Try and imagine how much in the way of bribery it took to get Elliot into frame at all. OK, now double that.
For the first time in my life I’m making a couple of New Year’s resolutions. I need to make some changes around here for the health of my brain.
1). I will no longer read news stories filled with tragedy and heartache.
I’m done. I will not be clicking this type of link from my Facebook or twitter contacts any longer. I will avoid all the bullshit CNN throws my way as well. I am done reading about horrific crimes at 4AM whenever I can’t sleep. I simply can’t take it anymore. There is way too much horribleness out there. This may mean unfollowing some of the worst offenders. And it’s nothing personal. I just can’t keep doing it. I know horrible stuff happens. But I’m still trying to work through new stories I read decades ago. I just can’t know anymore of the gruesome details right now. I don’t need help feeling sorrowful; I bought it in bulk years ago. (Please note: this doesn’t include personal stories. I am, and always will be there for my friends/contacts/online buds.)
2). I will pet every single animal in my house every single day for at least five minutes.
I don’t care if I have to sit in the middle of the hallway with my coffee first thing in the morning, or postpone wiping human pee off a toilet seat: my pets will get more attention. I have a great deal of regret for not paying more physical attention to Pookum over the last couple of years. I got busy with the kids, cleaning the house, whatever. And the pets are often the last to get my attention. That’s going to change. I want the remaining three to know that they will not only be cared for, but they will receive affection every single day of their lives.
3). I will travel (at least) twice in 2015 to see old friends.
Pookum’s passing shot me right back through time. Suddenly I was thinking about who I was with when I adopted her, the places I lived with her. That got me remembering all the friends I made over the years. I have let social media make me lazy. I don’t hate social media. I quite like it. But I need to figure out how to bring back the person I was before all this instant gratification and Internetting came to be. I need late nights on S’s porch with a bottle of wine. I need a movie with N. I need to trot around Detroit with G. This will happen. The health of my brain depends on it.
That’s all. I figured if I wrote it down, I’d hold myself accountable and follow through. At the very least, should I fail, next year Michele can kick this one’s ass for it.
My kitty died on Thursday. And I’m heartbroken. She was around 21-years-old. She lived with me for two decades and I feel an emptiness that is indescribable. I keep going through the motions of having her here, because she’s always been here. But now she’s not here and every time I realize this, I lose my breath.
She always drank from our glasses. So you had to be careful not to leave them out. And if you did leave your glass unattended even for just a minute or two, and she was in the room, that glass was hers. She lost her hearing six years ago. And her eyes were failing as well. But dammit if she couldn’t zero in on an unattended glass of water. And so yesterday, whenever I went to have a sip of water from the glass I’d forgotten about, it occurred to me that she hadn’t had a sip from it, that she would never sip from my glass again.
When it comes to losing pets, why do we often mourn the little irritating things the most? Why do their annoying qualities become the exact opposite when they’re suddenly gone?
I’d have given anything to have had to refill my glass yesterday.
This morning I got up, walked downstairs and filled four bowls of food. I immediately burst into tears. We only need three.
I read once that it’s not polite to leave chopsticks in a bowl of rice at a restaurant because this is used as paying homage to the dead during funeral ceremonies in Japan. I’m not sure if that’s true, but for some reason it crossed my mind as I left the bowl full of food for her.
I’m 40. And this hit me pretty hard on Friday. I thought about all the places she’d been, all the cities she lived. I thought about all the apartments she moved into with me, and then finally, this home. I thought about all those times she would set off my alarm clock—the black kind we used in the 90s. You know, the ones with the hideous blaring alarm that not one person on planet earth could have slept through. She used to jump up onto that thing and walk all over it until the radio turned on and I was forced to get up and feed her. She must have been so sad when smartphones took over.
I was thinking about how she was born before cellphones existed and in a lot of ways life was much simpler. Back then we paid more attention to the creatures we shared our days with. We weren’t staring at screens, choosing to tweet some bullshit about some other bullshit instead of leaning in for another headbump.
I miss my cat.
And I guess I miss a little of me as well.
(RIP My sweet girl. And if for some reason there are still old school alarm clocks in pet heaven, I hope you’re tap dancing all over them. And I hope that if I listen really closely, I’ll get to hear it.)
Well, I did it. It wasn’t easy. But I did it. And I have a whole, long writeup in the works but I can’t seem to find the time to truly bring it all together, so here I sit letting you know I am alive and well.
(Please forgive me for any grammar mistakes and/or spelling errors. The baby is taking one of his “flash naps”. If I get 30 minutes, I’ll be surprised.)
Let’s see. I survived the race injury free, which is pretty awesome. I was a good sore, but that only lasted for a few days. And every hour the aches lessened, I began to feel a touch more blue. There is a certain sorrow one feels after training for (and completing) a marathon that is difficult to describe. The only other time I felt anything similar was when I had postpartum depression. It’s kind of like you do all this work, spend all these months working toward something, anticipating one big event, then BAM! that something happens and you’re left thinking, “Cool. Ok, so now what?”
Yes, with one scenario you have a baby. With the other, you’re a marathoner. But something just feels… empty? That could possibly come off wrong to those who haven’t experienced postpartum depression. We love our babies. It’s just this inexplicably sad feeling. Anyway, a slice of that sorrow resurfaced after this race.
But enough about all that.
So back to marathon morning.
I woke up at 4:00 AM to get to the Meadowlands by five. Having gone to bed at 8:30 the night before, I was pretty well rested. It was a blustery cold morning. The wind gusts were insane.
How was I going to do this?
I arrived at the base of the bridge at around 5:45 AM. The sun had barely risen and the clouds were active and plump and deep shades of gray. The sky was unwelcoming, like summer and winter were refusing to give in and just let fall take over.
I made some oatmeal and sat down and tried my best to keep warm. Oh my goodness it was cold! I fantasized about a hot bath, the one I would take hours later after all this running nonsense was out of the way.
“If I survive.” I joked.
My village (Green) was stationed near the Army building. And a few of us joked about going to war. Couple that with the sound of the helicopters hovering above, our nerves, and the canon blasts, and that comparison became darkly comical at times.
The more seasoned marathon runners wore trash bags, or those metallic wraps handed out after many long races. They had deli bags covering their shoes. Plus, they were able to sleep somehow. Then there were the crazy people wearing nothing more than a tshirt and shorts. Just looking at them made me feel colder. So I tried not to.
Hours went by. Canons roared. Waves of men and women hit the bridge. The excitement grew. I was so nervous. I was so cold. I took an extra long time in a porta-john. If you’ve ever seen a porta-john at a race, you know how desperate I was for warmth.
At 10:50 AM, it was finally time to start. While I was more nervous than I’d ever been in my life, and I worried my cold bones might shatter upon initial impact, I was ready to get moving.
They blared Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York”. Goosebumps covered my skin.
Wow. I am here. Finally. After years of spectating, clapping and screaming for runners until my hands hurt and my voice cracked. Dreaming of the day I would get to do it myself. Hoping it happens at all. Anticipating the reality of it. I am really here.
A canon blast! And we were off.
The wind was so strong on that bridge, my right foot kept blowing into my left foot, almost knocking me to the ground. An NYPD van drove by blasting the theme from Rocky over their loudspeaker, an event that would stand out as a favorite memory from that day. Wind slapped us from what seemed like every angle, but we kept moving.
Hats came off, jackets, pants, shirts.
Things warmed up on the other side.
The crowds in Brooklyn were amazing. I wanted to stop and hug everyone. People handed out orange slices, water, tissues, leftover Halloween candy, smiles. Oh my goodness! The smiles! The laughs. All the words of strength and support and love. My faith in humanity grew immensely that day. I have been a spectator of the NYC Marathon for over a decade. But nothing compares to being on the inside. Now, I understand why it’s so important to get out there and cheer. The people made it easier. It’s true what they say: the specators carry you.
The last time I felt so close to so many New Yorkers–complete strangers, unknown faces in a crowd–was right after 9/11. And the juxtaposition of these two very different events, the fact that I was experiencing some of the same emotions, gave me great pause. So I let myself run with it. Sometimes carrying emotional baggage helps.
I was going steady for the first 10 miles. Things were looking good for me. I was on pace. I felt great. I had energy. Things were awesome. And then, just like that, things started to feel a little off. I started to feel uneasy. I stopped for a second, which was probably a big mistake. Because when I started up again, my guts started sending me messages, terrible messages.
I saw my family in Williamsburg, right around mile 11. I hugged them and chewed up an Imodium. Toby warned me that it would likely not do a damned thing until much, much later—probably after I was done with the race. But I had to try something. Because things were going south fast.
I stopped at four different bathrooms between miles 11 and 16, waiting in line at each one. There went my steady time. There went the faith I had in my ability.
I became more and more disheartened as I continued on and I was ready to quit. But I couldn’t quit, and not because there was some internal voice imploring me to keep moving. No. I couldn’t quit because I had accidentally given my armband to my dad back at mile 11, the same armband that held my “ditch cash”, my lip balm and my Gu Gels. I had to laugh. Even if I decided to quit, I would have to walk. So that’s what I did. I walked. But I walked along the route in search of anything, something—a new set of guts.
Every time I tried to run again, I got sick. Every single time. The bouncing and jostling of my insides sent sharp pains throughout my entire abdomen.
I contemplated turning left off First Avenue and just walking myself back to the park to find my family. I considered trying to find a cab to where they were and letting them pay once I arrived. I tried calling Toby and my father via Siri (which I’d never used) and instead I ended up calling an old friend from Brooklyn who I haven’t spoken to in years. Oops.
Something didn’t want me to quit, even Siri.
Right as my guts were about to give out completely, I ran into my running guardian angel. Thank GOODNESS for my wonderful friend, Corie, who was right there waiting for me at mile 18, right where I needed her the most. She took the train in all the way from New Jersey and positioned herself where she knew from experience how difficult it would be.
I’ll be straight with you: there is no way I would have continued had it not been for Corie. She made me keep going. I told her I wanted to borrow subway money, she talked me into waiting until we hit the Bronx. She kept reminding why I was there, what I had been saying all along, which is that I just wanted to finish. She told me not to worry about my time. “In fact,” she said. “Don’t even look it up. Just finish. Do this for you. Screw your time.”
We made it through the Bronx and then back into Manhattan and at that point I simply couldn’t quit. It just didn’t seem right. I owed it to myself, to Corie and to my family to finish. Plus, Corie left without giving me any subway money. ;]
I still cry when I think about Corie. Joyful tears. What a remarkable thing to do for someone. (Thank you, Corie. Toby made a serious joke about cutting my medal in half and having your name engraved on it. Without you, it wouldn’t be mine.)
Corie left me at mile 22 and I knew then I’d finish and somehow I was actually able to jog again. My guts were ok. Finally.
I jogged slowly down 5th Avenue and into the park. At mile 24, I started to cry for no reason. Nothing happened that sparked it. I wasn’t particularly emotional before the tears showed up. I guess my emotions took over. I was able to compose myself for a bit only to fall apart all over again at mile 26 when I saw a young woman holding a sign that read:
Someday you may not be able to do this. Today is not that day.
Thank you, sweet gal, for totally making me fall apart.
I was almost there. I could hear the crowd, the voice over the loudspeaker yelling out finisher names. I was almost done.
Wait, had I even started? I couldn’t remember starting anymore. What had I been doing all this time? I’d forgot to remember what I was even doing out there. Just like that, it was over. The longest, most physically difficult endeavor of my life (so far) was over so fast.
Why hadn’t I remembered not to forget?
There are tears in my eyes, but you can’t tell.
Training for and running this marathon was the second most difficult thing I have ever done. It was trying and emotionally insane. It was also truly remarkable. I am forever changed in ways I can’t even begin to write about. I am humbled, gracious, and thankful. And it’s true, what she said, that someday I won’t be able to do this. And that day could come at any time.
I am just so grateful I was given the chance and that I took it. I am grateful for Corie, for my family, and for the city I love best. I am just so grateful.
Well, I had every intention on keeping a weekly training diary. But then my blog broke and I couldn’t get WordPress to work on my iPhone anymore. And it would have taken me too much time to troubleshoot, time I don’t seem to have these days. So, I just let it go. And now here I am, stealing a few minutes while Walter naps, vomiting up anything I can think of since my last update.
I’m just going to dive right in, ok? (Warning TMI ahead.) I finally overcame all the gut issues I’d been having. They are a thing of the past. Thank goodness. And given what took place right around the same time, I think I know why I was having so many issues. I got my period out of nowhere six weeks ago and went through a pretty rough hormonal shift. If you’ve ever had children, you might know how awful those first few cycles can be. It’s as if your body is making up for lost time. Hormones hit with an intense vengeance, you’re sweating one moment, freezing the next. You go from laughing uncontrollably, to sobbing . You’re doubled over in intense pain. Just getting by can be difficult let alone running 15+ miles. But I tried. And it was terribly difficult.
I became discouraged. And nearly threw in the towel. But then Corie reminded me about that postpartum shift, so I relaxed a bit.
Then I broke my toe tripping over Walter’s bouncer. I knew this was more than your average bash because I nearly threw up on impact. Then I almost passed out. Nausea poured over me like a bucket of bleach removing all the color from my skin. When I finally composed myself, I assessed the damage. The top part of my middle toe on my left foot was sideways. I took a deep breath and yanked it back into place, taped it to the other toe, and did what any smart human person does: try and pretend it didn’t happen.
I took time off to let it heal, 7 days. Then I did a quick 4 miler. It hurt a touch, but it wasn’t awful. I could run ok. But I decided it was time to get some X-rays. I needed a doctor to tell me one of two things: “Go for it!” Or “You must stop, you’ll lose your foot!”
Long story short: it was a tiny break. But given where the break occurred, I was told it won’t get any worse and if I can run, to go ahead and run. So that’s what I have been doing, albeit slowly and not as often as I should be.
The following weekend I put away an easy 15.
The weekend after that, I ran 20. Twenty miles was really, REALLY hard. Mile 18 onward I found myself talking to clouds, Jesus, pigeons and geese. My body was having trouble, but I swear I could see through time! Other dimensions were perfectly visible to me. I was blissfully losing it. I realize now I needed to hydrate. I finished off my Gu Gels and my Gatorade way back at mile 11. So, yeah. Hydration is important. Also: salt. I am hoping this doesn’t take place during the actual race (should I make it that far) since they will have fueling stations at every mile.
I’ve been tapering ever since. And I haven’t done much in the way of weekly runs in hopes of letting my toe fully heal. It still aches from time to time, particularly before it rains. Weird.
Guys: I’m nervous as hell. No, actually, I’m terrified. I keep having these half awake, half asleep nightmares at 4 AM. I’m alone on the Verrazano Bridge, dark autumn clouds taunt me from all around. The city looms in the background. I’m cold and I’m looking for my family. I think: I can’t do this. That’s what I believe at 4 AM. And those raw, 4AM thoughts are often my most truthful.
I’m excited, but mainly terrified.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid.
I ran 11.6 miles last Friday. It was a slow run due to the usual bullshit. Bellyaches started up 15 minutes in. I brought an Imodium with me and took half at that time. It didn’t stave anything off initially. But I think it may have helped overall. I walked almost an entire mile to get to the bathroom at the marina. But after that I was able to run solidly until mile 7 when I had to stop and walk to find yet another bathroom. Whatever. It is what it is. I’m getting used to this and even though it greatly messes with my overall run and therefore time, I deal with it. I have no choice.
But the real problem took place after I finished. I got a very painful, dull ache in my lower hide, almost like a contraction, radiating throughout my lower abdomen. I wish I could explain this sensation. I have no clue what it is. It’s happened before. It happened after I finished Disney’s Wine and Dine half marathon in 2012. I was in the fetal position in the middle of Epcot Center’s World Showcase. While many were celebrating their feat, drinking and eating plates full of fantastic food, I was on the ground in the fetal position, unable to move. (Granted, I wasn’t the only one sickened after that race. I haven’t ever seen so many people throw up after a race. It was almost comical.) Anyway, the pain goes away within an hour. But it is such an uncomfortable feeling. And I do wonder what causes it.
Friday’s run was also wonderful at times. I have to remember all the good stuff that takes place during each long run. Unfortunately, the gut issues are what I most discuss after I run. And that sucks. Because I can honestly say that there were many moments during my run where I felt absolutely amazing. I got the biggest runner’s high at mile 6. I felt completely euphoric. “THIS is why I run.” I had thought. “Remember this feeling.”
And you see, that’s the thing: I love running. I truly love it. It’s something I hope to do for the remainder of my life. I am left sometimes wondering what it is I’m doing right now, training for a marathon. And I’m starting to wonder if it’s a smart move. I very much would like to finish a marathon one day and the NYC marathon would be an amazing first one. But am I potentially ruining what it is I so dearly love by taking on so much so quickly? Why can’t I simply run every single day, enjoy it, and not try and do something so huge so soon after having a baby? I risk injury, burning out; hell, I got stung by a bee last night and nearly crashed from a panic attack wondering if I might be allergic. (I’m not. And I felt perfectly horrible for the bee who surely died after I pulled its butt and stinger from my skin.)
I don’t want to run a marathon because it’s on some bucket list. I simply love running. I want to run forever. The training for 26.2 miles is far more important to me than the actual event. I just love running.
So, what am I doing? That’s been my big question as of late.
I don’t know. But I do know that when I was pregnant and couldn’t run, I felt horrible. I envied runners. I sunk into depression. I missed it so much. I don’t want to burn myself out trying to train for a marathon. So, I’m going to keep going. But these thoughts started to trickle in. I don’t want to ruin doing what I love by doing what I love too much so quickly.
Anyway, I am rambling. I am going to continue training. I am to run 14 miles on Saturday, which I am looking forward to. This week, I will take half an Imodium the night before. I will carry the other half with me and hope for the best.
Left the house at 9:37 AM. Temperature: 70s, overcast, then sunny and HOT.
Pre-run fuel: coffee with cream, yogurt with granola and strawberries, water.
Route: Forked River Run. Around lakes to marina, back to Rail Trail. Ran Rail Trail into Waretown, hit 6 miles out and headed back again.
Time and distance: Average 11:53 minute miles, a very, very slow one thanks to the usual bullshit. Total of 11.60 miles. Supposed to do 12.
Post-run recovery meal: Banana, homemade zucchini bread.
Personal Stuff: Gut issues. Still nursing. Hate the heat. But got high and I missed that euphoric feeling.
Pros: I love running in Forked River.
Cons: The usual. Belly issues. Plus, very hot and sunny for the last half of my run.
Upward and onward!
Commenter, eep suggested I post the recipe of the orange-basil cookies I consumed before my long run on Saturday. It’s a mega easy recipe. It’s not the healthiest cookie on earth, but when you plan on running off over 1000 calories, I think it’s OK to indulge in a cookie or four.
What you will need
- Cookie sheet(s)
- Parchment paper OR silpat
- Standup mixer
- 1 cup butter, softened
- 2/3 cups sugar
- 1 egg
- 2 tablespoons maple syrup
- 1 – 2 tablespoons finely chopped, fresh basil
- 2 teaspoons orange zest
- 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
- 1/8 teaspoon salt
- 3 cups flour, sifted
Mom It Down!
Preheat often to 375. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper or silpat. Set aside.
In mixer, combine butter and sugar. Beat for 3 to five minutes. Add egg, mix. Add orange zest, honey, basil, vanilla and salt. Mix. Add sifted flour. Mix.
Form roughly 1/2 inch to 3/4 inch balls in palm, roll in sugar, place on cookie sheet, and press with fork, glass bottom, or fingers. (These will take patterns and keep them pretty well. So feel free to use something decorative to press them with.)
Makes 24 cookies depending on how big you like your balls. :]
Bake for 10-15 minutes, or until golden.
I bet you could make this dough ahead of time and refrigerate it until ready to use. It’s pretty sturdy dough. They are very simple.
I think lemon zest would be amazing as well. And really any spice would work. The dough is very versatile. I might try a rosemary version of this as well.
You can use honey instead of maple syrup.
Each cookie is about 150-155 calories and 15-20 grams of carbs. (Let me know if you need more nutritional information. I have it all.)
Well, I had the shittiest run on Saturday thanks to ongoing gut issues. I sound like a broken record with this nonsense. But it’s really getting in the way of my training. I had to stop THREE times along my run. At one point I stopped at a port-a-john and the scene was grisly.
Ladies and gents: ALWAYS carry a tiny bit of toilet paper with you on long runs. I have heard this bit of advice before, but I haven’t yet done it. That stops today.
What a disaster.
So, yeah. Not a good run. I finally gave up at mile 7 and walked home. I was supposed to do 11. I ended up with about 8 very slow miles. And it nearly ruined my day. I contemplated trying again on Sunday morning but I read that sometimes you simply have bad runs. I decided I should just wait until the following week and shoot for 12.
But I do have to get to the bottom of this problem. I can’t continue running long distances until I fix it. So, after I showered and doused myself off with bleach, I took to Facebook and made a semiprivate post, tagging 15 women runners. I was in search of some camaraderie and/or answers. I got a bit of both.
I have hesitated to write about this at all. It’s personal and gross and I am (what some might consider) a lady. But opening up to a select few on Facebook made me feel worlds better. They were very eager to help. Granted, they are runners as well. To a non-runner, I probably come off as the most disgusting human being alive. And maybe I am.
Almost all of the people I tagged on Facebook decided this was due to diet. Some suggested it was from what I eat morning of, others thought it could be what I ate the night before. I’m thinking the former might be true. So, I am going to start by cutting out all coffee. It wasn’t an issue in the past; I have always consumed coffee before running. But every pregnancy changes your body to some degree. So maybe things have changed since having Walter. Monday’s short run was better. But I won’t know for sure until Saturday.
Left the house at 6:34 AM. Temperature: Upper 60s/Lower 70s. Overcast/Cloudy.
Pre-run fuel: Plain oatmeal. Homemade orange and basil cookie. Coffee with sugar and whole milk. Water.
Route: Down past the Duck Pond into South Orange, sharp right through neighborhood, and up past Mountain Station. Down Valley to Milburn Avenue. Up past Trader Joe’s, sharp right onto Wyoming Avenue (very long hill). Wyoming Avenue down into neighborhood heading home. Gave up. Brutal.
Time and distance: I don’t know. I stopped so many times and paused it so many times. I also forgot to resume at Wyoming Ave after fiddling with my iPod. So, yeah. No idea. It was an awful run.
Post-run recovery meal: Two Morninstar Veggie Chicken Patties.
Personal Stuff: Terrible gut issues. A terrible run overall. Stopped three times, finally gave up entirely at mile 7. I am hoping this is fixable with diet. But I can’t help but wonder if it has to do with my thyroid. I suffered from postpartum thyroiditis with the last two pregnancies, and a side effect is often what I’m dealing with. (Along with other things, like losing my hair; milk supply reduction and weight loss.)
Pros: No injuries to report. Felt pretty solid.
Cons: The obvious.
Upward and onward!
We’ve seen an overabundance of cucumbers this year. It seemed every time my kids went outside, both at our house and at my parents’ they returned with cucumbers. People were growing a bit tired of cucumber salad so I decided to try a cucumber soup. I’m super happy with the outcome and decided to share it.
What You Will Need
- Blender (or food processor)
- Three large cucumbers, peeled, halved and deseeded.
- 1 cup plain yogurt (I used low fat. Greek works as well)
- 1/2 cup sour cream
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- 1 shallot
- 2 cloves garlic
- 1/3 loose cup dill
- 2 tablespoons tarragon
- jalapeño pepper (to taste. I used one small, VERY hot one.)
- Salt and pepper to taste
Mom It Down!
Put everything in your blender, purée. (If you have a heavy duty blender, you can do it all together. If your blender is on the smaller, cheaper side, you might do the cucumbers in two installments.) You’re done! Chill for at least 8 hours, overnight is best.
There are none! This is the easiest recipe ever. If you don’t have a lot of time all at once (which is common here as I have a baby and two kids to take care of) you can mise en place ahead of time. Cut the cucumbers and store them in the fridge until you have more time.
I might like to try cilantro. I bet adding cream cheese in lieu of sour cream would be awesome. Really, if you think it’ll taste good with cucumbers, try it! Although, I am not sure adding tuna would be all that good. Ew.
I believe each bowl of soup (roughly 3/4 cup) is about 150 calories. It was hard to calculate as I didn’t measure the entire amount prior to serving. So I’m not sure how much each bowl amounts to. It’s less than 200, most likely nearer to 140 calories per bowl.
I ran 10 miles yesterday. I am pleased to report that it was my first long run this season where I didn’t experience any gut issues! This is a good thing. Maybe my body is finally adjusting to the mileage.
It was a relatively easy, slow ten miles, totally doable both mentally and physically. I got lost in thought for most of it, which I love and look forward to each and every week. This is why I missed running so much while pregnant, and why I put on 50 pounds. I didn’t have my weekly therapy.
During the most difficult part of my run, between miles 5.5 and 7, where I was met with a very long hill, I began to actually consider running 26 miles. And it nearly stopped me dead. While 13 miles seems perfectly reasonable to me, 26.2 seems impossible, insane, and totally incomprehensible.
How will I ever be capable of running 26.2 miles?
Why do I want to?
I don’t know. I don’t know if I will be able to ever run that far.
But I have to try.
There was a time in 2011 where the idea of running 13.1 seemed impossible. I had Elliot in February of that year. I started running again 5 weeks postpartum. I ran regularly, but nothing more than 3 to 5 miles at a time. And then in late fall I decided to train for a half marathon. When I didn’t get into the NYC Half, I signed up for The Rock ‘n’ R Half in Washington, DC. The race was scheduled for March 17th, 2012. I was worried. I wasn’t sure I could do it. But I took it day by day. Every week I added a mile to my long runs and before I knew it I was putting away 10 miles. 13.1 no longer looked so impossible.
But 26.2? That feels preposterous! What am I thinking training for a marathon so soon after having a baby?
This seems crazy.
But I have to try.
And if I reach my longest training run of 20 miles and simply can’t do it, or I’m injured for doing too much at once, I won’t run it.
But I have to try.
Left the house at 6:51 AM. Temperature: 70s. Sunny.
Pre-run fuel: Maple and brown sugar oatmeal. Enjoy Life Apple Chew Bar. Coffee with sugar and whole milk. Water.
Route: Down past the Duck Pond into South Orange, sharp right through neighborhood, and up past Mountain Station. Down Valley to Milburn Avenue. Up past Trader Joe’s, sharp right onto Wyoming Avenue (very long hill). Wyoming Avenue to South Orange Avenue, zigzagged back through neighborhood. Needed 1.5 more miles, so ran Walton to Jefferson, back home again.
Time and distance: Average 11:32 minute miles. Miles 4, 5 and 9 were the fastest. Mile 7 was the slowest. Mile 7 was the steep and then very long hill on Wyoming. (I’m getting much faster during my shorter, weekly maintenance runs. Still a full minute before I reach my pace from last year, but I’m in the 10-minute mile range.)
Post-run recovery meal: Two Golden Corn VitaTops.
Personal Stuff: NO GUT ISSUES! WOO HOO! I felt pretty ok throughout. Got a bit tired between miles 5 and 7 but that’s because they are almost entirely uphill. My lungs are feeling pretty great. It’s my legs that need strength to even come close to completing 26.2. I guess that’s what all this training is for.
I’m still breastfeeding and since I’m up before the baby, I have to pump ahead of time. This is kind of annoying as it takes up some of my morning. I also have to pump when I return home. It’s kind of an added obstacle to my training.
First run using Toby’s old iPhone since my sound stopped working. Was able to use my armband again, no issues with it dying mid-run.
Purchased an Amphipod Hydraform as my water bottle. Runs are getting longer and therefore I need to hydrate. I thought it would bug me. But it didn’t. I’ll carry it from here on out.
Pros: Beautiful morning.
Cons: Got kind of muggy toward the end of my run. I don’t like humidity and the heat makes me want to punch things. The hills are cruel. I need to work on my hills.
Upward and onward!