Lessons Learned on an 18-Mile Run

Let me begin with a very irreverent but completely necessary...Holy Fuck!  I did it..I God damn did it...my body just ran 18 miles and I am still alive.

For the last several days, I've been dreading today's upcoming training run pretty much ever since I ran out of water last week on a 17-mile odyssey and nearly crawled home dehydrated and deflated.

So, in an attempt to stay among the living, I quickly ordered a new, sparkly purple 70 ounce Camelbak that absolutely did the trick.

Once I had enough agua, I needed to tweak my nutrition.  The last five or six long runs have wreaked horrible war on my intestinal track and rendered me doubled over in pain which is no bueno.  So, I experimented with different gus, eliminated sports beans, introduced real food like beef jerky and parted ways with caffeine.

After my nutrition was in check, I needed to get my play list in order.  I've always run with music, but I needed a shift...a better combo between heart pounding tunes and those that slow me down a bit and focus on great lyrics.

And so it was, I woke up this morning with a cold which is always the name of the game with me, swallowed a ridiculous amount of ibuprofen, drank gallons of Emergency, ate a piping hot bowl of oatmeal and a fried egg....body glided the shit out of parts of me that shall not be named, dowsed myself in sunscreen, charged my Garmin, laced up my Brooks, grabbed my grandmother's medal for protection and headed out.

Along the way, this is what I learned...

At this point in the game, the first 13 miles are quick...relatively painless, redemptive, serotonin filled joy which is why I'm pretty sure that the Half Marathon is the sweet spot.  And unless you're a masochistic fuck who has designs on delirium and disillusionment, you should never run a marathon when the Half is such a beautiful accomplishment.

That said, if you are training for a marathon...this deal is 150% mental.  Do not get me wrong, by 16 miles, my left leg cramped so hard that I actually sang, "Eye of the Tiger," out loud in front of kids playing baseball at the park and didn't give a rats ass.  I envisioned myself eating raw eggs, running up stairs in a grey hoodie shadow boxing to try to remove the fact that I was basically limping down the bike path until my leg got the memo and showed up for the end of the run.

Knowing that it's mental, you've got to know what you're going to tell yourself when it hurts...because it hurts.  Your eyes sting from the salt, sweat, wind combo. Your knees and hips start to throb.  Most of the time, you end up chaffing somewhere and it's not a pretty place.  Your feet swell and hopefully, you don't get a blister or lose a toe nail, but you probably will.  Your form gets contorted when you fatigue and you get really bitchy when the college, 20-something runs by you and you just want to have a label on your forehead that says, "Fuck you...I'm on mile 17."  Or at least, I do.

And so, in the beginning, I thought I would tell myself things like, "You're stronger than you think you know.  You're powerful.  You're beautiful.  You've got this.  You're amazing."  And from time to time, I do...but what really works for me is tough love.  So, often I find myself saying, "Stop being such a pussy.  You've done harder.  You've come this far.  You're not going back now.  This day...this run...this experience is yours and this train is going 18 miles.  Get your ass on board.  Now."

And that's worked so far.

Mostly, what I've learned is that it's hard.  It's really hard.  But aside from giving birth, it's the best feeling at the end.  It's a true...you showed up today, you kept going even when you literally knew you would die, and now you know what it really means to be alive.  Heart pumping, legs crying out, soul believing...you earned your footprint today.

We'll see what 19 brings...and I guess more importantly, what 26.2 feels like.  Here's to sunshine, tail winds, great support, and enough tough love to see me through to the end.

462

This week, I embarked upon week two of marathon training.

The race is scheduled for the first week of May and by the time I get to the coveted date, I will have ran (in theory) 462 miles...in 18 weeks.

I cannot wrap my head around this.  It's 500 miles to Chicago from here.  500 miles to Denver.  Not far off from how many miles my legs will take me this winter gradually building the endurance necessary to run 26.2 miles on marathon day.

And so, while I'm care taking for my three littles, folding laundry, making beds, preparing meals, supervising homework...my thoughts take me to this place...

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"That's $80 bucks and a shit load of time that you could be doing other things with."

"What if you can't hack it?"

"Stop posting this shit on Facebook...it will be that much more humiliating when you can't deliver."

And then I stop, take in a breath and remind myself of my new years resolution...fuck fear.

I'm tired of it.  What a worthless feeling.  Instead, I'm embracing me.  The me I know can do this.

It's good to be scared, don't get me wrong.  It's a phenomenal motivator.  It's also a beautiful feeling on the other side when you nail that which has nailed you for so long and you realize that you are stronger than that ridiculous voice inside of your head questioning your every move.

And so, the alarm goes off at 4:30am...and believe me, it sucks...make no bones about it.  It's early.  It's cold.  My body aches.  I don't want to go.  But then, I lace up my shoes, Eminem comes booming into my ears.  And I go.  And I am better for it.  And I slowly, patiently, hopefully, tick away at the 462 training miles staring me in the face.

And each day, each time, I am changed.  For the better.  And fear is put back in his proper place.  And later as I'm pouring coffee into my cup, icing my foot, I remember that at least for today, I could and I did.

Get Comfortable With Being Uncomfortable

When you've been around the block a few times, you know that pain is a given.

You recognize that what you expected to go down is not...and after anger, tears, bargaining and ultimately, surrender, you get that life's not fair.

And that maturity is simply the state you find yourself in when you accept reality gracefully.

So, it was with an extreme lack of character, grace, and maturity that I attempted to do hill training last Saturday morning.

I'm preparing for a half marathon in six weeks and am keenly aware of how much work lies ahead of me.  The course is hilly to say the least and my legs, ass, and least of all my head is in the game when it comes to going up and down for 13.1 miles.

But while I was running, I was simultaneously aware of how it doesn't matter...most of it at least.  I spend a good chunk of time worried about the balance in the checking account, questioning if I'm doing the right thing by staying at home, fearful that my kids will be jacked up if they don't live on a street with lots of kids or play club soccer.

And in the end, these "worries" will all take care of themselves.  And like hill training, life is simply a series of ebbs and flows; peaks and valleys; good times and bad.  In theory, it's how we recognize the seasons.  We can't appreciate the wind in our hair and the cool breeze of the sweet spots unless we feel the pain in our ass, the stitch in our side, and the overwhelming heaviness of breath.

I'm learning, truly learning what it means to get comfortable with being uncomfortable, uncertain, and fearful.

It's painful, but it's doable.  And ultimately, it's real. 

Son of a #$%*&!

Shoes...check.

Heart rate monitor/Garmin...check.

Hat, gloves...check.

iPod...check.

Motivation...semi-check.

I had most everything I needed for a decent run this morning.  I wasn't going to kill myself.  I just wanted to do 3 miles and be home in a half an hour.  Seemed doable.  Until, my feet hit the pavement and a mile into it, I got really angry.

Why in the hell is this so hard for me?  I have a goal in mind with a plan.  I have a ton of family/friend support.  The weather is breathtaking for a January morning.  I live near lots of great places to gander at while running.  What is wrong with me?

Half-way into my moping, I realized that for the most part, my life is a series of hurry up and waits.  No lie.  Parenting little ones is an extreme lesson in letting go otherwise, you will literally go stir-crazy if you think that anything is on your time table.  So, when it comes to running, I don't know what to do with myself.  Do I start slow?  Do I get cooking out of the gate?  Do I pace myself or go balls to the wall until I pass out?  And more than anything...how do I release and try to just endure?  Because running, at least long distances, is not a hurry up and wait game.  It's a fluid, flowing, get comfy, because we're gonna be here a while deal.

I know exactly why I was intended to run this race.  I've got lots to learn about myself, much of which I have yet to comprehend.  I'm grateful for the pain even though it sucks in the interim.

"I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage. " Friedrich Nietzsche