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Posts from the ‘Marathon’ Category

Aug 23

Bag check-in goodbye?

So the big news today in the running world is that organizers of the New York City Marathon have decided not to allow bag check at the beginning of the 26.2-mile journey. A bag check has always been part of the NYC Marathon, which begins at the Verrazzno-Narrows Bridge in Staten Island.

Those bags were then transported to Central Park in UPS trucks, much the same way the San Francisco Marathon transports bags to the finish line for each of its respective races.

Nearly 50,000 runners line up for the NYC Marathon each year.  If I said people were mad, it might be an understatement. They are scathing to the point of signing an online petition asking the race organizer, the New York Road Runners, to reconsider the decision.

I have to say, I have really mixed feelings about this decision. On one hand, I love to have my bag of stuff at the end of a race. It’s a comfort. It also contains dry clothes, deodorant and everything else I need to feel fresh.

My husband usually brings me my bag. (Except sometimes he doesn’t, because it’s a magenta-colored Nike Women’s Marathon bag that he hates carrying. When I purchased a silver Lululemon one earlier this year, he even decided that it wasn’t man enough, apparently to carry. I’ve learned to make due until I get to the car.)

I don’t run huge-ish races. The biggest I’ve done is the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego Marathon in June. I had been warned about bag check at that specific marathon. Too many people, too many bags, too many chances for something to go wrong. So I didn’t bag check.

I did once at the San Francisco Marathon during the 2nd Half Marathon. I ended up waiting in a line where a guy basically disregarded me standing there for 10 minutes while he gave everyone else their bags.

At Brazen races, I frequently use bag check because it’s easy and I trust the volunteers there. I also trust the other runners. No one at a Brazen race would take another person’s belongings. (I feel as if it’s a different kind of racer there, really.)

I’ve bag checked at few other races, though. Not even California International Marathon.

Why?

I don’t really have anything to check.

My “race stuff” is pretty standard.

Shoes. Water bottle. Shirt. Capris. Long sleeve (in the winter). Socks. Gu (distributed between the water bottle and my iFitness belt). iFitness double belt. Timing chip.

Basically I take very little to the start. When I wear a long sleeve and strip it off, I usually tie it around my waist. The times I’ve used bag check is when I decide to take sandals or a warmer sweater with me.

I did so at the Big Sur 21-miler. I carried the bag, they provided, to the start with a Luna bar, an apple and a hefty sweater to the start. I didn’t want to run in the sweater (it was cotton), but I also didn’t care if I forgot it. Good thing, too, because I almost did.

I think what outrages me more about the option of bag check being taken away is that, for the price paid, it really seems as if a “poncho” at the finish isn’t enough. Really? Replacing bag service with a poncho and a phone center? I don’t think that’s a solution either.

Can I live without bag check? Yes. I’ve learned to do so pretty well, too.

But I appreciate it, especially when signing in to a race on race day (when I’m usually handed a shirt). I also appreciate it when I know my husband won’t be able to come and get me quickly (this has happened a few times).

I’m not sure I’d go as far as signing an online petition and leaving nasty Facebook comments, but I definitely understand the outage.

Jul 22

A second chance, a second try, another marathon

I hate it when bloggers make signing up for races a big deal. There’s a bit of the “I-just-signed-up-for-a-race-and-have-to-make-a-big-deal-out-of-it” moments when you come to a blog and the title of the post is “an announcement.”

So this is not an announcement. Not even close. It’s a mere statement of fact.

I signed up to run the California International Marathon on Dec. 2.

A second year of it. The 30th anniversary. Another marathon to try to bring down my time. I failed miserably in San Diego, despite months and months of extra training.

I “accidentally” ran a marathon at the Brazen six-hour endurance run in early July. But it wasn’t based on time and with the heat, I struggled at the end.

CIM presents a perfect opportunity to run a net-downhill course and revisit the route that, let’s face it, I don’t remember much of after mile 18. I’m hoping to remember it all this year. I’m also hoping to run better, both in how I feel and in how fast I run. So I signed up. I’m excited, but also nervous. I’m lining up races until then, especially since I’ll be training for the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Jose Half Marathon and the Nike Women’s Half, both in October.

I also, because I’m crazy, signed up for a half marathon the weekend after the San Francisco 1st Half Marathon. The Brazen Summer Breeze race is “flat and fast.” And I did it because I’m taking the week off of work. What a better way to take a vacation, right?

I didn’t think this year would be full of races, but life, and some other stuff has kind of changed things for me. So I’m looking forward to running hard and long into the next couple months. I’m looking forward to getting to the start, and finish, lines at CIM in December too.

And so the training begins…

 

Jun 10

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Second marathon sophomore slump: Part II

I usually don’t start out posts with the “after” photo, but felt in this case it was necessary. The above photo comes from near the finish line. I’m beyond spent at this point. I don’t even think I can describe how tired I am at this point. My feet are killing me. I’m near tears. I just wanted it to end.

At 4:45 a.m. I woke up to my iPhone alarm. I usually have to set two, but since I didn’t sleep at all I didn’t even need the second one. I rolled out of bed and started getting ready for the 6:15 a.m. wave starts. I was in corral 25, so I’d be heading out later, obviously, than 6:15 a.m., but I still wanted to be down to the start area with enough time to go to the bathroom (necessary, always) and warm up.

I ate an apple in the hotel room and most of a Chocolate Peppermint Luna bar. I also wrapped my feet. My shoes had been giving me a lot of problems, more than my Nikes ever did. I kept thinking I’d break in the Saucony Hurricane 14s before the marathon. By the time I hit the streets of San Diego, I had put about 80 miles on them alone.

Broken in? No. Not at all.

My pinky toes were completely raw. I also kept getting blisters on the inside of my foot. All of this would come back to haunt me during the 26.2. But at 5 a.m. I thought wrapping my feet with moleskin and then doing a once around with tape would make the world better.

Thomas drove us away from the hotel on the less than 10-minute drive to the starting line.

The portable toilet lines were ridiculous. I’ve seriously never seen so many people waiting to use the bathrooms. This was a complete 180 from the Oakland Half Marathon earlier this year where there ALWAYS seem to be ample bathrooms and no lines.

The bathroom wait ended up being about 30+ minutes. That was actually fine, if only because the waves went off every two minutes or so. By the time I was done using the bathroom, there were still six or more waves in front of me. I lined up with Corral 25 and set my Garmin.

Nerves were taking over. I downed a Vanilla Bean Gu before I crossed the start. It didn’t help soothe my stomach.

I figured they would get better once I started running.

Nope.

But either way, close to 7 a.m., we were off and running.

It started out promising.

Mile 1: 10:59 — I was hoping I wouldn’t start running and suddenly have to go to the bathroom. Thankfully I didn’t. The first mile is downhill straight until a quick turn onto University Avenue. I hit Mile 1 and was feeling OK.

Mile 2: 11:08 — The first water stop comes pretty quickly here. I bypass it because I’m carrying my 20-ounce Amphipod water bottle.

Mile 3: 11:12 — We’re in Balboa Park for parts of miles 2 and 3. It’s beautiful. Nice architecture. I’m still feeling OK. We’re passing the zoo. This is also the point is seemed like every guy on the course seemed to be running off into the bushes to go to the bathroom. The women on the course talked about how they were envious they couldn’t do that.

Mile 4: 10:54 — This is what split the course between the half marathon and the marathon. I suddenly felt so much more comfortable with fewer people around. A little more than 7,000 were running the marathon. There were more than twice that many in the half marathon. I took a Gu, hoping the fatigue I was feeling would level off.

Mile 5: 11:10 — Lots of street, few big sites.

Mile 6: 11:10 — We ran through Petco Park, which was pretty nice in itself. This is also the point where I started to feel tired. The Gu seemed to be working too.

Mile 7: 12:48 — And then, just like that, it wasn’t working anymore. A gradual incline started here. My body wasn’t having it.

Mile 8: 14:52 — Things went from bad to worse here. The stable group I was running with was suddenly gone. I was still moving up an incline. Then I had to go to the bathroom. I was lucky that this mile wasn’t longer really. I got lucky and ran into a portable toilet that was behind a performer’s stage. I don’t think we are supposed to do that, but there was no one stopping me. And by the time I ran out of the toilet, there was a line of people waiting to use the bathroom.

Mile 9: 13:15 — We got onto Highway 163 at this point, which is banked for most of the surface. I wasn’t down for the count yet.

In fact I still looked pretty happy despite slowing down again on the inclines. Everyone was starting to look a little fatigued here, but I was still in good company.

Mile 10: 14:12 — I had done a Gu at mile 8, like planned. But my body wasn’t having it. I did another here.

Mile 11: 11:37 — The Gu, with a nice long downhill allowed me some speed here.

Mile 12: 13:58 — But not long enough. By this time, the tape I had secured around the moleskin was wearing into my foot. I’m not talking about a slight wear. It was a painful searing. I didn’t want to stop, though, because I already knew I was quite a bit behind my goal.

Mile 13: 12:07 — The Gu caught up with me, but my half marathon time was somewhere around 2:41. I was spent. Two runners tried to help my spirits, but I wasn’t having any of it

Mile 14: 13:36 — The slowdown continues as we start moving back uphill.

Mile 15: 11:37 — I did another Gu here.

Mile 16: 14:30 — Here we start an excruciating out and back area. By now I can tell my foot has been rubbed raw. I also know my baby toes are completely trashed. This is also the point where I stopped at an aid station and had a woman re-tape my foot. I thought, maybe, it was at mile 19. That’s where I nearly melted down. A nice woman at a medical tent along the way told me that I could give up. But if I did, the sweep crew would be nearly two-hours behind. I had a moment here where I almost did give up.

Mile 17: 13:32 — Gu. This was probably the most depressing part of the run. I was so tired. I didn’t want to go. Every step was painful. I wanted to cry.

Mile 18: 13:17 — More of the same.

Mile 19: 13:07 — I started to feel as if this run would have an end. I did another Gu, before I was supposed to, but I kept going.

Mile 20: 11:42 — The Gu propelled me through a beautiful park area. I couldn’t help but be propelled to move forward.

That’s about the point in the run where I knew that if I put my mind to it and forgot about how much pain my feet were in, I could get through it. That would prove harder than I thought, though. The photos are my purchases from MarathonFoto. And they get better, just wait.

Mile 21: 12:07 — “Keep moving,” I kept telling myself. More Gu. I’m surprised I finished with one Gu left for all I was taking down.

Mile 22: 13:19 — This part was discouraging. We moved from one island, full of support, onto another where it seemed the crowd thinned out so much that we were the only ones there.

Mile 23: 13:43 — Then, I couldn’t do it anymore. My feet were killing me.

Mile 24: 12:56 — The pain took control.

Mile 25: 15:05 — Those photos? Yeah. That happened. I didn’t care who was taking my picture. It hurt. My legs felt fine. But my feet were not having it. Not at all. I was so mad. I was mad at myself. I was mad at my shoes. I was mad at the run itself. I was just hoping to finish at this point. I knew I wouldn’t be breaking any records. I knew I wouldn’t be better than my previous time. I was pissed. I can’t even say how pissed I was. It was depressing. Considering I’d spent more time preparing for this run than the first, I was depressed. I did a Gu.

Mile 26: 12:28 — It’s here, I decided to pick it up again after another Gu. Yep, another. I just kept taking them down.

Mile .2: 3:53 — Pushing it here. Trying to run it in. The finish line seemed so far away.

I ran over a very uneven part of road/sidewalk here. You can see it in the photo on the left. That one little imperfection at the end just added insult to injury. Finally, after all that pain, I crossed the finish line.

Garmin time: 5:34:26

Chip time: 5:34:14

I walked in a daze through the finish area and collected my medal. I had enough energy to smile for the photo at the end, but no more. I was done. It was over. And I hated nearly every minute of it.

So what went wrong? I want to say everything. My training was strong. I went out conservatively.

The shoes were the biggest problem. I had blisters everywhere at the end. I could barely stand after I sat down. The bottom line: After nearly a month of trying to break my Saucony Hurricane 14s in, I was getting nowhere in making them work for me. Instead, they put me in excruciating pain the entire way through. My small toes were rubbed raw. I had gnarly blisters. I even had two blood blisters. It was a mess.

Something I wish I knew before the marathon: My shoes weren’t working for me.

I’m a big believer that the bad runs make the good ones all that much better. But this was ridiculous.

My husband tried to reassure me that I should be proud. I ran 26.2 miles. He was proud. Yet, all I feel is defeated. Defeated by a distance that only months earlier I ran 14 minutes quicker.

I contemplated this as I sobbed on a curb. Thomas had forgot my backpack with flip flops in it. I didn’t want to put my shoes back on. So I sobbed while he went and got the backpack. It was kind of like Pink’s “Just Like a Pill” when she says “I haven’t moved from the spot where you left me, this must be a bad trip.”

And it was a bad trip indeed.

Like that, it was over. I waddled to the car. We started on our way home. Nearly eight hours in the car later, and suddenly realizing I had a gnarly leg sunburn, the weekend was over. I’ve never been so thankful in my life to have taken a Monday off.

I wish I could say I learned something from this run about my training structure or what I need to do in the future. But the truth is, nearly a week later, I just want to put it out of my mind.

I’m thinking it will take me awhile to get over the disappointment my second marathon.

Jun 9

Second marathon sophomore slump: Part I

To say I’ve been dreading writing my race recap for the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego Marathon would be an understatement. Part of me was hoping, maybe I could just not write anything about the race outside of saying that it sucked. It was not fun for me. It made me work every minute. And I was miserable the entire time.

But that wouldn’t be much of a race recap.

I keep having these “I should have known” moments. I don’t do travel races all too well. I proved that during the Big Sur Half Marathon in November and again during the Big Sur 21-miler. (Or maybe I’m just not up to par for Big Sur races?) Somehow I managed to do OK with California International Marathon last year, though.

The plan was that we’d go down to San Diego on Saturday, early and head back after the race on Sunday.

So we ventured down Interstate 5 in the wee hours of the morning. We hit the road around 5:30 a.m. We sped past Los Angeles, which is about five hours south of where I live, before the noon hour. And, after only two stops along the way, we made it to San Diego sometime after the noon hour.

The happy buzz kind of started to end there as we hit traffic along Harbor Boulevard in downtown on our way to the Convention Center where the expo was happening.

I’ve been to three Rock ‘n’ Roll expos so far. This one was the biggest. This was also the biggest of the three races I’d run.

The check in process was simple. I was handed my blue “marathon” bib.

Rock ‘n’ Roll generally has a pretty efficient system. Bib. Shirt. Reusable backpack.

I got lucky this time with the race shirt. It was a female size. And it even fits good. My one from Pasadena seemed to run a little large. It’s also a nice blue color and basic enough for me to want to wear it again. (I should do a post on what makes race shirts wearable, seriously, because I have quite a few I want to send in and have a quilt made from because I don’t wear them.)

The biggest thing I noticed about the expo was that there was a ton of free stuff. Free milk. Free swag. Free Jamba Juice drinks. Free cake. Even free tuna fish.

Speaking of tuna, I even got a photo with Charlie the Tuna, the mascot from StarKist Tuna.

So that’s a pretty awesome photo. I walked around for about an hour, making a purchase of a 26.2 shirt at the Brooks booth and a new roller for my legs.

The new roller was actually on sale. It’s called a TigerTail and it’s somewhat like my Stick roller from another expo. But it has a solid roller in the middle instead of the beads. This is amazing because my Stick roller pinches me every now and then.

That’s what it looks like. I’ve used it multiple times since the marathon. I’ve also taken it to work to roll my legs out when I need to if I am sitting for too long. At $25, I feel like I got a deal on it.

I didn’t spend too much money at the expo. I just didn’t see anything I really needed, outside of the TigerTail, and maybe some items here and there. I should note that I bought a new container of Glide, but not the name brand. I had forgotten my Glide at home and my fat little arm on my right side has been chafing pretty badly. My arms and gut are the first places I gain weight and where it usually stays, so even when my stomach is looking more svelte and my legs are bulked out, my arms are still chubby.

Before the exit, the videos of the course were playing out.

It was then I had a moment where I realized “I’m running 26.2 miles tomorrow.” And I was nervous. And scared. I’d like to think it doesn’t how many times you do this distance, the  likelihood is that if you are more mortal, less Olympian, you never really full comprehend how long it is when you sign up for it.

It’s a bit of a distance.

We left the expo and headed into the Gaslamp District in San Diego for cupcakes. For me. Because I love cupcakes and I knew specifically where a shop was since I was down in San Diego overnight for an American Society of Newspaper Editors conference in early 2011.

Then we headed back to the hotel. It’s there that a headache started to flair up. But I went and had a pasta dinner, usual fuel, and decided not to head out for a night on the town. Instead, I’d try to tuck in early and see if I could catch up on sleep.

That’s where my experience in San Diego all goes down hill.

I got into bed at 9 p.m. and couldn’t sleep. I turned every which way. I put on the fan for white noise. I was comfortable, but I wasn’t sleeping.

So I laid there. For seven hours. Eyes closed, but never fully falling asleep.

There was nothing I could do about it. My mind kept wandering. Every time I thought “this will be the point I’ll fall asleep” it didn’t happen. I just kept staring at the ceiling.

There was no way I wouldn’t be exhausted running this race. I knew it then. I’d woken up at 4 a.m. the morning before and hadn’t slept the entire night. When my alarm clock went off at 4:45 a.m. I considered not running.

But I’d trained so hard. I’d come so far.

Part of me thought I could pull it together and get it done. And that’s all I thought about as my husband drove me to the start line. My mind wandered. My stomach turned.

It wouldn’t get any better going into the race.

 

Jun 4

San Diego was beautiful, but painful

Every single one of my worst thoughts came true. But I blame my downfall on a bad case of insomnia. I didn’t sleep the night before the race. At all. I probably shouldn’t have even tried to run 26.2.

But I did. And I hit the wall early. And it got ugly.

A day later my feet are blistered. My legs are sunburned and sore. And I’m overall exhausted.

My finish time: 5:34:14.

That’s 14 minutes slower than California International Marathon. It’s enough to make me rethink my focus, my training and my attitude. My husband says I’m over thinking it. I probably am. But I want to get better. Not worse.

I was exhausted by mile eight. And I just couldn’t pull the magic back. There was not enough Gu in the world to save it.

I nearly quit at mile 19. But a really nice aid station volunteer persuaded me against it. So I pulled it together, got back out there and finished.

I have some bad splits. I was 12 minutes behind the entire way. But I made it.

My husband, who bought me the little bear above, was proud. I finished. And on some days, sometimes that’s what it’s really about.

A full race report to come later.

Am I disappointed? Yes. But I also ran 26.2 miles. And I pretty damn proud of that too.

 

Jun 1

Psyching myself out

Tonight, I’m packing my bag for our early morning and through the day trip eight hours south for the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego Marathon.

I’m nervous. I’m anxious. I’m a little scared.

I think I’m most nervous because I’m afraid I’ll be slower than the 5:20:41 I ran for the California International Marathon in December.

They (as in everyone who urges first-time marathoners not to set goals) say that the first time you should aim to finish. The second time? Well, there are no recommendations for goals for a second time.

I’m hoping to run more consistent. I’m hoping to finish (again). And I’m hoping it doesn’t turn into a sufferfest. It could.

I think I’m psyching myself out a little. I kept feeling pain in my legs this week. Then I went for a now-regular massage before I do a long run and suddenly realized my arms were bruised from it (sign of a good massage?).

So I keep thinking to myself: This is going to be all bad.

That’s not helping me at all really. I know that, of course. But I also don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how I’ll feel at mile two. I don’t know how I’ll feel at mile 22.

It’s all still a mystery. And it’s making me very anxious.

Breathe deeply. Breathe deeply. Remember the Gu.

We set off early tomorrow, around 5 a.m. And I’m waking up early the next day to run 26.2.

Again. 26.2 again.

Whew.

I’m packing my bags. I’m trying to get everything together.

And I’m trying to get it together. And keep it together for the run.

May 28

Believing in the run

It’s been some time since I went for a run in Mountain House. A really long time. Between other obligations, school ending and work being crazy, I haven’t been able to venture out there much for a nice run.

I’ve missed it for some time.

So when Jennie asked if I wanted to head out there for a run I was really excited. Today has been a really nice day in the valley, but as we got further into the day it started to get a little windy. Then a lot.

It was windy at my house when I left. Mountain House sits right along the Altamont, a part of the Diablo Range that separates the valley from the Bay Area. So if it’s windy in Stockton (where I work), it’s even windier in Tracy. And then it’s even crazier in Stockton. I shot some video of today’s crazy wind.

The little fountain at the main park, where we meet, was blowing every which way. It as crazy.

I sent a text to Jennie: “Crazy headwinds!”

And I knew we were in for it, which meant that by the time we hit the backside of the community, we were being hammered by the wind. We talk a lot when we run, which means we were kind of yelling at each other throughout part of the run where the wind was really hammering us.

Our “warm-up” miles for two and three were both over 12 minutes. Our best mile was 10:23.

More crazy wind for your viewing pleasure.

But we kept putting one foot in front of the other. Moving along. Into mile four. Then five. And, finally as the  wind came back to hitting us again, we got to six and I turned off  the Garmin.

A good run. By definition? Not so much, but by my standards, yes.

In six days I run my second marathon: 26.2 miles of insanity.

The marathon is a distance that runners are taught, rightly so, to respect. It’s a distance that’s not easy by any standard. And it’s one that some people, myself included, struggle with. My first marathon was a 5:20:41.

I’ve trained harder since then. I’ve run more. I’ve had two longer-type runs in this  training cycle. (One of them was the Big Sur 21-miler, hills and all.) I’m also on track to hit 100 miles for May, including an 18-miler a couple weeks ago.

I’m ready. I’m also hesitant.

The run is long. It’s also hard. But I feel better going into this race than California International Marathon in December.

Then I had only done a 15 and a 20 miler. I also didn’t average nearly as many miles as now. I feel like a stronger runner.

Does that mean PR marathon magic next weekend? I can’t say.

A couple years ago Nike had a campaign with a simple slogan: “Believe in the run.”

I had to say I give marathon training a “let go and let it ride” approach, but the three weeks before the day of a marathon if you haven’t busted your butt in training runs and made yourself a suffering mess along the way, there isn’t much you can do at that point.

I have. More eight milers than 10, yes. But more longer runs too.

More focus on recovery. More focus on building strength. And, since I had to give up swimming a couple months ago, more focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

My ugly feet, yes. And the wrapped baby toes. I’m still getting used to my new running shoes. They wear my feet a little differently than the Nike Equalons.

It’s now time to believe in the run. The run I’ve prepared for. The one I’ve come close to in training.

Today’s six-mile taper run was without Gu. With little water. I survived. I didn’t push too hard, but I made it work.

It’s just time to work on relaxing now, until Saturday when I wake up early in the morning and head to San Diego. Then wake up earlier the next morning for a 6:15 a.m. start (though my wave will likely start much later.)

So my mantra, worth repeating, for the week starts now.

Believe in the run.

May 4

Mourning a loss

I went to my local Fleet Feet store earlier this week to find something, anything, to make my IT band feel a little better after my 21-miler in Big Sur. I realized, midway through my run on Sunday, that I’d put about 400 miles on my shoes since I took them out of the box before my marathon last year. Yes. I haven’t switched shoes in five months.

I kept thinking: I better get a new pair of shoes when I’m done.

The problem with running shoes is that you don’t think they could be hurting you, or the root of the problem. I love my Equalon 4+ shoes. I’ve loved them since the first time I tried them on. That first pair was purple. Every subsequent pair has been blue. I have probably eight or nine pairs lying around my house.

So it saddens me to say that Nike has discontinued the model.

I wasn’t having a particularly good day anyway, but this knowledge frustrated me in a way I cannot describe.

Maybe I can.

Yes. I did something like that in the store. I’m so embarrassing sometimes. I was sad. I was angry. Over shoes. Running shoes.

It happens. I know. I’ve read other bloggers lament about the loss of their running shoes.

Finding the perfect running shoes are kind of like Prince Charming putting the glass slipper on Cinderella. It doesn’t matter if the shoes are not attractive, mine weren’t, or if they seem a little dorky, they are perfect when you run miles upon miles.

I wore cheap cross trainers before my Equalons. I had back aches. My body felt out of alignment.

I had a moment when I bought the Equalons. My credit card had one too with the $140 price tag.

Once I thought about switching shoes. I tried on five different pairs, with a very patient sales associate, only to go back to the Nikes. The comfort was there. So was the stability. The Nikes were my shoes.

And now they are not.

Since I needed new shoes anyway, I was fitted on Tuesday for a new pair. A similar pair. One that had all the workings of the Nikes. That didn’t include Nikes, which seemed more flash than function. Two years ago I would have wanted the flash. Now I understand I need the function.

So I introduce to you my new shoe choice:

The Saucony Hurricane 14.

So far I’ve run two treadmill runs in them. I think they are working for me, which is what I was really, really worried about. The Hurricane 14s are lighter than my Nikes. They are also very breathable. The mesh at the toe is literally that, just mesh. You can even kind of see through it.

I’m hoping to go for a longer run outside this week. (Don’t I say that every weekend? Yes, yes I do.)

But the big test will be the Mermaid Run Sirena 18 I’m doing next week. I’m planning on wearing these since, so far, they haven’t required any “break in” time.

I’m sad about the Nikes. Definitely. I feel like I’ve lost an old friend. But I’m hoping the Sauconys treat me right.

May 2

A tough training 21: Part II

My alarm clock at the motel hit close to 3 a.m. and i knew it was time to wake up.

I knew if I fell back asleep I’d wake up tired. I knew if I tried to even hit snooze at 3 a.m. I would make it to the bus. So I rolled out of bed and headed to shower. I’m one of those strange runners who actually showers in the morning before my runs. Just a quick one. And I usually don’t do my hair or anything.

I went to the bathroom. I hit the shower. And I got dressed.

I’m going to be real for a minute: I hate not knowing when I can next go to the bathroom. It’s likely a side effect of taking medication for high blood sugar for three years, but I don’t like not knowing where the closest bathroom is. That makes this next part important.

I ALWAYS get really nervous before my runs. To the point that I have to go. ALL THE TIME. And I was worried, severely worried, about the 45-minute bus ride up the coast. I didn’t know what kind of bus I’d be on. I didn’t know if we’d be stopping anywhere (we weren’t). I was extremely worried.

I know this might be TMI, but this is a real issue for runners.

By the time Thomas dropped me off at the Monterey Marriott at about 4:20 a.m., the buses were lined up.

The volunteers were all really, really helpful. The marathoners were still boarding there buses, so we waited until the 21-milers were allowed to load. I headed into the Monterey Marriott and there was a bathroom right in the lobby. (WOOOOOO!)

Then I realized that we’d be boarding the tour buses, which also have bathrooms on board.

I was THRILLED. It’s hard to explain how thrilled I was. My husband swears up and down I have issues with going to the bathroom too much. He’s also become quite accustomed to it. Others don’t understand though.

I briefly chatted with the woman next to me. Really just to ask her if I could turn off the light. And we were off.

Into the night.

It looked all black.

Seriously. Everything.

We drove quietly up Highway 1. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t. All I could see were taillights of the buses in front of us. I vaguely could make out the waves off the coast. It was eerie.

I read somewhere that the bus ride is disorienting. It is. Very much so. And you think the entire way as you are driving: “I have to run all this to get back to where I started.” It’s kind of daunting.

We made it to the staging area and there weren’t a ton of people there.

And it was still dark.

I opened my bag and pulled out an apple and part of a Luna bar. That was my breakfast. I jumped in a portable toilet right when I got there too. (Never did have to use the one of the bus, which made me really glad.)

And I got some stretching done too.

So I’m actually on a rock. Apparently it was a really popular rock. People kept walking all over me. I wasn’t even in the way.

There were bananas, apples and other fruits. And coffee and water. I don’t drink coffee, but I took down a couple cups of water. I felt a little dehydrated.

As it began to get lighter, a yoga session started. I didn’t partake, instead doing my own stretches. A lot of people did.

At about 6:40 a.m. we were lined up near the bottom of the driveway at Andrew Molera State Park. The road in front of us was 21 miles to Carmel.

The timing mat was actually at the top of the hill. I power walked up it instead of running.

Then things started moving. We took off right at 6:45 a.m.

And just as quickly as I started, I realized this wasn’t going to be easy. I wasn’t doing it for time as much as experience. And it wasn’t an easy path.

All uphill at the beginning, a nice downhill, a huge uphill and rolling hills (and banked streets) the rest of the way. Wow. A nice, easy Sunday run? I think not.

And then there were the headwinds. Yes, headwinds. On Hurricane Point (the tallest peak on the elevation chart) I was battered back and forth across the road. It sucked. My glasses were covered in dew. My long-sleeve shirt was wet at one point. I didn’t even bother taking if off until about three miles before the finish.

I battled. In certain places it looked, in my Garmin data, like I was moving very, very slowly. But I kept going.

Because I was treating it like a training run, I stopped and went to the bathroom whenever I need to. That added more than 10 minutes on to my time.

But it was cold. Damp. Windy. And my head was raging the first eight miles.

Raging. I couldn’t shake the headache.

I just kept moving, hoping it would go away. And it did after about my second Vanilla Bean Gu.

By the way, my savior of the day was the Gu. I wouldn’t have made it without the Gu.

My overall average was 13:14 miles.

The steepest hills were the longest miles. I’m not proud that I took that long. But it happened. I’ll own it.

Thomas was expecting me about the 4:30 time mark.

I came in at 4:42 and he was yelling for me nonetheless. My feet had blisters. My ankles, after running through the banked road in the Carmel Highlands, were now cankles. I’m not even kidding, my ankles were so inflamed I can still not bend them properly.

And my IT band, which seemed to hold out pretty good during the run, started throbbing the moment I stopped. It was kind of like it just knew. It knew I was over. It was pissed. Two days later I’m still dealing with the aftermath of that.

Big Sur isn’t an easy run. And it’s definitely not a true “training run.” But it was beautiful. I didn’t take a lot of photos, obviously, because I was too enraptured in enjoying the beauty in general.

The finish line was crazy busy. I sat down for a good twenty minutes and then realized if I didn’t start walking around, I likely wouldn’t be able to. So I got up and lost Thomas. I realized suddenly that  I had checked a bag with a sweater. I went and grabbed that too. And then Thomas and I decided it was time to leave. I come for the run. I don’t often stay after.

So we started walking off, but not before he shot a last photo of me near the finish.

And I was happy with how it all came together. Sure, I didn’t have the best time. But I got through a very tough training run. I knew that the only way out was through. That’s what I focused on. The good thing about living close to Monterey, only within three hours, is that we hopped back in the car and made our way home after the race.

By 3:30 p.m., I was home on the couch resting my legs with ice.

When it comes down to it, there were likely better ways to get my longest run of the training cycle in. I know that. But I think Big Sur offered a nice challenge. I faced nearly every weather condition on the run and still came out OK. And stronger for it.

Next up? An 18-miler closer to home on May 12. Then Bay to Breakers before the end of this marathon training cycle.

I’m not 100 percent confident in my marathon conditioning so far, but I’m feeling a little more prepared after the Big Sur 21-miler.

May 1

A tough training 21: Part I

Let it be known that I’m crazy sometimes. I often expect a surprising positive results when I know the situation will not dictate it. This is usually the case at work. They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Therefore, sometimes, I’m insane.

Signing up for a 21-mile run along the California coast where two miles of it, near the beginning nonetheless, are straight uphill when my training consists of running small rolling hills is definitely a sign that something is very wrong with me.

“It could be fun,” I thought when signing up for the run last December. It was my “I just ran a marathon” gift to myself. Yeah, I used to buy shoes, now I sign up for other runs. I’m crafty like that.

So as the weeks rolled down and I was unable to get in my 15-mile training run preceding the event this weekend, I only started to worry slightly. It was a training run, after all. I was using it as a training run.

Except my husband came along. And we stayed overnight. Thank God too, since my wake-up was at 3 a.m. And we ate a nice dinner. It was very much like my marathon more than six months ago (wow, it’s been that long!).

So we packed up some overnight goods and headed to the Monterey Peninsula for the Big Sur 21-miler.

It was, for the most part, a nice drive. We headed through the Bay Area, on Highway 101. It was about a two hour plus drive. No stops. That’s surprising for me, since I usually have to go to the bathroom on long drives.

We headed up Highway 17 near Santa Cruz, then to Highway 1. The same Highway 1 that leads from Carmel to Big Sur, but we didn’t get that far. We stopped in Monterey where the sun was shining and it was warm.

Oh hey ocean! I’ve missed the open water so much since I left Oakland in 2007. I used to be able to see the San Francisco Bay everyday from the campus at University of California, Berkeley where I earned my masters degree in journalism.

We hit up the expo first thing once getting into town.

My husband is not like me at all when it comes to making things simple. He had to find a place to park that was free. When I was with my mom for the Big Sur Half Marathon last fall, I parked in the first garage I found. Bam. It was $6. Simple and easy. No worry about getting a ticket.

Thomas dropped me off. He went and found a free spot blocks and blocks away.

I’ve blogged about my tired little legs as of late. I didn’t want to walk those blocks. Especially if I knew I’d be running 21 miles the next day. But that’s how he is. (Also note that he is likely one of the most patient men in the world, I do appreciate that too.)

The expo was much more packed than the half was last November.

This was my one clear photo from the shirt pickup.

I went upstairs and found the single line for the 21-miler. It appears only 675 people finished it, so I understand the need for only one line. I just happened to be behind three air-head type women. I’m sorry, I usually don’t call out other people, but these chicks not only didn’t bring their bib numbers to the counter. Then they let another woman get in line with them. Then they asked why they couldn’t pick up their bus tickets right there (it was a three foot walk, seriously). Then they had to stop and take a photo right in front of me. COME ON. Get your stuff and be done.

So I got my bib after all that.

And, more importantly, my bus ticket.

I’ve never felt so much like Charlie from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”

I was lucky enough to score a late boarding ticket. “Brown ticket” for “Monterey Marriott Loading.” That meant I was on one of nearly the last buses heading up the coast. Score. I could sleep in.

Little did I know I wouldn’t get to. (THANKS INSOMNIA!)

I went downstairs for my awesome Big Sur 21-miler shirt. It’s light blue, with purple writing. I love it as much as I love my Half Marathon shirt from last November.

Confession: I used to think the Big Sur shirts were so cheesy. I don’t anymore. Big Sur International Marathon has a classic sense to its designs. Nothing frilly. Nothing too fancy. Basic, yet beautiful. Always with some part of the Bixby Bridge on the marathon-style gear.

Thomas caught up to me down at the expo. I was checking out booths. I was hoping to score some new compression sleeves. No go. I didn’t even find anything else other than my race shirt saying “21-miler.” This was like the Nike Women’s Half where everything says Nike Women’s Marathon. Yeah, it’s the event name. I get it.

We did a little expo wine tasting. I even bought a bottle of $20 chardonnay with the marathon logo on it. It was a commemoration bottle. Nice.

But I found chocolate.

A very fancy, expensive chocolate store.

And I partook. Yes, yes I did.

They were expensive. I needed a disclaimer. I still have some left. I’m good at restraint. Not really, though. I ate too much today. Way too much. I promise to be better tomorrow and go back to the diet.

Then we headed to the motel. It was nice. Not too fancy. Not the Hyatt my mom and I stayed at either. Thomas, again, doesn’t like spending a lot on things. He booked one of the cheapest, albeit nicest hotels he could find. It was OK. I always bring a comfort blanket, a tip I got before the marathon, to help me sleep.

On suggestion from one of the Big Sur volunteers, we took some free appetizer coupons and headed to Fisherman’s Wharf where a bunch of marathoners, 21-milers and other event savvy types were headed.

We selected Isabella’s. Our free appetizer was fried artichokes. So good. We opted to eat outside. It wasn’t cold at all. And they were going to seat us in a corner in the actual restaurant. I didn’t really want to sit in a corner when the advertisement said: “All seats are ocean view.” Yeah, not so much.

We were greeted by a seagull who wanted to get all up in our business. He was kind of funny, so he didn’t bother us too much. Thomas even wanted to pose with the seagull. I called him “Buff.” He seemed like a combination between our dog Beau and our duck Duff, so Buff seemed appropriate.

I ordered a margarita. Between tired legs and nerves, I thought it was necessary. And I didn’t drink so much it would be detrimental to the run.

And I ordered beef. A steak. I usually order chicken. Or something lean.

But something caught my eye on the menu.

Rib Eye with a baked potato. And butternut squash risotto. Yes please.

It was delicious.

Then we walked the beach for a little bit and headed back to the hotel.

It was such a beautiful day. The wharf was close to our motel. The dinner was good. Overall, a nice night. We went back to the motel and ate the chocolate and I drank a lot of water. No Diet Coke even. Too bad that didn’t help me fall asleep.

Then I did what I typically do the night before a run.

I put everything out to make getting ready in the morning, at this point 3 a.m., easy for the next morning.

I put my head down at 9 p.m. I thought I’d fall asleep fast based on the fact that I was tired from the drive and seemed to be drowsy. I took a couple Ibuprofens because of a slight headache and laid down. Thomas watched television for a while then went and hung out in the bathroom to let me sleep. He watched Netflix in the bathroom. See, a patient man.

At 10 p.m. I looked at the clock. I still wasn’t sleeping. I tossed and turned. I took another Ibuprofen. I couldn’t sleep. Thomas crawled in bed sometime after 11 p.m. and I kept falling asleep a little, then waking up.

I must have collectively slept for two hours when I looked at my phone and noticed it said 2:52 a.m.

I’m up, I thought. Let’s do this.

And with two hours of sleep and the headache that didn’t seem to be disappearing, I started getting ready for my longest and most difficult training run ever.

 

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