternoon to pick up my race packet, peruse the vendors and take note of everyone else's jitters. Saturday passed without much concern, some gardening, some decent attempts at eating nutritious meals. I intentionally did not fasten the timing chip to my shoe to avoid a "DNF" next to my name. Actually, I'm not sure if DNFs appear in the paper the next day, but all the same -- I'd rather register a NIF, "No Intention to Finish." I packed up a small bag, laid out my race clothes, set the alarm clock -- all normal pre-race stuff, but without anxiety or wonderment about how the day would unfold. I wonder if it's possible to channel this feeling as a zen-like state in future races?

Race day was cool and rainy, but not bad for running just a little too soggy. (All due credit to the real racers: it turned from soggy to pretty darn hot and sunny by midday, and probably not fun.) I squeezed myself in among the 4:30 pace group and spent the time before the gun scanning feet for timing chips. How many people around me are really running, and how many are out for just a few miles? I wanted to know. I was behind one woman who wore an astonishing amount of makeup and jewelry but I could get a look at her bib or her shoes. I was relieved when she waved to someone and the tell-tale bracelet of a relay team was on her wrist. I don't remember feeling this judgemental of other runners when I was really intending to run the race.

Ok, so I ran the first relay leg (3.1 miles) and ran the next three miles, all at pretty good pace for me (11:00 miles.) Per Jessica's instructions, I did not overextend myself and risk injury, I slowed to walk/jog and reeled in a few more miles till I was at the second relay exchange zone, conveniently close to where I could drop out of the race and meet up with friends around Mile 9.

The relay zones are very carefully organized and managed: the marathoners are channeled in one direction so as not to be slowed or interfered with, and the relay runners are directed into a scene of mass chaos where they hope to find their teammates and handoff their timing chip. I was wearing a marathon bib, but I wanted to get out of the marathoners' way so I headed into the relay lane. The race volunteers did their jobs, bless their hearts, by trying to get me back into the marathoners' lane. I kept waving them off, and they kept trying to steer me to the left. I was trying to be inconspicuous, but in fact drew more attention from those eagle-eyed volunteers than I ever expected:

Volunteer: "You want to move over to this lane, as soon you're able."
Me: "No it's ok - I'm fine."
Volunteer: "Thru runners over this way!" (Boisterous pointing)
Me: "Really, it's ok - I'm dropping out here."
Volunteer: "Are you ok? Do you need assistance?!"

Now, I'm trying to not disrupt anyone's path, and I'm trying to quietly drop out, and now I have visions of this earnest volunteer summoning the medical team and the staff of the nearby Police Department. And how do I quickly communicate that there's nothing to see hear without being snippy of dramatic? I smiled and waved and cheerfully told, "Everything's great, I'm done here!" He gave me a funny look as if to say, 'Do you get what's going on here today?' Why yes I do get it: RunVermont and 30,000 spectators came out to watch me run a 15K, and even provided water tables with Gatorade.

Thank you, Burlington!

2 weeks - no Rice Krispies treats

Not that I'm counting, but I went two weeks without eating a Rice Krispies treat for breakfast. I celebrated by eating a Rice Krispies treat with my lunch.

My favorite local store, Keeler's Bay Variety, is run by a really nice family and they make really delicious Rice Krispies treats. These are not factory packaged, air-sealed hard tack knock-offs. These are soft, home-made generously large treats lovingly wrapped in cellophane and stacked in a pyramid no one can resist.

I'm not sure how I lived into my 30s without realizing how perfect a well-made Rice Krispie treat tastes with a good cup of coffee, but once that discovery was made I found it very, very difficult to stop for morning coffee and pass up those sweet golden bundles by the cash register.

But now, I must resist. Jess, my training guru, said making the RKTs an occasional reward is ok, and that I didn't need to quit cold turkey. (She stopped herself from suggesting turkey is a healthier choice than empty calories caked in marshmellows.)

Oh, wretched weather!

The goal for this day was to run to six miles. When you on this side of six miles -- the side where you haven't run all winter, where three miles is just slightly uncomfortable, where you have to convince yourself a la Barack Obama that "Yes You Can!" -- you fight the urge to not run, to give in, to find a good reason to put it off.

I struggled only mildly with those feelings most of the morning, because really I knew that I would do the run before the day was over, I just needed to feel the moment was right before I would head out the door. I also needed to feel that the rigor mortis in my legs due to my first attempt at strength training the day before might loosen up a bit. (I worked with a deceptively nice and encouraging trainer named Michele who didn't warn that I was be a cripple the morning after working with her for a mere 45 minutes.)

Back to my intuitive decision-making process about when to run: my intuition stinks. The sunny/overcast morning passed while I dawdled and delayed, and by midday the sputters of rain turned to full downpour. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. Why did I procrastinate? I waited for the torrents to ease up and then forced myself out the door. I ran three miles to the ferry dock on the opposite side of the island, took a long stretch break and examined some informative tourist brochures, then ran back.

As always, ran is no bother once you're out running, it just makes you not want to start. Similarly, when you are that side of six miles -- when you can look at the "6" on your training calendar and not feel doubt and dread -- you feel pretty darn good.

It's a do over!

Let's just start by acknowledging that I fully abandoned training for the 2009 Vermont City Marathon in February. I got off to a slow start in January and by late February I lost too much time to back in the groove. I tried to assuage the slacker-schlub feelings by registering for -- and then not running -- several shorter races, which reinforced the slovenly feeling of sinking into my comfy couch, never to get up and exercise again.

Around that time I was reading a lot of Runner's World with a desperate m.o. of “think it, do it.” In their annual list of must-do marathons, I noticed the Marathon de Montreal among their list of top choices, and I registered immediately. Boo-yah, time to get off the couch!

I’ve hired a trainer to map out a plan and keep me in line. I bought a new pair of Saucony’s (sparkly white and light blue, very nice). I went to the grocery store to buy fruits and vegetables. I dug out my heart rate monitor from the back of my closet. I’ve done pretty much everything one can do to train, short of…running.

So, I’m giving the recent failed attempts at training the old Etch-A-Sketch full erase and starting over. Today, May 11, marks Week 1, Day 1 and I’m heading out to run 3 miles.

You too can a run a marathon in just 15 weeks!

The traditional 18-week training plan was written, printed, posted at home and at work, and ready to be enacted. And then it withered and died when the cold that lingered for the first half of January became bronchitis right around the end of what would have been Week 1. (For the record, I did 2 of my runs that week.)

Week 2 passed with a massively stuffed up head and huge volumes of Kleenex (with lotion, my favorite kind, and one accidental foray into Kleenex scented with Vicks Vapo-Rub). Week 3 was spent coughing up phlegm, sucking down Robitussin and trusting in the powers of Azithromycin.

And on the bright side, I can say that this bought of illness is much better timed than than the last one. I got bronchitis in late September, in the weeks right before the Chicago Marathon. This time, I got it out of the way early. Nice planning!


Have you heard that Week 4 is the new Week 1?
The new training plan cuts out one of the three longest runs (I planned one 18-mile run and three 20s, now down to two 20s), and erases two of the weeks I had planned to take it easy. The only fudge room left in the schedule is the three-week taper, which could be shortened to two weeks if something gets off track along the way.

I ran a few miles in the cold, windy Las Vegas desert on Monday. I ran three miles on a treadmill inside a stuffy, hot gym on Tuesday. This afternoon, I'm planning three miles at Mission Trails, a canyon area in San Diego that I've wanted to check out for a awhile:

Mission Trails Regional Park

I should probably start training now...

I just realized it's mid-January. In November I thought, 'I'll start training after Thanksgiving.' In December I thought, 'Well, sure, if I had done that I'd be waaay ahead of the game. But starting now is just fine.' At New Year's, 'Ok, If I start soon I'll be right on track for normal training plan.' And today the calendar reads January 14. I ran 2 miles yesterday. I should probably write a training plan.

By the way, the forecast is for -30 degrees tomorrow. Yes, Fahrenheit.