Mupdate #8--the final installment

I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for it and I’m finally getting around to writing it. The final Mupdate. Will you be sorry to see them end? Maybe someday I’ll run another marathon just so those of you who suffer withdrawal can have a tiny little fix. ;-) Then again…

The events leading up to the marathon were totally amazing. I’ve never been to such a wonderful and inspiring pre-event meal as the Team in Training pasta dinner. The coaches, staff, and mentors dressed like crazy people in green and purple and cheered us all into the convention hall. It was our own kind of Olympic opening ceremony and it absolutely defies description. Then, while noshing on some so-so pasta (everything couldn’t be perfect after all), we were treated to some marvelous speakers, the funniest of whom was John “The Penguin” Bingham. He warned us about some of the stages we’d hit during the run. The most pertinent to my run the following day were the Brain Melt stage (fairly self-explanatory) and the Bite Me stage (more about this later). We had a cancer survivor, who was also running, talk to us about her journey. This, combined with the tear-jerker pamphlets on every table loaded with stories both wonderful and terrible and applauding our part in helping to beat this thing, really drove home the import of what Team in Training does. My finishing the marathon had very little to do with it but the dollars raised towards beating blood cancers means everything. (And for those wondering if their donation was well spent—the answer is yes, and not only because I did indeed finish.)

Given the inspiring nature of the night before, I was a little surprised to find that I was feeling sort of blasé the next morning when I got to the race. Maybe this is because I’m slow enough that I was way, way, way back from the starting line. Maybe this was because I was still too sleepy to be jazzed up (we hit the race corrals at about 5:30am). Since the race didn’t start until 7 (and I didn’t hit the starting line for another 10-15 minutes), I stood around shivering in the cold and chatted with my fellow runners. I also ate my first gel of the day and true to ornery form, despite having been told to do nothing new the morning of the race, I tried a new flavor of gel. Bad choice! Fruit punch gel is officially as gross as lemon/lime Gu. Even better, I had one more of them pinned to my shirt for use later in the race. Yes, I looked like a running-ready bag lady with energy replacement stuff pinned all over my shirt (another thing I hadn’t tested out before the actual run). As a matter of fact, this became a problem later on as the flapping of the gels annoyed me and then several of them broke free and I had to circle back to get them (okay, only 5 yards or so, but still!). To solve my first stupid “shouldn’t have done it without trying it” thing, I ended up stuffing the rest of them, still attached to my shirt, into my shorts. Now I looked like a total nerd with the attractive eggplant purple shirt tucked in and lumps around my midriff (right where I need extra padding, don’t you know) where the gels were. Even better, I later discovered that the safety pins had torn slits in the shirt but I didn’t notice this until after I’d been trying to wrestle extremely warm and runny gels out of my shorts for ingestion every four or so miles. Yum-o. Not!

So aside from starting out very slowly, as we were advised to do (see, I do listen sometimes!), things were cooking along pretty well. I didn’t trip when I peeled off the sweatshirt I’d bought specifically to dump at the race (the piles of discarded clothing at races is mind boggling but at least the local women’s shelter got a lot of good stuff out of the discards). I felt relatively decent trotting down the Embarcadero, even if we could see very little of the wonderful views we were supposedly passing. I’m not great at looking up from the pavement when I run anyway but I did try to take my cousin’s advice to see the sights and was immediately sorry I had. Ahead of me I could see mile 6 looming. And I do mean looming. There was a huge snaking river of people flowing slowly up the largest hill I’d ever contemplated running. Now I had looked at this beast on the elevation map of the race so I knew it went on for a good mile plus. What I didn’t realize was just how steep something that goes from practically sea level to over 200 feet in that distance really is. And running towards it was not giving me any warm fuzzies. I got about half-way up it and decided that running the whole thing was ludicrous so promptly started walking, at which point, I am sorry to say, coach B. saw me, jogged out, and joined me to keep me running. Yes, I was guilted into running but I got my own back. I had obviously hit an early Bite Me stage like we’d heard about the night before. This is where you are completely irrational and nasty, even to your best friend in the world. So when B. told me I was doing great and asked how I was feeling, I f-bombed him. Yup. My charming and smiling (I kid you not, I was actually smiling as I gritted this out) response was “This f---ing sucks.” My mother would be so proud (and she’s probably horrified just reading about it—so no mom, even a creative person couldn’t have come up with a better or more appropriate word at that moment. I promise.). So B. got me back, telling me he wouldn’t lie to me and I was only about half way up. I wasn’t liking him too very much right at that moment. But him running beside me got me through it and I got to be angry instead of crying so I guess that was a good thing. (And apparently while I was the only one from Charlotte who cussed him out, I was small potatoes compared to a woman from another chapter who needed “encouragement” from him as well. Who knew the coaches took so much abuse during the run?)

The next time I felt a Bite Me moment was when I noticed that I was feeling completely irrational hatred towards the half marathoners at mile 11. This was the point where we full marathoners had to plug on out further than they did and then come back and join them again later in the race. I felt even more serious hatred towards these innocent folks when they peeled off the final time towards the finish and I had to turn my back on them and head out towards the farthest point from the finish in the entire race. Not a happy moment.

I eventually got over hating the half folks, or maybe I just forgot they were even around, and concentrated on running the second half of my own appallingly long race. While I was pleased to be finished with the most egregious hill of the race and knew that the second half of the course was about as flat as San Francisco gets, the early hill took its delayed revenge when my thigh muscles started to spasm at about mile 14. Now these muscles had never made a peep during all of my training. They hadn’t made their presence known even on my 20 mile run. So I was completely and totally disheartened to have this happen. And obviously I didn’t have the mental reserves to deal with it since I immediately started to feel sorry for myself that I couldn’t even make it 20 miles in the actual race without having problems. This, my friends, is where things went downhill for me (although not literally). Runners call it bonking or hitting the wall. I just wanted to cry (or quit, but since I can’t read a map, I had no idea where in heaven’s name I was or how to get back to where I wanted to be: my hotel bed). So I soldiered on in a combination of running and walking, reminding myself, way too frequently, “There’s no shame in walking. There’s no shame in walking.” I probably would have walked more but my legs hurt more walking than they did running plus I had just enough pride left that I wanted to run whenever I saw people lining the course. Heaven forbid they think I was a slacker!

I continued this rather sad mental breakdown version of a run/walk while throwing myself a huge pity party as I went along. The conversation in my head (and yes, it was an actual conversation since I was answering myself back) was not pretty. When we came to mile 17 or 18 and we had a long out and back run along Ocean Beach, I gave serious consideration to jumping the berm and heading back towards the finish line with all the people who had already run in my direction, circled Lake Merced, and were now within inches of the finish line (okay maybe not inches, maybe miles, but a lot fewer miles than I was). But then my inner greediness took over and reminded me that if I got caught, no Tiffany finisher’s necklace at the end. So I kept going, albeit in a state of high dudgeon.

The loop out to and around Lake Merced was dead boring. And by that hour of the day, we had to run alongside traffic, which is never the nicest of circumstances. The lake was problematic for me for another reason though too. It was at a point around the lake that I finally needed to hit the bathroom with a desperation bordering on comical. And without a first aid stop in sight, I actually considered popping down into the vegetation bordering the lake. Unfortunately it was very steep there and I figured my thigh muscles not only couldn’t handle a simple squat but that they’d never get me back up the steep-sided incline so I clenched hard and ran until I found a porta-potty nicely labeled “for staff only” at about mile 22. If someone had tried to stop me from using it, I might very well have strangled them (or shat on them). As it was, it was pretty unfit for anyone by the time I finished with it. The bathroom break also let me know which new and unsuspected body part was going to be in agony after the race was over. Suffice it to say that there are certain times each month when running long distances isn’t ideal for a woman’s body, especially if you keep in mind that anything and everything can cause raw rubs when against the body for that length of time. I valiantly decided that I’d forgo the Vaseline on a stick at the following first aid station because I didn’t think the volunteers would have been too impressed to have me jam it down my shorts for relief when most people were putting it on their toes or legs. I mean, what do you do with a stick once it’s been down your shorts? Hand it back to them to dispose of? Probably not. But I will say that that area is not a nice area to have rubbed raw. So while I disagree that running a marathon is like childbirth, some aspects of mine were unfortunately similar.

When I finally emerged from the seemingly endless loop around Merced, I was truly shocked to be coming from the direction I was. Apparently I’d hit Brain Melt, which combined with my natural tendencies towards directional dysfunction, made for an impressive confusion. When I first saw people running the opposite direction from me, I wanted to cry, thinking that I had to go up and back to wherever they were headed. But in the best moment of the whole run, I realized they were behind me and I didn’t have to go there again. Seems small, but seriously, this revelation almost inspired tears of gratitude. So I headed back down the long, flat, boring stretch of Ocean Beach before the finish. It was at this point that I saw Coach B. again, cheerfully jogging against the flow of the race. I put on my most imperious face and motioned him to come and run with me. No, I didn’t motion with one finger or even curse at him at all this time. I just needed company and wasn’t above demanding it. He ran with me for a short bit but after I asked him whose bright idea this marathon idea was anyway, he said he had to go back and check on a walker with a bad knee but that I was almost there. And with that he peeled away. I think he was afraid I was about to go psycho on him again and the injured walker was a ploy to escape me before the four letter words flew.

I was plugged into my iPod and paying zero attention to my surroundings since I’d been abandoned by B. when all of a sudden, I heard my name shouted, almost in my ear. It was my friend C. from Michigan. She’d spotted me as she walked along and finally caught my attention. Her knee was bothering her and she asked if I wanted to walk with her. Oh please don’t throw me in that briar patch! Of course, I immediately agreed and we decided we’d walk the last two full miles then run the final 0.2 mile over the finish line. So we had a rather nice chat and amble for the end of the race with a small burst of very slow jogging at the very end.
As we crossed the line, I didn’t even look at the tuxedo’ed firemen handing out the finisher’s necklaces but made sure to nab my Tiffany box as I dragged on past. Needless to say, I’ve worn the pretty shiny, silver necklace every day since then too. :-) We wandered a bit aimlessly but I managed to collect one of everything they were giving (t-shirt, smoothie, sandwich, apple, Doritos, water, etc.) and did find my way to D., who gallantly helped take off my truly nasty, sweaty socks so I could put my poor, abused feet into flip flops. My friends B. and K. had found us by this time too so they got to see the carnage first hand. How cool that they came out to see me run (and since they were at the finish, I was actually running at that point!) even if I did miss seeing them and the lovely sign they made as I finished. They took some pictures, even of my feet—although the true horror of the toes didn’t appear until the following morning when the foot swelling went down and the enormous blisters popped up. I thought I looked pretty good in the pictures until D. said that I only looked a little haggard in them. Huh! Of course, as a staff photographer himself, D. left quite a bit to be desired as the one time on the course that he managed to take pictures of me, I was at the very back edge of the frame and blurry. He claims it was because of my speed. ::snort:: I’m blaming user error, especially since I’m not racing *out* of the frame but into it. Thank goodness there are other pictures documenting the whole thing!

Immediately following the race, I told D. to tie me to a chair and beat me if I ever agreed to do another one but did say that I’d do one if MM does one in New Zealand. Now that I’ve gotten some distance from it, I think I might have to do another one someday just to prove I can run the whole thing (well, minus the water stops, which I had always planned to walk). I’ll be sure to pick a flatter one though! Oh and as if it matters: my official time was 5:01:07 (with the 5 being hours). I wasn’t very happy with that given how much I know I walked but it’ll do. Thanks to everyone supporting me along the way!

Mupdate #7 (10/12/08)

One week and counting until the marathon! Were you all worried you wouldn’t be getting one of my delightful Mupdates simply because I don’t have to train all month long? Never fear, I am incapable of having even one run a month without suffering some misadventure I probably should not share but do anyway. And none of you would have it any other way, would you?

So yesterday was officially my last “long” run. Yes, as previously noted, I am now crazy enough to think that 10 miles is actually a short run, hence the quotation marks around the word long. It was not a pretty run. I didn’t feel like I was running like the wind. And I didn’t feel marvelous and accomplished and energized. I had higher hopes for taper runs but as long as I get that feeling next week, I’m okay with the whole plan. But what really stood out about the run, aside from it being the last one, was that I managed to get lost. Yes, I have been running this same route for the past two months with the Team in Training group and yet yesterday, I managed to completely miss a turn and go rogue. This might be more understandable if I hadn’t actually been running in a group of 4 other people but no, I managed to shake off the folks with whom I was happily chatting, cross the street because there was no traffic, and simply continue running on down a road not on our route without noticing I was now alone. I have always been more or less directionally dysfunctional but I think this takes the cake. It probably took me a 1/2 mile to realize that no one else was with me any longer. If that isn’t just more proof that I like to hear myself talk and don’t need listeners, I don’t know what is. As bad as that is though, none of the three running with me shouted at me when I winged across the road and headed off the wrong way. Talk about giving a girl a complex!!! They later said that they thought I was not feeling well and had made the conscious decision to cut back early. I guess that’s an acceptable excuse (just barely). As for my ridiculous, lost self, the good news was that I was on a road I recognized so I didn’t get totally turned around and confused. I did have to run extra bits of older routes in order to make the mileage I was supposed to hit. But I guess running that bit alone gave me a taste of what it’ll be like running alone during the actual race—and reminded me to finish loading the iPod with enough music to keep me plugging along for a good 5 hours or more (there are lots of hills in San Fran, you know).

The last long run also blessed me with my latest crop of new blisters. Wouldn’t you think I’d have developed blisters and calluses by now? Apparently not. I have newly lumpy toes again and can only hope that they all heal before the race so I don’t have to deal with the pain of running through blister breakage, which is a bit like childbirth for the toes (yes, I’ve had this fun once already). Then I’ll be able to work up some new, impressive blisters during the race itself. It will be nice to have finally earned “official marathon blisters” instead of just these mere “training blisters.” I’m sure the official blisters will have more cachet than the appallingly frequent training ones. They’re likely to earn me more sympathy from my family too, right? Well, no, I don’t really believe that either but it doesn’t hurt to hope! Also on the foot front, the second black toenail has decided that simply being decoratively ugly is not enough and now it hurts to the touch. I’m guessing that it’s in some stage of trying to fall off and I can’t decide if that would be better done before or after the race. I suspect my feet will be very grateful for a break after this race given all I’ve managed to subject them to so far. And I’ll look forward to being able to hide them in closed toe shoes so all and sundry don’t glance at my sandaled feet and recoil in horror anymore.

So now my concerns are not on the running so much (well maybe by next Saturday it will all be about the running) but are on the preparations for getting there. I have all my official gear and my unique bar code to get my race bib. I haven’t tried on my shirt but I have great fears about looking like Barney the dinosaur in it, or maybe just an eggplant. Yes, it’s purple. Very, very purple. Not my best color under the best of times but given that I’ve managed to gain 20 lbs. while training (and moving), even worse than usual. I ask you, who gains weight training for a marathon? Ummmm. Yeah. Clearly I can’t do this again or I’ll end up so fat I’m bedridden given the speed I’ve packed the weight on. And no, you can’t fool me by trying to tell me it’s muscle instead of fat either. I may not be able to follow directions on a route I’ve run a zillion times before, but I’m not *completely* stupid. So, in addition to looking like
a giant purple dinosaur beloved only to those under the age of four, I have to decide what all to take with me. With a 5 or so hour flight in front of me (have I mentioned my fear of flying?), my most important decision will be what book(s) to take as I figure the clothing will sort itself out (and you wondered why I never look up to date on fashion!). Is now the time to actually crack War and Peace? Or do I take several smaller books instead? Does USAir charge for luggage? How many books will make my luggage overweight? It’s the important details after all! Besides, anything that keeps me from focusing on the fact that I am in imminent danger of having to put my money where my mouth is (or my feet where my fingers committed them) is a welcome distraction. More important questions: If I listen to my iPod on the flight, will it retain enough of a charge for the *whole* run? How much Advil will it take to make me willing to sightsee in San Francisco on Monday? Are my Gu gels less than the acceptable number of ounces to be in my carry-on luggage (because there is no way on the planet I am risking them getting lost in checked luggage)? How much does the knot in my stomach, now about the size of a grapefruit, weigh and once the run is over will I lose the corresponding amount of weight (she asked hopefully)? If my feet swell on the plane, how long before they will fit into my running shoes again? Is this a valid excuse for not running? Oh, wait, I didn’t mean to mention that last one! I’m sure that everything will come together somehow and even if I have to self-medicate to get on that plane on Friday, I will be there, heading out for a huge adventure and definitely looking forward to Monday (or even Sunday afternoon), at which point I will have a huge grin splitting my face and can start boring everyone with how cool it was to run a marathon—and anyone reminding me of the pain and suffering of the last four months will be suitably and efficiently ignored. :-)

Finally, I would like to thank everyone for their support throughout this journey. With your help, we’ve raised more than $6000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. That’s simply amazing. I never had any doubt that the people I know and love would come through, even in these rough economic times. So a huge thanks to all of you for that. A big thank-you also for the emotional support you’ve all offered me through these months—from encouraging e-mails and CD’s to advice and fun little pick-me-ups in the mail. It’s all been wonderful and made more of a difference to me than you know. So pat yourselves on the back and know that each and every one of you has made a big difference both to me and in the fight against blood cancers. You’re my heroes. (Oh, and if you have anything left, send up good thoughts and prayers for me next Sunday starting around 7am California time because the marathon that was so reassuringly so far off way back in May is apparently starting then and I’m going to have to run a really, really long way. Whose bright idea was this anyway?!!)

Mupdate #6 (9/27/08)

It’s officially taper time. After a very soggy 20 mile run, I am now “marathon ready.” If you were waiting for this announcement to donate, get yourself to my website (http://pages.teamintraining.org/mi/nikesf08/kknox1n5c2) and get on it. No more dithering!

I was very nervous about running the 20 because it is the longest we run before the actual race. It’s also considered the “dress-rehearsal” for the marathon. And since conventional wisdom (is there really anything conventional about running a marathon?!) says that you shouldn’t do anything new for the race, this was the chance to try out clothing, drink, food, and pace without any penalties or pressure. I must admit I’m still wondering what the penalties would be but that’s because I am such a rule breaker. Bwahahahahaha! I won’t lie. Twenty miles was not easy. I felt better doing it than I thought I would but I remain a bit skeptical that I will cheerfully push on and do another 6.2 miles afterwards. The great and anonymous “everyone” says it is so though so I guess I’ll take it on faith and hope like crazy that “they” know of which they speak. Three weekends from now I’ll be testing that theory out. Nerve-wracking to know it’s that close!

So what did I learn from my 20-miler, you ask? Well, I am clearly a slow learner because I did some of the things I’ve already mentioned as no-nos in previous mupdates. For instance, who on earth didn’t learn her lesson about charging the iPod before a long run? Oh wait; that’d be me. Yes, despite learning the perils of a dead iPod with miles to go before I sleep way back in June, I completely ignored my own advice and trotted out without a full charge. Only slightly less than half my run was completed to the accompaniment of my own breathing, the pounding rain, and traffic shushing past. Not very entertaining, I might add. Oh, and before the iPod pooped out, I learned that running in the rain will cause the volume to slide up and down randomly, either because the rain was hitting the controls so hard (maybe it was my blazing speed that made the rain hit so hard) or because so much rain and sweat was dripping into it that the innards were going haywire. Either way, I alternated between being deaf from the volume and having to strain to hear even a whisper above the pounding on the pavement. Good times, I tell you.

I learned that there’s no such thing as too much Body Glide because whichever portion of your anatomy (and I’ll spare you the details—I know! Me, being circumspect. Note this date and write it down. The moon is blue tonight and hell has clearly frozen over) you do not liberally coat with this sticky deodorant-like stick will surely develop raw rubbed bits. If you’re like me, you will be lucky enough not to feel them until you get in the shower and the hot water stings the snot out of them, wherever they have happened to hide on your body. Good thing I do still have some old diaper rash ointment although when I use it I see people sniff at me surreptitiously given the ages of my children and the lack of a baby amongst them. Who knew that running would provide me with a great excuse to never purge through some of the ancient things in the medicine cabinet and by extension validate all the pack-ratted objects we have around here. Okay, maybe it doesn’t validate *all* of them, but I’m going to pretend it does.

I had the no meat the night before a long run bit of advice, which I think I only just wrote about less than a month ago, reinforced again today. I was quite content to only eat meatless pasta the night before but that just didn’t fit with the dinner I had sitting in the fridge so I ignored my own commonsense, tempted fate and luckily didn’t anger the poo gods too badly. I managed to finish the run and make it home before my body went into intestinal revolt. Of course, since I could tell what was coming like a freight train, I didn’t have time to stop and get my usual 4 bags of ice for my ice bath. This is a bigger crisis than having to wobble myself on shaking legs to the bathroom tout’suit when I got home because I didn’t get a decent ice bath and am now more than a little sore. The small amount of ice available in our freezer melted in mere minutes, leaving me sitting in my own lukewarm sweat rather than numbed into a blissful state where I didn’t care that I was sitting in my own sweat. And all because I had meat last night. Stubborn and stupid. Yep, that just about describes me.

Because the race will have different energy/food sources than I have been using on my runs, I knew enough to test them out before race day. See, even the ding-a-lings can learn if they listen really hard! So I went to the only store in all of metro-Charlotte than apparently sells the things and bought myself a bunch of packs. I like Gu (certain flavors) and other squeezy-type gel energy things. I like runner’s beans. I am not so sold on these Luna Moons things that they’ll be having at the race. These things are like gummy bears for the crazy running set. And I have to say, despite my sugar addiction, gummy bears have never been my candy of choice. The packages were hard to open (even kid fruit snack packs have a notched bit to make tearing into them easy) and I had to do what would make my dentist cringe: tear open the pack with my teeth. I was ravenous and so probably looked like a wild animal snarling and tearing into some poor picnicker’s supplies. Then these gummy moon-shaped fruity things (blueberry and watermelon were all I had) got stuck in my teeth and I spent at least the next miles trying to dislodge them but coming closer to sucking my fillings out instead. I will say that by the end of the run, I no longer cared what I was cramming in my mouth and would have cheerfully eaten dirt if I’d thought it would give me an energy burst so the moons will likely be fine. I do have to say I far prefer the chocolate Gu or the Honey Stinger gels to anything chewy though.

I know I’ve previously mentioned that it seems to rain on long runs when I wear a white shirt and this was no exception. You’d think I would have been smart enough not to wear white given that the forecast called for rain for several days. But no, I got cocky when I woke up and it wasn’t raining; put on the white shirt, and basically assumed that the promised storm had lasted a mere one day and had nicely passed through before this longest of runs. Well, clearly Murphy, of Murphy’s Law fame, is somewhere on a cloud laughing at me. Of all the times I have been rained on for a long run, this was one of the most torrential. In addition to having on a translucent shirt by about mile 3, I was also splashed up and down my legs with some of that charming Southern muddy red clay and had a small waterfall draining down my pony tail, along my spine, and into my shorts. I actually had to wring my shorts out at the end of the run. This didn’t help much as I noticed that I left a rather large, smeary, wet butt print on the seat at Panera, where the whole Team in Training group congregates after runs. It probably took a long time for anyone else to occupy that booth after we left it!

One of the most interesting results of all my long runs is a horrible build-up of salt on my contacts. Not only is it annoying to have to rub at my eyes constantly because of the stinging, but the salt actually accumulates to the point I am seeing through a huge blur. Maybe this is getting me ready for the potential of a foggy run in San Fran? Either that or it’s pushing me to Lasik surgery.

I have a new thing in my arsenal against my aching, protesting joints. I haven’t used my body pillow since I was hugely pregnant but I am finding it makes my hips feel ever so much better, just as it did then. This pillow has just been thrown on the bed behind the other, more decorative pillows since T. was born and it is another thing I contemplated throwing out when we moved. But just as with the diaper rash ointment, it has come in mighty handy lately. Even more justification to never throw anything away. You just never know when you’re going to lose your mind, sign up for a marathon, train like a crazy person, and need things that only gargantuan pregnant women or poopy babies need. Fun times I tell you!

Have you ever driven past runners and thought they were nuts? Well, I know I am one of them, especially after today. Here are a few of the ways to tell you’re officially a whacko runner:

1. You don’t even think twice about running in the rain. As a matter of fact, running in the rain generally helps dilute the sweat running into your eyes so in some cases it’s a welcome event. And if it promises to cut the heat, well, bring it on, baby!

2. You once wondered who in their right minds (and this may be the key distinction here) would be interested in running for hours. Now you are that person. You’re actually pleased when you look at the handy dandy GPS watch to find you’ve been running for 2 hours because it means you’re about half way through. And I suspect that it’ll be even longer than that for the race itself. I never liked to go that long without a decent meal before I started running (well, unless I was asleep—about the only thing in my world to trump eating). Now I’m out there food-less, unless you count the weird things runners nosh, for hours and hours and hours at a time, voluntarily even.

3. You find yourself referring to lengthy runs with the word “only” prefacing the mileage. When someone asks how far you’re running that day, the answer is “only 14 miles.” Yeah. There’s nothing “only” about 14 miles…ever. And if you think there is, you’re likely a marathoner or certifiable (although that is a bit of a redundancy). And in case anyone reading this cares, next weekend, I’m only running 14 miles. The following weekend, I’m only running 8 miles. It’s the weekend after that that things get impressive: a mere 26.2!

So I’m officially in the home stretch and get to start my taper. Hallelujah! I suspect the coaches would be unimpressed if I stretched out on the couch and just stayed there for the next three weeks (they are always telling us to stretch though!). Somehow I’m guessing that this is not what they mean by taper. Too bad because I could probably get addicted to some cool cooking or travel shows in that amount of time and I’m sure that minus the bed sores I’d develop, my body would be good and healed before the run after all that time on the couch. Good and healed, soft and out of shape—same difference. :-) Anyway, be thinking of me on October 19th. It’s time!

Mupdate #5 (9/12/08)

I finally had the mental breakdown that everyone has warned me about. No, not *that* one, the one about running! I really should have had my head examined right up front for thinking that training for a marathon would be a good plan when I had to move 1000 miles away from my running groups and friends. But, of course, I signed up for it anyway and it seemed like everything was going swimmingly, even though I spent the summer doing all of my runs alone (and I do like to run in a group). I chalk this up to being in the Upper Peninsula, which is truly the place of my heart, and it being such a perfect and lovely summer there so that even when I was crabby, my attitude was still pretty positive for the most part. Things crashed and burned, however, once I hit Charlotte. My body ached beyond belief and I was lonely and unmotivated. (The blister that tripled the size of my little toe, painstakingly acquired on my last 14 mile run up north didn’t help either.) So I let myself wallow on the couch, staring at boxes for a week and a half. I think I needed that down time to not only heal (the blister and the aching stiffness and the twingy knee) but to get my determination back. A friend of mine has told me all along that running is a very mental sport, which of course means it’s inevitable that mental me would find it, and I didn’t realize how lucky I was to have avoided any mental breakdowns until now. Now I just have to hope that there aren’t any more in the near future since the marathon is a mere month away. There’s just no more time for the luxury of doubts about my capabilities (and that’s doubts about my physical capabilities, not mental capabilities for those of you out there snickering right now—besides we already *know* about the mental deficiencies).

One of the things that really stymied me on my running down here in the sunny South (which has been raining and flooding ever since we arrived—wonder if it’s me?!), was the fact that mapmyrun.com doesn’t seem to function well in this area. Every time I’ve mapped out a run, it has taken me down streets that end in dead-ends rather than continuing on through to the cross streets I’m supposed to turn down. The first time it happened, I sort of stood there gaping at the house that had the audacity to be built right smack where I should have been running and almost burst into tears (reference the mental breakdown stuff above). The second time, I schlepped my way through peoples’ soggy yards along a very busy road with no shoulder to get back to where I needed to be, muttering under my breath the whole way. So you can imagine how disconcerting it was to be stopped by a sheriff about a mile later once I was back near my neighborhood. He waved me over to him and started by saying, “I’m going to make you stop. I’ve had a complaint...” Meanwhile, in my head, I’m wondering if people could possibly be so mean as to complain about me walking through their yards along this scary, busy road (which I was NOT supposed to be on as per mapmyrun.com). I was prepared to burst into tears as my defense but it turns out that the complaint was that about a dog that had charged out at a woman. Very gratefully, I gasped that I’d only been living around here a week and that I’d only run twice in that time so I hadn’t seen any dog. I don’t know if it was the relief or what, but as soon as I walked away from his car, I was super dizzy. Luckily it passed and I plodded on home. I could just see it: Woman arrested for trespassing, claims internet made her do it. Bet that would have made it nationwide and my family would have been so proud!

I assume that most of you weren’t glued to the tv watching the women’s marathon at the Olympics like I was. I was probably the most unsocial person at the bar that night (not that I ever rank far above that anyway but this was the first time I had an excuse!) but I was completely riveted by the whole thing. Those women are simply amazing. I am proud to say that I can run a half marathon faster than they can run a whole marathon. And that’s as close to greatness as I’m going to get in the sport of endurance running, I suspect. London in 2012 is definitely safe from the likes of me. I will say that I looked at their bodies and glanced down at mine (beer in hand—although beer is a carb, right?!) and wondered if I’d ever get to even half as toned as they were. Then I realized my problem (and it wasn’t the beer). I have the caloric intake of Michael Phelps (10-12,000 calories a day) and the activity level of, well, let’s not go there right now as I’m trying to get myself back on track! I will say that eating my weight in junk food the past few weeks has been a bad plan in terms of feeling good. I know I’m a slow learner, but now that I’m trying to be more mindful of the sorts of foods I’m eating, I do feel better. I may not lose another pound until after the marathon is behind me, but I do have more energy for running when my caloric intake isn’t almost solely provided by Frito Lay and Mrs. Fields.

As I get further and further into the crazy long distances, I am discovering all sorts of new places to develop blisters. My toes, despite liberal application of Body Glide to my poor abused feet, are sporting lumps and bumps in spots that prior to running I would have sworn came in contact with nothing besides air. But apparently when my feet swell into stuffed sausage form, every last part of them cozies up to some other part leaving me looking like I’m walking (make that wobbling) around on bubble wrap. Not a nice feeling, I might add! This is why you should buy running shoes a size too big: to account for the swelling. I was initially skeptical but shudder to think what variety of raw meat my feet would look like right now without that extra swell room. As is, they are quite the ugliest feet I’ve ever seen what with the blisters and the development of a second black toenail to keep the first one company. And because I’m so fashion forward, despite knowing the injunction about open-toed shoes and ugly feet, I generally schlep around in sandals when I’m not running, scaring small children and disgusting adults with the state of my gnarly looking feet. If you’re really lucky, I’ll take a picture of the final damage after the race and post it on my blog for the brave, curious, or those who appreciate the graphic nature of televised operations though I may have to post a warning to save the unsuspecting.

While blisters are an unpleasant by-product of all this crazy training, even worse is the horrid stiffness I can’t seem to shake without benefit of a rather ridiculous après-long run routine coupled with better living through chemicals. The folks at the local grocery store think we are the weirdest, partying-est people ever because I stop in every Saturday, soaked and stinking of sweat to buy four family-sized bags of ice. Unfortunately, the ice is for a party of one: me. I have to spend 20-30 minutes wearing a sweat shirt and sitting in an ice bath up to my hips if there’s a prayer in the world of me being able to even hobble, never mind walk like a normal human being, over the next few days. Once I have numbed my desperately screaming muscles into oblivion, I lie on my back and prop my legs against the wall to help drain all the blood out of them. The dog particularly loves this portion of the routine since it means she can freely lick my face, up my nose, sit on my hair, etc. and I’m incapable of escaping her. It’s also leaving some interesting heel marks on the wall in our bedroom. Guess I’ll have to consider painting once the marathon is over or maybe I’ll just wink at people and not explain when they see the marks. D. might appreciate that tack most. ;-) I have no idea if the ice baths and elevated legs are helping that much but I’m not discontinuing them for any amount of money just in case! The thing that is definitely a godsend though, is drugging the hell out of myself. Advil is my friend, and a better friend than I ever knew, I might add. I know for a fact that Wheaties is not the breakfast of champions, Advil is. Given that I never needed pain killers after swimming, I’m more convinced than ever that I was never meant to be a runner. But somehow, I’ve become one. So every morning I take calcium, a multi-vitamin, and Advil. Twenty minutes after my chemical cocktail, I’m actually capable of climbing the stairs and waking the kids up for school (not that they appreciate this, of course). I swear this marathon is making my joints feel eighty years old. Have I mentioned how much I am looking forward to tapering (after the 20 mile run in two weeks)?

Given how beaten down and torn-up my body has been feeling and how mentally broken down I’ve been, there have been a few things to raise my spirits. Two of you (and you know who you are!) sent me new running mixes after the plea in the last mupdate where I admitted to some downright bizarre musical choices. Both of the CD’s made me laugh because they date us so very well. Both the new mixes and my old mix share this summer’s big Kid Rock hit All Summer Long (yes, I have that one mixed in with my Erasure and Johnny Cash—see, I told you it was a bizarre mix) and Eye of the Tiger does nothing if not point out what children of the 80’s we are. But I love my new music and receiving it brightened my days and helped me get back out on the road. If anyone else wants to send me suggestions for music, I still need some, especially since my mix and the two new mixes only add up to 4.3 hours which that could be a bit optimistic pace-wise (about 10 minute miles) as I seem to getting slower on a daily basis. Goodies in the mail aren’t the only things that have helped the attitude. In true girly fashion, retail therapy went a long way towards helping too. All the mileage had worn the treads off the bottom of my shoes so I asked around to find a good running store here. I came away from the shopping experience with shiny, new shoes and Yankz, the newest gadget I absolutely had to have. Yankz are elastic shoe laces which enable me to be like my kids and unlearn the skill of shoe-tying. And they come in some spiffy fashion colors. Mine happen to be royal blue to match my shoes but I did consider the obnoxious lime-green for a minute, knowing that R. would have thought that was the coolest of my choices. Sadly, traditional, old, fuddy-duddiness reasserted itself quickly though. I guess I’m never destined to be the hip mom (and I’m sure it’s tragically pitiful to even worry about it). Un-cool color choice or not, giving the credit card a workout at the running store made me a happy little soul. After all, anything bought there is a necessary expenditure, right? I’m sure all the gadgets and whatnot are a very worthwhile investment in my health. ::snicker:: Lastly, my confidence in myself was also helped by a decent, if slow, long run last weekend. Don’t get me wrong, 16 miles was tough, but I did it and didn’t feel the urge to cry or call D. to come pick me up at any point during the run. What a giant step back into the swing of things!

I have to say I am amazed at how many people I know (and never suspected of being certifiable) or am meeting who have run marathons. I always thought I was a part of an elite minority—not to be mistaken for the “elite” runners who sign up for marathons and do crazy things like qualify for Boston and get to start up front at the starting line, far away from plodding riff-raff like me. Ah well, so I’m not unique. I’ll recover. The good part of realizing this is that this means there are so many people who can give me good advice (and odd but oddly soothing advice like elevating my legs). I do remain contentious though if the advice sounds like a sacrifice on my part. I mean, I do appreciate all the folks who have said that I should cut out all refined sugar these last 5 weeks but if you think that’s happening, you really haven’t met me! I’m quite certain it’s great advice but my body would likely shut-down and refuse all wheedling attempts to make it run if I did something so drastic and unsatisfactory as skipping dessert. After all, being able to eat dessert guilt-free is what got me into this running gig in the first place. And deprivation has never been a strong suit for me. I’m okay with giving up meat on the nights before a long run if that helps keep the bathroom emergencies down to a dull roar. I’m more than happy to carbo-load (the Atkins diet has never struck me as a particularly appealing option anyway) myself into a pasta coma and I will even grudgingly choke down a chocolate milk after a run to help with recovery. But give up sugar? I think not. You just can’t make me! And if sugar’s so darn bad, why does the marathon have a Ghiradelli chocolate mile? (Don’t answer that. I already know it was a great recruiting ploy. After all, I fell for it, didn’t I?)

So tomorrow is my 18-miler and two weeks from now is the big one: 20 miles. In the interest of keeping things fresh for these appallingly long runs, I have resorted to trying to come up with all the training clichés I can remember (and even some I never knew before this) so I can make myself gag (I mean giggle) as I’m out there trying to live them. So far I have:
Pain is weakness leaving the body.
Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.
No pain. No gain.
And my personal favorite (which I have remembered since I was 12 years old and first saw it on the locker room wall at Mercersburg Academy for swim camp):
For a good time, call… No. Just kidding. It really goes: “Upon the plains of hesitation lie the bleached bones of countless thousands who upon the dawn of victory, paused to rest, and in resting, died.” Inspirational, no? Well, I thought so at 12. Now I find it a bit more morbid but it still manages to hover in my warped head as I run along. Any others you all want to funnel my way, I’d love to hear ‘em!

Lastly, for those of you who haven’t glazed over with boredom reading this, if you haven’t yet had the chance to donate, please consider doing so. It’s very easy to do. And maybe those of you who have donated once would like to prove how user friendly it all is and donate again? Just go to my site: http://pages.teamintraining.org/mi/nikesf08/kknox1n5c2 and click the “donate now” button. You can also go here to read all the mupdates you might have missed. I know, I know. All that impressive sarcasm and inappropriate sharing all in one place! How will you be able to stand it? The fund-raising deadline is approaching like a runaway train (so is the marathon itself!) and while I’ve gone above my required numbers, this is such a great cause I can’t stop asking for you to support them. And in the spirit of the upcoming elections, my name is Kristen and I approve this message. (Don’t you think an entire work this long void of lying, mud-slinging, and character impugning deserves your support?)

Mupdate #4 (8/14/08)

Since it's August and my mileage has increased on every single day I get out there to run I figured you all needed yet another update on my progress (and another poke to donate if you haven't yet had the opportunity). I will offer fair warning that this mupdate is in much worse taste than those prior. So if you are easily offended by raunchy or gross stuff or you want to still maintain the ability to look me in the face in person, you might want to skip over this month's offering. You've been forewarned though, so if you are still reading, well, here we go.

This has been an interesting month. I have become an expert in many things, not least of which include aching joints. I have ample time during my long runs to catalog all those things about which I didn't used to be so knowledgeable. For instance, if you want to know the original identity of the smear of roadkill you've just passed, ask me. I'm almost certain to know. I can even tell now just how fresh the splatter might be. I have run past a pulped porcupine, flat bats, squashed frogs, and a rigid mole. I am pleased to say that I have yet to find a snake in the road, flat or otherwise, although I tend to leap like a spooked horse whenever I see anything stringy enough to be one of our no-shouldered friends. I think a snake on the road would be the end of my running career! To be derailed so easily is sad, but only fearing snakes and not minding the gruesome carcasses is a huge leap forward for the girl who hyperventilated and passed out when they brought the fetal pigs out for dissection in high school! More than the car casualties, I will say it did give me great pause to run past a rather enormous section of vertebrae that had clearly been picked clean along the side of a very rural, little-used road. It continues to give me pause that each time I run past and there seem to be fewer and fewer bones left. The fact that whatever animal possessed this enormous spinal column was significantly larger than I am makes me stay just that bit much more alert as I run down that deserted road. Well, more alert or more vocal, one of the two.

And speaking of being vocal, I need to proffer an apology to all the folks in Cedarville and Hessel who have encountered me singing to my iPod lately. Not only am I a poor singer at the best of times, but the fact that I only wheeze out about every third word of the song can't improve Erasure's Abbaesque songs very much. (Yes, I have quite the odd mix on the iPod.) Actually, if any of you are like my husband, you don't think anything would possibly make those songs worse, but I promise you that until you've heard my incomparable warbling, you haven't heard anything! Oh, and I discovered to my chagrin that I apparently have some classical music on my iPod. Now, I have nothing against classical music but I sure don't remember putting it on there and it is about as awful as it gets to try and run to. So if you all have any suggestions for good stuff for running, send 'em my way because I'm sure the marathon folks want me to finish this race sometime this year, instead of slugging along into 2009 simply because symphonies aren't peppy enough to keep me cookin' along. Hey, maybe I should stick with the classical music in spirit and throw Bolero on there at the end! Currently my runs end with Jeff Buckley's Halleluiah but while the sentiment is correct, the beat just isn't motivational.

For those who don't already know, I had to head home in the middle of the last month to move from Detroit to Charlotte. Neither place holds a candle to the UP in terms of beautiful running weather. It's generally been pretty perfect up here this summer. I think I've only run in long sleeves once and I could easily have been happy in short sleeves by the end of that run. Of course, as is usual with the changeable weather up here, I have also been caught in some deluges. (I was going to say rain showers but that doesn't even come close to describing what I've been out in some days.) The good news is that the rain (and sometimes hail) always passes through very quickly so I have yet to do an entire run in miserable weather. Of course, the quickly passing rain storms leave behind their own set of fun. Once they pass through, it's hard not to notice that my shoes squelch badly; the Body Glide isn't as effective, leaving some rather raw bits I don't appreciate; and most entertainingly of all, I look as if I am the single entrant in my own personal wet t-shirt contest. Surprisingly (or maybe not), I get more honks and waves from people when I am soaked to the skin. Of course, this generally happens on my long run days when I am out for literally hours so the number of people who see me being a little bit exhibitionist is much higher too. On the other hand, when I see some of the folks slow down and crane their heads to catch a glimpse of who is loony enough to have been out running when it was clearly going to dump an ocean on her head, I want to remind them that the wet t-shirt thing is humiliating and to please just keep driving. I know that I'm in a see-through, formerly white t-shirt, suctioned to my skin as I plug on down the highway. I am also unfortunately aware that such a sight isn't nearly as appealing as it was when I was 20 before babies and gravity had their way with me. I am, however, pleased to say that running bras are as good as anything at putting bits back where nature originally placed them so at least the sight isn't as horrific as it easily could be.

The wet shirt problem (and if we're being honest, I sweat so much that I often don't even need the rain to sport such a thing)suctioned to my body is highlighting another problem I've encountered this summer though. This marathon training has made me ravenously hungry and I eat anything I can find in a tri-state area. It's disconcerting and, frankly, a bit disgusting too. I wasn't paying too much attention to it until I noticed that I have certainly gained rather a bit of weight (and I'm grateful as can be that the scale in the cottage is broken so I can't tell just *exactly* how much weight) and if that's not bad enough, I am getting slower on my runs. I have since connected the two since I am having to carry that much more pudge around with me. Not a happy thought. Wonder if that entire box of fudge is the culprit? Humph! Back to more mindful eating it will be, although being able to roll down the hills in San Francisco might make for a nice break for my legs every so often.

I do actually have to eat on my long runs to keep my energy up and I know I've already waxed rhapsodic about the Gu gels but I can't leave them out of this update since I'm using them more than ever. I tried other flavors, wondering if I was stuck in a rut with my chocolate flavored stuff but while the Tri-Berry was acceptable, the Lemon-Lime nearly had me scraping my tongue in disgust. Even worse is that the Gu and water combination inevitably makes me belch (loudly and repeatedly) for a while--just imagine that combined with my stellar singing ability here for a minute. As hilarious as that image probably is, try to feel some sympathy for me since after the Lemon-Lime Gu, I spent the next 4 miles urping it back up for repeat performances. Not nice at all. If I'm going to have to taste things more than once, I prefer chocolate, thank-you very much!

You're probably all wondering how I feel about the long runs I'm doing since I don't really mention those any differently than I do the short (in comparison) runs, right? I think I must be a truly warped human being because the truth of the matter is that I am thoroughly enjoying the long runs much more than the short runs. I know I have often been told that I am mental but this probably seals the deal. And I have been experimenting with ways to make the short runs more palatable. In general, it takes me almost 2 miles to stop looking like I'm the stunt double for the tin man from The Wizard of Oz. I don't know why I can't loosen up any sooner than that, even with stretching, but I have yet to find a way. So the farther I go, the looser and happier my joints seem to become. Of course, I must also admit my shortest runs of the week are the morning following the long runs so I'm likely still recovering from those when I wobble out there. I'm also generally recovering from some sort of excess on Sunday morning--sleep deprivation, an evening at the bar, or even just a massive "I made it that far" ice-cream sundae--which doesn't help. I will say that the night I was out very late and didn't get much sleep actually made for the easiest short run the next day. Perhaps there hadn't been time for every muscle in this aging body to clench up in protest against any further mileage. I might just test this theory again this weekend! ::grin::

I have to test all my running theories up here where I run alone because I am apparently beyond gross when I've been running, which isn't nice for a running partner to endure. Charlotte is much hotter and much more humid than Northern Michigan for sure but I don't know that it makes a significant difference in the odiferous end result that follows my runs. It's probably a good thing that I come in in the boat alone and go home in the boat alone after the runs if my long run in Charlotte is anything to go by. Since I don't know Charlotte yet, when I was down there, D. drove me to the long run and dropped me off while he went to the gym for his workout. He was finished long before I was and spent some quality time sitting in Panera using their free wi-fi while I finished up. Once he figured I'd had enough time, he came over to the Team in Training group and chivvied me along to the car. I wasn't quite ready to leave (hadn't stretched, was still talking, etc.) so it served him right to have to get in the car with my smelly self. He hopped in, closed the door, and then looked over at me in horror, throwing open the window and announcing: "You stink!" Well, duh! But I guess that means I should stop doing my runs up here and then following them up with errands that bring me into direct contact with other people who have even the slightest sense of smell. Might have to shower and change before I hit Cedarville Foods from now on (especially if I'm in one of my wet t-shirts)!

In all my solitary runs up here, I have come across quite a few deer grazing by the sides of the road. Normally they raise their heads and stare their liquid brown stares before finally deciding that they should turn tail and run. It is sort of embarrassing how long they stare at me plodding slowly up the road at them before they think it prudent to leap gracefully off but today's run took the cake. Not only did I see a deer, but this one clearly thought the goofy looking two-legged thing making its way down the road at a snail's pace was absolutely no threat at all because this deer didn't even deign to run off! It literally poised itself for flight and then thought better of it as it stood and watched me run past it close enough so that I could have reached out and patted it on the head (yes, it didn't even turn tail!) as I went past. I didn't look back after I passed it because I didn't want the knowledge that I was so lead of foot that I was absolutely no threat at all and that it had stopped watching me and gone back to placidly grazing beside the road.

I also need to mention the serious torture I put myself through when I run. It is truly cruel and unusual treatment to be forced to run past a bakery emitting lovely morning smells each and every morning. Worse yet, on the long runs, since I run through two different towns, I get to run past two equally lovely smelling bakeries. It takes every last ounce of willpower I have to keep running instead of stopping and indulging. And if the bakeries aren't enough, I have duly noted all the houses I plan to stop in for breakfast some day. Some people obviously make a consistently wonderful, full breakfast, in direct contrast to the serve yourself cereal thing at our house. Do you think the inhabitants would think it weird if I knocked on their door one morning to introduce myself and invite myself in?!

And now to the ultimate runner's indignity: pooping your pants. (I warned you this one was graphic!) I had always heard that running would help get your system moving and while I knew this to be a truism, I never did understand the people who were so terribly concerned about where every bathroom around their route was or worried desperately about pooing themselves. I mean, I don't really push my body that hard that I'd lose all control of my bowels, right? Well, yes and no. I was out on the 12 mile run this past weekend and I was cooking along at just under 10 minute miles, which is a pace that I am completely and happily comfortable with over the long haul (once I get through that first 3 miles). All of a sudden though, I had to poo and I had to do it NOW! Given that I was in the middle of nowhere (remember the deserted road with the vertebrae on the side of it?), this was not a happy thought. I tried running a bit further, although just where I thought I was going to conjure a porta-john out of the blue, I don't know, but it was quickly obvious that any further clearly wasn't going to be an option. So I crashed into the woods, scrabbled at my shorts and barely averted a disaster. However, I had bolted into an area lacking in good leafy cover for clean-up so I gathered what I could find and did the best I could. I was, at this point, only 8 miles into my 12 miles so I was less than pleased about the state of my rear as I resumed my run. Wouldn't you know that two miles later, I had to go again--IMMEDIATELY. Off into the woods I scooted again. Not that I had the forethought to look (because when you are concentrating so hard on keeping everything slammed shut there's no room for other thoughts), but I lucked out and chose a much better area in terms of leaves. I can now tell you which leaves are most comfortable on sensitive hind-ends and which have tickly little fur on their stems and should therefore be avoided at all costs. I am sad to say I can also now understand why some cultures think it impolite to shake hands using the hand you use to wipe your bottom. Gack! I didn't want to touch my water bottle or my Gu after my little wilderness excursion so it was a darned good thing that the run was almost done. As bad as all that was, there was more indignity to be had. When I got home and hopped in the shower, I discovered that 4 miles post potty stop was too long for my poor bottom. It was chafed beyond all belief and the hot water from the shower actually *hurt* it. If you are laughing at this point, know that someday I might be able to join you but for now, I have to live with the memory of smearing some rather delicate, rubbed raw bits, with bag balm and that's just no laughing matter. Too bad my sister had gone home with her small children and their diaper rash ointment. That would at least have been slightly less mortifying (I think).

I know I've made training for this sound like such fun you all want to hop out there and join me, right? I have my longest run ever on Saturday if anyone is up for the challenge. That'll be 14 miles for those keeping track. I've never done that before as the half marathon at 13.1 miles is as far as I've ever gone. So think of me out there at the crack of dawn, probably sporting a wet t-shirt, with the unimpressed wildlife staring at me as I hit an all-time high distance, hopefully without needing a non-existent bathroom.