Week 16: Taper madness

While you probably won't find this condition in the DSM, "taper madness" is a term I heard this weekend that describes the slightly frenzied condition of marathoners who don't know what to do with all the extra time on their hands. (Top ways to fill time: having paranoid thoughts of injury, and emailing people about paranoid thoughts of injury.)

Random comments from this first week of the taper:

Why taper?
Basically, you've been asking an awful lot of your bones and ligaments and muscles, and they need a break before you ask your biggest favor of them yet. About three weeks before the race the taper begins and you gradually reduce the volume of miles you're running: the number of miles you run each day, and the number of days you run each week.

Perky runners - ugh
Have you ever seen people out for a run really early in the morning, or – worse yet – late at night? You think, man – you must really be psycho about running to be out here at this hour. It's almost… annoying.

One day this week I mismanaged my day and found myself still needing to run 3 miles and it was 9 p.m. The gym closes at 9:30 – not enough time to get there and finish the run. So I put on my super-reflective light-up running vest and went for a post-sunset run around the neighborhood. The shadows cast by the streetlights and the eye-rolling folks out for a late walk made me realize what I had not even suspected: I've become one of them. Pony-tail flying, dodging under tree branches, crossing in front of traffic (it IS a crosswalk), reflective vest, annoying runner girl.

"Crash" returns
I picked up the nickname Crash several years ago after a series of spills and accidents that were astonishing for their frequency and odd circumstances. But up until this weekend, I was pleased to have survived all this training without incident – no slips on the ice, no trips in the snow, no falling off the treadmill (which I did once, years ago; not pretty.)

Yesterday, I totally ate it while running on a dirt recreation path. The palms of my hands are red and scratched, but otherwise no damage. My first instinct was to laugh, but I realized quickly that it sounded like crying and it worried the passersby who just watched me face plant with limbs akimbo across a gravel path. I got up quickly with a round of, "I'm ok! I'm ok!" and kept running, a little embarrassed. The walkers pointed accusingly at rock submerged in the middle of the path. I expect the town will hear about that.

Coincidentally, I got this quote in my email today, one of the daily inspirational running quotes sent by a Marathon 101 classmate:

“Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Ralph Waldo Emerson