The Avia OC marathon and half-marathon was this past Sunday. I've been gradually increasing my weekend long runs over the past month or two to the point where I did two 12.5 milers a couple weeks ago. My goal was, and is, the Laguna Hills half-marathon where I had my PR last year. The race is on Memorial Day - May 25 - so I figured what better training for a half-marathon than running another half-marathon?
I hadn't run one since last year's Laguna Hills half, and I haven't even run a race since the 4th of July 5k last year (unless you count my duathlon in March, which I guess counts since it involved running two 5ks). I was feeling a bit rusty, so I decided somewhat last-minute (about 2 weeks before) to push my training up a notch and run the OC half. This way I'd be getting a refresher in racing, pacing, etc. before the race I actually care about.
And it turned out to be a good idea. The weather was ideal for the OC half, I wasn't nervous for the race at all since I was just looking at it as a good training opportunity, and it was conveniently located so I didn't have to get up at 3 am or stay in a hotel the night before in order to get to the start line in plenty of time. Plus, I run the Back Bay part of the course every weekend so I was familiar with a good portion of the course, including the only 2 hills of consequence on the course.
Boy, was I rusty! My pacing was WAYYYY off for the first half. I was just cruising along for the first half, running comfortably and slowly passing person-by-person all the people who started out too fast the first few miles. And then I got to about the 5 mile mark and had a huge shock when I realized a) my GPS was off by about .15 miles so I hadn't run as far as I thought and b) I was just now catching up to the 3:40 marathon pacer (1:50 half marathon pacer). I panicked as I realized that if I kept on course I'd have no chance of a PR (even though that wasn't my goal for the race) and that even if I pushed it the second half of the course, achieving a PR or even a time close to my PR was going to be really difficult. So I picked up the pace but I never let myself push it too hard, I always kept it at a do-able pace that didn't leave me winded but also wasn't a pace I wanted to run 26 miles at.
And I felt really good for most of the race. I got a little dizzy (very, very mild, not enough to stop or be concerned about dehydration) from about miles 9-11, but taking a Gu at miles 5 and 10 really helped me maintain energy for the second half, and I pushed the pace well into the 7:00's. My 10k result was an abysmal 55 minutes/ 8:31 pace. I finished in 1:44:07, a 7:57 pace, so I'm thinking I must have averaged in the 7:30s for the second half of the race in order to end up with that time. Which gives me hope that I can run a 47 minute or maybe 46 minute 10k someday.
Overall the race was well-organized. No major complaints except that the bag pick-up area at the end was really difficult to find and had no signs to help you find it (it was hidden behind a fence on the way to the parking lot). And what's worse, upon arriving at the bag pick-up area, I discovered that there was only race volunteer present, and she was completely overwhelmed since she had a truck full of bags, not arranged in any particular order, to sort into bins. A bunch of racers and myself and Adam had to climb into the truck, toss out bags, and sort the bags by numbers into bins while looking for our own belongings. After about 15 minutes Adam finally found my bag and we left.
He is an awesome boyfriend, by the way. He woke up at the crack of dawn without complaint, sleepily drove me to Fashion Island and dropped me off with a hug and good luck wishes, and then, after returning home for a couple more hours of sleep, he parked his car at Kurt and Jen's and rode his bike to a couple points on the course to cheer me on. And then rode over to the finish area where he helped me find my bag and walked back to his car wtih me and drove me home. All without complaint. I'm so lucky.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
I failed miserably
So I didn't run a marathon in 3:40:59 last year. I didn't run a marathon, period. I was a big, fat, lazy piece of fat instead.
To be fair, I did have genuine intentions to run a marathon - heck, I toyed with the idea of even running two marathons should the first marathon not yield Boston-worthy results. But as the old cliche states, the road to In-N-Out burger is paved with good intentions, and sadly, it's less than 26.2 miles to the nearest In-N-Out burger.
The Long Beach marathon was my goal. I signed up in early summer, brimming with enthusiasm, visions of Boston marathon grandeur, and cheapskate desire to not only get the lowest price for the race but also to score one of those nifty technical shirts and a personalized bib to boot. All started off well, as I faithfully clung to my Hal Higdon marathon training program and completed my speed workouts and long runs with due diligence. I was up to distances of 17 miles and feeling pretty good about my chances of being an elite Boston runner (or at least one who didn't have to sell out and enter for charity in order to be able to run in the race).
And then three catastrophes beyond all human capacity for endurance struck: Cluck-U, Neil Diamond's laryngitis, and Staph.
Things all started going downhill the weekend I flew to New Jersey for a girl's weekend. It was Laura's birthday, and Laura, Nina, Hackett, and I celebrated with all the zeal a 28th birthday requires. This culminated in the fateful decision to head to Cluck-U in New Brunswick, NJ, for a post-drinking late-night snack, which of course resulted in nauseau, regret, and an automatic deposit of five pounds on my thighs. This, of course, in turn caused me to skip a long run, or any sort of run, for several days as my body and mind recovered from the turmoil of Cluck-U and the rest of the weekend debauchery.
I tried to recover once I got back from New Jersey and did put in some long runs in the August heat. And then Neil Diamond interrupted. I flew to Columbus for another long weekend in August to do the usual visit-my-nephew/catch-a-Neil-Diamond-concert all-inclusive weekend. It was great fun; Jack is adorable (and that's not just the biased opinion of an aunt - he really is baby-talk inducing-ly cute) and Neil Diamond entertained me and the crowd of 60 year olds in Columbus OH with as much pep as a 65 year old man with laryngitis could muster. However, no running was done in the sticky humidity of Columbus, and the Long Beach marathon goal was yet again set back.
The killer came a few weeks later. I was already struggling to stay motivated since I was behind in my long runs and didn't feel like I was where I needed to be in my training. And then I started getting some bumps on my knees that looked like bug bites. I didn't know what they were. They'd itch at first, then develop an-oh-so-attractive white pus head, and then they'd get a little painful, and eventually they would fade into a purple spot on my leg and gradually disappear. All except one, that is. One bump on the shin of my right leg began to swell and become very painful, to the point where my entire shin was red and swollen and I could barely walk. I, being a procrastinator and hyper-sensitive about being viewed as a hypochondriac, did not go to the doctor until the point where I was limping and my leg was throbbing. I hobbled to the doctor, who diagnosed me with a staph infection, prescribed some intense antibiotics, and told me to rest my leg. Considering I was hobbling like Nancy Kerrigan after being hit by Tonya Harding's husband, I didn't really have a choice other than to rest my leg for half a week or so.
And that was the nail in the coffin. I was behind schedule, true, but I wasn't so far behind that I could never get in sufficient shape for Long Beach. If I had really wanted to, I could have at least gotten an 18 to 20 mile run in at least once before the race, and that would have been enough for me to at least finish the marathon.
But I was tired of running, tired of feeling guilty and behind. The point of running for me isn't to achieve great times, because, let's face it, I'm never going to win a race or set any records. (Heck, I'm struggling just to make the slowest cut off for the Boston marathon.) The point is to enjoy it, to feel good when I'm doing it and when I finish, to help me feel healthy, and to give me a positive outlet for all the stress I bottle up. (And to help me be able to cope with disasters like Cluck-U with minimal weight gain) And I was constantly feeling like I wasn't doing enough, like it was a chore to get out there and run, like I was a big failure. It was definitely more of a stressor than a stress release, and that's not what I want from a hobby.
So I pulled the plug on Long Beach and didn't think about doing any races for a while. I was still running, but not on an official schedule, so I'd run whatever mileage I wanted to on weekends and whatever I felt like during the week. And it felt good to no longer have a deadline looming, like weight being lifted off my shoulders (it could have been me finally burning off the Cluck-U chicken from my thighs). I started riding my bike a bit more with Adam and even did a duathlon in March that I really enjoyed.
I've signed up for the half marathon in this Sunday's OC marathon and have not yet set any goals for myself to achieve. I just want to finish it. And it feels good to not have a time goal. I want to just enjoy running again. For a little while at least; I am thinking of signing up with a training group for next fall's Long Beach marathon to help keep me focused and motivated over the summer. The group starts in June, and it would be nice to have other folks to run with on those warm Saturday mornings when all I want to do is stay in nice cool air conditioning and snuggle with Adam. But it's not decided yet, and no matter what, I want to run on my terms and feel good about it, without my hobby turning into a chore.
Oh yes, and never fear: Despite not running the race, I did pick up my Long Beach marathon race packet and nifty technical tee, which I wear not only because it is super-comfy but also because it lets people think I ran the darn marathon.
To be fair, I did have genuine intentions to run a marathon - heck, I toyed with the idea of even running two marathons should the first marathon not yield Boston-worthy results. But as the old cliche states, the road to In-N-Out burger is paved with good intentions, and sadly, it's less than 26.2 miles to the nearest In-N-Out burger.
The Long Beach marathon was my goal. I signed up in early summer, brimming with enthusiasm, visions of Boston marathon grandeur, and cheapskate desire to not only get the lowest price for the race but also to score one of those nifty technical shirts and a personalized bib to boot. All started off well, as I faithfully clung to my Hal Higdon marathon training program and completed my speed workouts and long runs with due diligence. I was up to distances of 17 miles and feeling pretty good about my chances of being an elite Boston runner (or at least one who didn't have to sell out and enter for charity in order to be able to run in the race).
And then three catastrophes beyond all human capacity for endurance struck: Cluck-U, Neil Diamond's laryngitis, and Staph.
Things all started going downhill the weekend I flew to New Jersey for a girl's weekend. It was Laura's birthday, and Laura, Nina, Hackett, and I celebrated with all the zeal a 28th birthday requires. This culminated in the fateful decision to head to Cluck-U in New Brunswick, NJ, for a post-drinking late-night snack, which of course resulted in nauseau, regret, and an automatic deposit of five pounds on my thighs. This, of course, in turn caused me to skip a long run, or any sort of run, for several days as my body and mind recovered from the turmoil of Cluck-U and the rest of the weekend debauchery.
I tried to recover once I got back from New Jersey and did put in some long runs in the August heat. And then Neil Diamond interrupted. I flew to Columbus for another long weekend in August to do the usual visit-my-nephew/catch-a-Neil-Diamond-concert all-inclusive weekend. It was great fun; Jack is adorable (and that's not just the biased opinion of an aunt - he really is baby-talk inducing-ly cute) and Neil Diamond entertained me and the crowd of 60 year olds in Columbus OH with as much pep as a 65 year old man with laryngitis could muster. However, no running was done in the sticky humidity of Columbus, and the Long Beach marathon goal was yet again set back.
The killer came a few weeks later. I was already struggling to stay motivated since I was behind in my long runs and didn't feel like I was where I needed to be in my training. And then I started getting some bumps on my knees that looked like bug bites. I didn't know what they were. They'd itch at first, then develop an-oh-so-attractive white pus head, and then they'd get a little painful, and eventually they would fade into a purple spot on my leg and gradually disappear. All except one, that is. One bump on the shin of my right leg began to swell and become very painful, to the point where my entire shin was red and swollen and I could barely walk. I, being a procrastinator and hyper-sensitive about being viewed as a hypochondriac, did not go to the doctor until the point where I was limping and my leg was throbbing. I hobbled to the doctor, who diagnosed me with a staph infection, prescribed some intense antibiotics, and told me to rest my leg. Considering I was hobbling like Nancy Kerrigan after being hit by Tonya Harding's husband, I didn't really have a choice other than to rest my leg for half a week or so.
And that was the nail in the coffin. I was behind schedule, true, but I wasn't so far behind that I could never get in sufficient shape for Long Beach. If I had really wanted to, I could have at least gotten an 18 to 20 mile run in at least once before the race, and that would have been enough for me to at least finish the marathon.
But I was tired of running, tired of feeling guilty and behind. The point of running for me isn't to achieve great times, because, let's face it, I'm never going to win a race or set any records. (Heck, I'm struggling just to make the slowest cut off for the Boston marathon.) The point is to enjoy it, to feel good when I'm doing it and when I finish, to help me feel healthy, and to give me a positive outlet for all the stress I bottle up. (And to help me be able to cope with disasters like Cluck-U with minimal weight gain) And I was constantly feeling like I wasn't doing enough, like it was a chore to get out there and run, like I was a big failure. It was definitely more of a stressor than a stress release, and that's not what I want from a hobby.
So I pulled the plug on Long Beach and didn't think about doing any races for a while. I was still running, but not on an official schedule, so I'd run whatever mileage I wanted to on weekends and whatever I felt like during the week. And it felt good to no longer have a deadline looming, like weight being lifted off my shoulders (it could have been me finally burning off the Cluck-U chicken from my thighs). I started riding my bike a bit more with Adam and even did a duathlon in March that I really enjoyed.
I've signed up for the half marathon in this Sunday's OC marathon and have not yet set any goals for myself to achieve. I just want to finish it. And it feels good to not have a time goal. I want to just enjoy running again. For a little while at least; I am thinking of signing up with a training group for next fall's Long Beach marathon to help keep me focused and motivated over the summer. The group starts in June, and it would be nice to have other folks to run with on those warm Saturday mornings when all I want to do is stay in nice cool air conditioning and snuggle with Adam. But it's not decided yet, and no matter what, I want to run on my terms and feel good about it, without my hobby turning into a chore.
Oh yes, and never fear: Despite not running the race, I did pick up my Long Beach marathon race packet and nifty technical tee, which I wear not only because it is super-comfy but also because it lets people think I ran the darn marathon.
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