Get up on this!
I may not have been blogging steadily of late, but I promise I have been running faithfully. And my mantra the last two weekends, as I’ve wound up the last of my long training runs, has been Push It.
Because of all the disruption to my intended schedule I still had not run any 20milers since my last post and there were only two weeks before the taper begins. In a well-executed running plan, there would be a couple weeks of increasing long runs, followed by a scaled back distance to recoup a bit. Even though I’ve been running solo, I still am on the email loop with my teammates in Boston and I kept feeling like my training was lagging as they all completed their dedicated 18 and 20 milers. Am I too far behind? Can I squeeze in the longs runs or will I get an overtraining injury from being too ambitious too late? Our coach says these are the important ones that carry us through the last chunk of the marathon by building muscle memory – what if my legs stop at mile 18 in the middle of Heartbreak because they “don’t remember”? Hence, I was determined to log these last weeks as long ones just to remind my body what I would be asking of it in mid-April.
So, two Sundays ago, I was post call and only managed to cram in a couple hours sleep at work, plus two more when I got home before heading over to Shaunna and Marcus’ for Sunday brunch (a visit that would later in the week prove to have it’s own consequences for all present). Anyway, as I drove back home, contemplating a long run on little sleep, I was seduced by the beautiful spring day that snuck up on the Ottawa Valley. The sun was shining in that glorious way that can truly only be appreciated after a long-ass, cold winter. It was the kind of day that made you want to do cartwheels and start up the BBQ. In cartoons, the little animals would be scampering out of their little dens and frolicking in the flowerbeds. I couldn’t pass up the rare opportunity to bask in the day’s beauty.
Off to Bridgehead I went to indulge in a cup of black gold to give me that caffeinated kick to run like Forest. I had been tiring of the canal route so I ran along the Ottawa River Parkway, continuing across the Island Park bridge and on to Alymer with a refreshment stop chez Sharkus (twice in one day!). Then I looped back the same way, adding Quebec tour #2 running across the Portage and in front of the Museum of Civilization, before coming back to the Ottawa side by the Gallery and small strip of the canal to Pretoria before heading home.
20.5 miles. Check.
It was a relief to have that under my belt – but not without effort. I actually had to play Salt’n’Pepa on repeat to hear someone telling me to Push It for the last mile. I’m not sure what was harder that day, the last 20 mins of the run or leaving the comfort of the hot shower when I was done (making me late two weeks in a row for dinner at my friend Jane’s).
One of the things I appreciated most about running that day was how awesome it is to run in this area of the country. A couple months ago I ran part of that route along the parkway and I was knee deep in snow on the hidden pedestrian/bike path (only other option was to play chicken running alongside the cars on the road). Winter running can be wonderful when the sun is out reflecting off the whiteness of the snow and the air is crisp and you feel energized being outside on cold day.
But, honestly, that’s when the streets are plowed and your fingers are still able to bend to retie your shoes and icicles aren’t forming from your dripping nose and you don’t have to wonder if the frostbite has done permanent damage to the point that you’ll ever get feeling back in your cheeks. Some days it’s ridiculous. Anyone who runs outside in winter knows what I mean. Along that same parkway path a mere 6-7 weeks prior I felt like I was in a WWII movie scene, being chased through a snowy Eastern European forest trying to escape enemy soldiers. Running through knee deep snow like running through molasses, teetering with each step until the snow cleared somewhat and I then had to run with my arms spread to my sides to keep my balance while traversing the ice. And hope no-one’s laughing too hard from a distance as they mumble, “Dude, get a treadmill.”
I think the season change we get in the Northeast makes us appreciate the spring running conditions that much more. Three weeks ago, that same path was getting its melt on (as experienced by my soaker acquired on mile 2 of 18) and the beginning of spring was peeking its way through. (Thalia, consider this your March dodging dog sh*t post). The last two weeks were so much easier to run with most of the path cleared off – that, plus me knowing where the dicey bits were. The longer, brighter days didn’t hurt either.
For my final long run last Sunday I really wanted to know for my own peace of mind that I had more than 20 miles behind me before the big show in Boston. I ran essentially the same route (although ill-timed as no one was home when I got to Casa Sharkus) but after the Art Gallery, I turned down Sussex to the first bit of the Rockcliffe Parkway. I almost stopped when I got to 24 Sussex to see if Mr Harper wanted to have a heart to heart about how his week was going, but I was at the point that stopping (even briefly) could have made restarting to run pretty difficult. Besides, it didn’t look like he was home.
When I got to around 16 miles, things started to hurt. Oh God, no. Just after mile 16 is when Heartbreak starts. I’m totally screwed. How will I get through another 10miles on race day? So then I reminded myself that the marathon would be different. Merrill and her boys will be at the bottom of Heartbreak and the purple Alzheimer’s Assoc tent will be at the top. Just four-ish miles in between. And the streets are packed with fans from Hopkinton to Copley. I can do it. For now, I just have to Push It.
A funny thing happened a couple miles later. All of a sudden I noticed that my legs didn’t ache as much any more. It was that moment in a long distance run when your mind takes over and you just keep running because that’s what your head keeps telling your body to do. It was as if my legs just said, “I’m out. Peace.”
That got me to a little over 22 miles and my body started resisting against the forward motion again. I had started to employ my old faithful running trick of finding one more landmark to run to, then another and another, in order to keep going. It always works and I was at a good spot to start walking to cool down a few blocks from home, when a magical thing happened. My ipod was on shuffle and the ever familiar piano intro to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” filled my ears. To many who know me, you know what a special place in my heart this song holds. I was so inspired and invigorated by the music that I continued running for the duration of the song, despite the leaden feeling in my legs. I think I even serenaded some folks walking down Somerset.
23 miles. Check.
Boston. 18 days. 26.2 miles. Push It.
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