Rambling in the Afterglow . . . and a Time Trial Report

Well, it's been almost three weeks since Sugarloaf, and - as might be expected - the prosaic forces of work obligations and personal responsibilities have done their best to snap me out of my nearly-romantic fog and bring me back down to earth, with mixed success. I am still basking in the sense of personal accomplishment of having qualified for Boston, and have tempered my zeal with being both smart about recovery and sensitive to the very precarious family schedule at the moment.

This week I learned that I did not get into the 2009 New York City marathon, which is actually a blessing. I will now almost certainly not run a fall marathon, and will get the chance to qualify into NYC, either with a sub-1:30 half-marathon or sub-3:10 full. That sub-1:30 will be my fall goal.

In the nearer future, my sights are set on running the best possible time I can on August 1st at Beach to Beacon. It's a great race by any standard, with a gorgeous setting, a real mix of elite and recreational runners (with some legends of the sport thrown in for good measure) and where I have some serious redemption on tap, given that I ran it 5 minutes slower last year than I did in 2007. My 10K PR is from the 2007 race, and it's time to lower it. Sub-40:00 is my current goal, but if some shorter-distance-focused training takes root, I'll make an assault on sub-39:00. That would be a delicious result after last year's 48:00+ and 1000-somethingth finish.

Since Sugarloaf, I have mostly not told every single person I meet that I've recently qualified for Boston. I never told anyone from my running club directly, but thanks to Facebook and some folks' own curiosity, everyone seemed to know by the time I saw them again. The sense of validation in the eyes of all runners, from slow and not-so-serious to competitive, is palpable. It's like I've earned my way into a prestigious club, where my membership was justifiably in doubt for a long time. I'm liking it so far.

My first week post-Sugarloaf was a mess, in terms of having a crushing workload, visiting family, my son's birthday, and additional work commitments on my wife's end, too. I ran about 16 easy miles total, though I felt like I could certainly have run more than that.

Last week was a bit better, and I ran about 35 miles, with one track session in preparation for this past Tuesday's two-mile time trial with the running club.

TIME TRIAL

The time-trial is a twice-a-year affair, with one in the spring and another in the fall, so that we may all ostensibly see how much we've improved. The club founder owns a successful race-timing company, and he provides professional timing and age-graded results.

Goal-setting proved challenging, but it was nothing compared to executing my strategy successfully. After some deliberation, I decided that I would like to shoot for a time between 11:30 and 11:45. I had it in my head that the splits should be along the lines of 5:50/5:45. This is much faster than I've ever run before, so we're talking uncharted territory for me.

The Thursday before, I did 4x800 at the track, and I was able to do all 4 repeats at 6:00 or better pace. My legs felt mostly recovered from the marathon. When Tuesday rolled around, though, I never got into a good rhythm. I ran about a 1.5-mile warm-up, then ended up in a holding pattern as the first two heats did their thing. The 3 heats were (1) 8:00+/mile runners, (2) 7:00-8:00, and (3) sub-7:00. We all acted as spotters, to give the timers the one-mile splits. That meant not being able to warm up very well, as I was watching one of my club mates as she ran in the second heat.

When that group finished, I did a few sprints on the grassy infield, and lined up with the fast folks, some of whom I've known for a while, others of whom are new to the club. We were off, and I found myself in the third position within 200 meters. I elected not to look at my watch. That was a mistake. I had wanted to hit each lap split in about 86 seconds. The first one was around 80 seconds, and the guys who I knew would #1 and #2 were way closer to me than they should have been. I tried to make myself slow down, but the second lap was not a whole lot better, and with six more round-&-rounds left, I knew it would not be pretty. I could tell that I was slowing to a 6:00-ish minute pace, and my mouth was as dry as I ever remember it feeling (which affected my breathing and made me even more uncomfortable overall).

I ran the first mile in 5:40, but I went into survival mode after that. I thought of the next mile one lap, then half a lap, then a quarter lap at a time. I tried to hold off the one person I could sense behind. I thought of how my Gatorade, despite simmering in the warm late afternoon sun, would taste when I was done. So, I continued to put one foot in front of the other, until the misery ended exactly 11 minutes and 42 seconds after it started, for second disappointing mile of 6:02. My follower passed me with less than 200 meters to go. I might have given chase, but I was mentally checked out of race mode by then.

Still, that's nearly 30 seconds better than the last time I raced a 2-miler, and it's not bad for having done very little fast-paced running in recent months. Marathon training allowed me to hang on to salvage the overall time, but it was a lousy way to get there. I need to learn how to go out at 6:00 pace in a 5K (perhaps 6:20 in a 10K) if I'm going to make my shorter distance goals this summer. As with all things running, we'll have to wait and see.

-ESG

Sweet as Sugarloaf

"EXECUTIVE SUMMARY"

What follows will be a long-winded account of the greatest running moment of my life. I write these blogs really as a journal, one I'm happy to share with the few folks who are interested in the plight of a dedicated fellow runner. Since I have fond feelings for anyone who is willing to read this blog, I'll give you the news up front: I qualified for Boston at the 2009 Sugarloaf Marathon, with an official time of 3:17:42. Yes, I am elated. No, I can't sign up for Boston yet. No, I don't know whether I'll run a fall marathon. Yes, I'm looking forward to backing off a little bit and focusing on shorter distance races.

Now, feel free to stop reading. Here goes the long (and I mean LOOOOONG) version.

A FALSE START

I had hoped/planned to leave home at 3:30 p.m. on Friday for the 4-plus hour drive. Everything went well in terms of leaving the office, picking up my oldest daughter early from school, packing the car and saying good-bye to my wife and kids, as they set forth on their own Maine weekend adventure. Having debated about which route to follow, I chose the more conventional, less scenic path. I got out of town, and about 20 minutes from home, I heard the unmistakable rumble of a flat tire. I pulled over, saw that my right rear tire had a large slit in the tread, and unpacked the entire back in order to access the temporary spare.

Once I had the temp spare on and the car re-packed (with all the stuff in the back seats, and the flat in the back), I agonized about whether to forge onward and find a tire place en route, or head back into town to deal with it. I stopped at a service station about 5 miles ahead, and the guy was very nice in trying to help me. The older mechanic, James, seemed a natural when it came to barking forceful – if good-natured – orders at young Joe. After about a half-hour, they told me that the tire was trashed, and that they did not have that kind in stock. James sent me back to town. I tried to pay him for his time, but he refused. It was hot and they were working hard, so I left Joe with two bottles of Gatorade and thanked for their help.

I ended up back in town at a large tire place. They had me in and out in about an hour, and I was on the road again at around 5:45 p.m.


THE LONG ROAD TO “THE LOAF”

My friend Scott lent me his Garmin Nuvi, which was very nice of him. After seeing how bad traffic was going to be on the major roads, I decided to head north and meander my way towards Maine via more scenic country roads. The Garmin took my apparent fickleness in stride, “recalculating” again and again. I think I finally started to piss her off, though, since she blithely stated, “Better route available” several times. So much for judgment-free technology.

It was a gorgeous late spring evening, but as the sun descended over the mountains, the temperature dropped quickly. I listened to music, and to a few essays from an audiobook called, “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running”, by Japanese writer Haruki Murakami. It was nice to have some time alone, and I thought about everything that’s going on in my life right now: marriage, kids, work, aging/ailing parents and – yes – running. I visualized the race, the beauty and the pain, the effort and the joy, the social and solitary aspects.

By 7:00 or so, I was hungry, and I pushed on a little longer until I found a good looking restaurant/tavern in Fryeburg, Maine. It was a bit of a “scene” in there, with a series of images which I’ll take away. The first was the rather preppy-looking fellow who stood outside for the entire time that I spoke to my virtual running friend Roger about running the race together. The preppy guy was wearing a pressed blue oxford shirt, khaki shorts and boat shoes. When I went in for dinner, he ended up back at the bar, where I noticed him sucking down pints of Pabst Blue Ribbon, not the usual boat-shoe-wearer's drink. Yup, turns out that the PBR “tall boy” was the most popular drink in the bar. I ate a mediocre plate of BBQ beef (which I rarely eat, but figured the extra iron couldn’t hurt). The cornbread, mashed sweet potatoes and beans were amazing though, so the carbs carried the day. Given my extra attention to hydration, I visited the men’s room, where there was a very provocative oil painting hanging above the urinal. Artistically, it was sort of an impressionist piece, but it was definitely meant to grab the urinator’s attention. I assure you that my subsequent two trips were absolutely essential, and had nothing to do with that painting. ;-) I finished my meal, and checked the distance from my location to Sugarloaf. My iPhone said I was over 100 miles away that it would take me several days to get there. Turns out I had it set to give “walking directions”.

I drove deeper into an unfamiliar part of Maine, and happened to be in a spectacular lake district as the sun set. The sky had a summer tone and texture, and the fact that many of the waterfront homes are as-yet empty gave me a serene feeling of being alone in the great unspoiled frontier. I gassed up and finally decided to follow the Garmin’s instructions to a T. It was a long and winding road in the dark, but at about 11:00 p.m., I rolled into the lobby of the Sugarloaf hotel, where an enthusiastic desk clerk greeted me warmly and told me how great everything was in this part of the world. I took the map she gave me and stumbled around in the dark until I found the condo which my friend Julie had so graciously lent me. It took me a couple trips up to the third floor unit to get all my stuff into the unit, and a little more fumbling in the dark until I found the light switches and settled in. I watched some mindless television, ate and drank some more, and read until I drifted off at about 12:30. My phone kept ringing and ringing, and it appears that my father either kept accidentally speed-dialing me, or was doing a drunk-dial kind of thing. I shut the phone off and went to bed.

SATURDAY

The aim for Saturday was to be mellow. I tried to sleep in, but my body awoke by 6:00. I rolled around in the queen-sized bed on the top floor of the penthouse loft, watching the clouds in the sky. At 7:00, I got up and headed over to the hotel for breakfast. I was the only person in there, and the waitress all but sat down to join me. She was very chatty, with an interesting "edge" to her. She asked me whether someone actually would be pointing a gun at me in order to get me to run the marathon. We chatted about life in small-town Maine and raising kids, as she brought me a huge plate of french toast, two eggs, home fries, coffee and grapefruit juice. I ate and read the paper and started to visualize the race. A Canadian couple came in for a bite, and we talked about the race and our goals. I was wearing my Boston volunteer's jacket, so I had to explain that I had not run the race, but was trying to qualify.

After breakfast, I drove up to Eustis to find the starting line and drive the entire course. As one of the speakers would warn us later that evening, it's a bad idea to drive 26.2 miles, because it seems long even in a car. I had the "dang-this-is-far-and-I-can't-believe-I'm-going-to-run-it" sensation, but I also appreciated knowing what to expect, especially in terms of the hills and the twists the road took. Sugarloaf is a unique marathon in many respects, one of which is that it is a point-to-point course with no turns. Runners follow a single road through 4 or 5 Maine towns (not all of which are even incorporated), finishing in a hardware store parking lot in Kingfield.

Once I'd driven the full course, I returned to the condo, changed into running clothes, and drove to the 8-mile mark. I wanted to run the two hilliest miles just to get a sense of how challenging they would be. That first mile (Mile 9, technically) was supposedly the hardest of the course, and it wasn't that bad, even with a formidable headwind. The next mile was also uphill, but again nowhere near as tough as most of the hills I'd thrown into training. I turned around, ran one mile back down and walked the final mile to my car (I was trying not to overdo it).

Back at the condo, I stretched and showered and ate a big lunch. I drank water and Gatorade and then more water and some more Gatorade. I watched a great documentary on DVD about George McGovern's 1972 candidacy for President. When it was over, I went over to the Base Lodge to get my bib # (38) and race packet. The forecasted rain had begun.

It was a very mellow scene, though there were more people than I had expected. I chatted with a woman from Philadelphia who'd forgotten her gels. She and others seemed surprised that there was no Expo at this race. This year saw a big bump in registered runners, with almost 300 signed up. Still, an Expo would have been way too much effort for way too small a consumer base.

I went back to the condo, put my feet up and watched mindless television. There was nothing of interest to me, and I dozed off for a little while. I got up and went to the Pasta Dinner, where the room had started to swell with runners. I ended up at a table with other New Hampshire runners. One guy was running his 128th marathon. Unbelievable. Another was just getting back to running after a 5-year layoff while he and his wife started their family. He had the same goals as I did: to qualify for Boston with a 3:20 or better. I talked to two older guys, one a retired man from Oregon, who's traveling around running 6 or so marathons a year. He had long gray hair pulled into a ponytail and a slight pot belly. Another man from Camden, Maine had a wonderfully weathered face, but exuded youth and vigor. He shocked me when he said he's 74 years old. He came over for the 15K, and said he thinks he has 2 marathons left: a Boston qualifier and Boston itself. To think I could still be enjoying myself in this sport in 30 years is hard to imagine, but a wonderful thing to which I'll look forward.

I got back to the condo sometime after 7:00 and I watched some of the DVD of the original Frost-Nixon interview. It was the second time in one day that Richard Nixon graced me with his company, which was a bit odd. Perhaps the distraction was good. I puttered around, and laid out everything I could conceivably need on Sunday. I set two alarms. I made sure my new Garmin was fully charged. I set out my breakfast items, and programmed the coffee maker to brew a strong pot of french roast at 3:45 am. I flipped channels, and found live coverage of the Adidas Classic track meet on ESPN. I watched that for a while, glad to be rid of Nixon and to see top runners do their thing.

Then came the storm.

At about 8:45, as the windows seemed to be getting pelted with BBs and the entire unit literally shook from the high winds, I called my wife. I asked her to assure me that the mountain weather system would soon pass, and explained that within 15 minutes I was either going to go to bed, or would venture to the hotel bar and forget the friggin' marathon. I went up to bed, read for a while and fell asleep some time after 10:00, with the bed rattling against the wall as the condo feebly weathered the winds.

SUNDAY - PRE-RACE

Having got up to pee a couple of times during the night, I woke up at 3:13, but rolled over thinking I'd get up in 5 more minutes. I was shocked to hear the alarm and wondered who and where I was. I came to my senses as I smelled the coffee, and had breakfast: 2 bowls of Honey-Nut Cheerios, a Greek-style vanilla yogurt and a banana. I drank coffee, water and Gatorade. I mixed up 24 ounces of Accelerade, 12 each for before and after the race. It was still raining pretty hard, but nothing like the prior night's storm.

My body and I seemed to be getting along just fine in terms of "waste elimination" issues, and I felt that that boded well for the day. I taped my still-blistered toes, applied Body Glide any and everywhere, and started to get dressed. I opted for my usual Race Ready shorts, Craft triathlon-style singlet, arm warmers (go ahead, mock me, like I care), Gore-tex cap, thin tech gloves and one of the long-sleeve tech tees from the 40-miler. The big dilemma remained the socks, and at the last minute I decided to skip the new Wright socks which felt great, and went with some thin Smartwool socks, on the theory that if my feet got wet, the wool would still keep them warm. I had my Saucony Grid Tangent 3's with the new orthotics ready to go, but wore some slip on Keene's to keep my feet dry as long as possible.

I packed all kinds of extra stuff with me, and headed to the hotel lobby at around 5:25 to wait for the shuttle bus to the start. I ran into the Philadelphia woman, and gave her the extra gels I'd brought just in case I'd see her. She wanted to give me money, but I told her it was my deposit into the running karma bank. I had another productive bathroom stop.

About 5:45, we left. I sat next to a young woman who was running her first marathon. She seemed more nervous than excited, and we talked about training and pacing and how many people run great marathons despite having had colds in the days leading up to the race. We got to campground (it was still raining pretty steadily and about 47 degrees) at the start area, and all made a beeline for the 6 port-a-potties which they'd set up. Again, everything seemed A-ok in that department. I drank my 12 ounces of Accelerade, and then took one walk into the woods for a last relief. I changed into my running shoes, pared down my extra layers and played with my Garmin to make sure it was set properly. I milled about chatting with runners, and met a new FaceBook friend from Canada and connected with Roger, a multiple marathoning legend who paces races all over the country and who graciously offered to hang with me with a sub-3:20 goal. It was his 5th consecutive weekend running a marathon. He spoke with his wife, who was also running, and met me moments before the gun went off. Amazingly, the rain took a break just then.

THE RACE

The gun went off with no warning, and I was about 3 rows back from the very front. My pace band was based on elevation-based splits created by RWOL forumate Sunday20, a 2:40 marathoner and computer/data-crunching wizard. He had calculated each mile based on its elevation profile, and had me crossing the half-way point at 1:40:00, to finish with "even effort" at 3:16:24. I liked this approach, because a fade could comfortably exist within the zone between 3:16:24 and 3:20:59. Of course, I did not want to cut it that close.

Miles 1-5

By the end of the first mile, I was maybe 20 seconds behind the pace chart, but felt okay. The rain was coming and going, and the wind would swirl around, never blowing too hard in our faces for very long.

Soon, Roger and I settled into a comfortable pace, running between 7:30-7:36 per mile. We were joined by a tall, Native-American looking fellow from Denver, with a long, straight black braid swishing back and forth as he ran. He said he was hoping for a 3:30, and we tried to warn him gently that he was possibly heading out a bit fast. He stayed with us for a while. Roger told me he'd likely yap the whole time, but that I did not need to waster any energy replying. It was perfect, like running with a podcast, which is how I pass most of my training miles.

It also became evident that the mile markers were somewhat inconsistently placed. I let the auto-lap do its thing, and mostly paid attention to the "average pace" display for the lap I was currently in. The splits for the first five miles were as follows:

• 1 - 7:40
• 2 - 7:36
• 3 - 7:30
• 4 - 7:35
• 5 - 7:32

I was worried about getting behind, but reminded myself of RWOL Senior Master Jim2's sage advice about miles 1-10: If you're not worried about running too slow, then you're probably running too fast.

Miles 6-10

At around Mile 6, I asked Roger to hold my hat while I chucked the long-sleeved shirt. I was wet and risked getting cold, but I wanted to feel less encumbered. I took my first gel (a Gu Roctane) at around the 6th mile as well. I was drinking at about every other aid station, switching off between water and Gatorade.

Interesting side note: when I saw my split time at the Mile 6 marker I wondered how we'd made up 2 minutes in one mile. A woman standing by the sign said, it's about 0.4 miles early. WTH was THAT about? The road had more accurate mile markers spray-painted on the side, but I didn't want to run with my head down in search of them.

We were soon at Mile 8, and I settled into a steady, smooth rhythm. I switched the display from pace to heart-rate only, and watched as my HR tracked the climb. I was willing to let myself get to 172, but no higher, and topped out at around 170. The projection for Mile 9 was 8:47; I ran it in 8:07, and - just like that - I was back to within seconds of the projected splits. My memory is that Roger pulled away at this point, and I chatted very briefly with anyone in my vicinity. Mile 10 - the last major climb of the race - was supposed to be 8:10; I covered it in 7:55. At this point, I had my first inkling that this could really, truly be my day. The rain continued to come and go, and I put my gloves on and took them off as my hands required.

Splits from 6-10:

• 6 - 7:33
• 7 - 7:35
• 8 - 7:44
• 9 - 8:07
• 10 - 7:55

Miles 11-15

After about the 10.5-mile mark, one of the course's steepest downhills appeared. One guy had warned us that it would look a cliff, and had given some advice about how to approach it to save our quads from getting completely trashed. He suggested running as much of that part as possible on the gravelly shoulder. I followed that advice, darting back onto the asphalt when the gravel was too rugged or sloped too steeply.

We passed the main entrance to the Sugarloaf ski area at around mile 11.5, and there was the largest group of assembled "fans" which I'd seen to that point. I looked at the 8 or so stoic faces, buried under hooded rain jackets and umbrellas, and lifted my arms palms-up to get some reaction. They cheered and whistled and offered encouraging words; I smiled and said, "Was that so hard?"

The downhill miles continued (with some variation), but I was concerned about "over-running" them. This is where the formulaic mathematical calculations of the split chart had to yield to flesh-&-bone human reality. I simply felt that it would not be smart to try to stick to the projected splits, so instead it came out like this:

• 11 - 7:26
• 12 - 7:19 (took my second gel, Accelerade lime)
• 13 - 7:27
• 14 - 7:21
• 15 - 7:19

The mile markers were still a bit inconsistent, but the overall distance was pretty close. I had internalized Roger's earlier advice about keeping to the tangents; since there were no real turns, this meant hugging the center line when the road curved right and keeping a straight-ish line towards the fog line when the road turned left.

There was no half-marathon marker, but the projected time was to be 1:40:00 exactly, relying on the course profile to give me the negative split. On my watch, I crossed in about 1:39:55. Again, I felt good about not being ahead of that projection.

Miles 16-20

As each mile clicked by and I realized that I had my first real shot at qualifying for Boston and - more broadly - having a marathon go according to plan for once. I had a good-natured battle with myself to keep my pace and emotions in check. I only cared that the number in the "average pace" display be around 7:30. A couple seconds more or less did not matter. I felt some minor GI distress, so I drank only water until it passed.

Body parts started to speak up around Mile 18. My upper thighs/hip flexors were certainly feeling the work. I did some "butt-kicks" to stretch them out and shake things up. My left foot started to hurt, and I could feel a hotspot developing on my left arch, despite the half-tube of Body Glide which I had applied. I took inventory and realized that none of this was terrible. I also took solace in the fact that my calves - the culprits of cramping twice before - felt fine. I shook my arms out and tried to let my face relax, letting it sort of sway with my steps.

Somewhere before Mile 20, I got a black fly in my eye. It took me a few tries to get it out, and my vision blurred for a long moment. That soon passed, and I reached the 20-mile mark feeling "functional" for the first time in a marathon. As one of my co-workers had observed, that would put me in a very different mindset for the last 10K. The splits for this section:

• 16 - 7:08
• 17 - 7:14
• 18 - 7:24
• 19 - 7:22
• 20 - 7:38

I took my lest Roctane gel at 20, and figured I needed only one or two more drink stops. Here I started an internal dialogue about whether and when to try to push the pace. I did not appreciate at the time the miracle that it was to be in a position to be thinking about that at the 20-mile mark.

Miles 20-26.2

The memories of Chicago 2008 were in my mind, so I decided to stick to maintenance mode. The last 6 + miles roll, with the uphills almost a welcome relief after the miles of pounding. My left foot was becoming a greater and greater burden, as I could feel new blisters somehow forming under the band-aids. My legs were certainly tired, but they continued to work. I focused on exaggerating my arm swing just a little bit, having read that the legs have no choice but to follow.

A weird thing happened with my watch, in that the "low battery warning" came on, obscuring the elapsed time display. I stuck to the average pace number for guidance, and just decided to keep going by feel, despite this being completely uncharted racing territory for me.

I had passed a number of people in the previous 5 or so miles, but only passed a couple here. One of the guy's I'd had dinner with on Saturday (the one coming back to running after the layoff) and a very fit-looking woman about my age caught up to me. They had started to push it, and actually reigned it in when they realized there were still 5 or so miles to go. She was wearing dazzling white arm warmers, and we made that connection. She said - and it must have been ironic - that she wears them to keep her arm flab in check. Total compliment fishing, in my opinion. The guy was steady, but I could tell he was hurting. They stopped at every aid station, and would catch up to me a moment later.

Sometime around Mile 23, Roger came back to me, having slowed down just enough so that I could catch him. He was still fresh as a daisy, and told me I looked strong, upright, with great form. I stayed focus, and thought about how close I was to achieving what once seemed like an imposible dream.

I took my last swig of Gatorade at Mile 23, but then had a momentary scare after the 24-mile mark, when a very strong wave of dizziness came over me. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but I thought I was going to fall. I just sort of shook my head, trying to clear it like an Etch-a-Sketch and forged onward. Every left footstrike hurt, but it was nothing that prevented me from running. My New Hampshire friend was struggling, but our female cohort saw a ponytail up ahead and she left us to chase it down (which she did). I thought about going with her, but a cooler mind prevailed.

When I hit the Mile 25 marker, I stepped it up, just a bit. I figured that sub-3:20 was in the bag, and I was not about to risk it by doing something stupid.

Roger started saying that the finish was just up ahead, but I could not see the main drag of the town of Kingfield yet. I pushed it, sensing that I was going to make it, with time to spare.

With 0.2 to go, I heard I guy come up behind me like he'd been shot out of a cannon. He said, "Come with me!" as he blew by me. I started turning my legs over like it was a 5K finish, and the Garmin said I topped out at about 5:20 pace.

I veered right towards the inflatable finish arch, but the race clock was blocked. I finally saw "3:17" and some seconds and I threw myself across the line. I raised my arms - and in a primal scream reminiscent of Howard Dean in Iowa in 2004 - and yelled, "I'M GOING TO BOSTON!!!" People smiled but seemed to keep their distance. My watch said 3:17:41. Average heart rate was a surprisingly low 160, thanks in part to the downhills allowing for some cardiac recovery. I finished maxing out at about 171-172 for that final sprint.

Here are the splits for the final 10K (with weird overages where I pressed the lap button to coincide with the mile markers):

• 21 - 7:22
• 22 - 7:27
• 23 - 7:28
• 24 - 7:41 (+ 29 secs for 0.07 extra, so not sure where that belongs)
• 25 - 7:38 (+ an extra 4 secs)
• 26 - 7:26
• 0.2 - 1:25

I got a mylar blanket and walked over to get my gear and something to eat. I hugged Roger (who came in a few seconds behind me, by gracious design, of course). He bequeathed me his "Boston 26.2" cap. I will forever treasure the hat . . . and the memories. Crazy man that he is, he headed back up the course to meet his wife. He ran another 6+ miles for over 32 for the day. Incredible.

Roger's friend Dave (who ran a 3:01) gave me a ride back to the hotel. I had a goofy grin on my face that's still here.

POST-RACE

It was a long ride home, and even before that, going up & down the 3 flights of stairs to load the car wasn't the most fun post-marathon task. I managed to get my time posted on Facebook (mobile and Internet was very spotty up there), and some nice text messages and comments came in from my running and other friends.

I stopped for lunch at a sports bar/restaurant in a restored old barn, and had fish-n-chips with lots of salt and malt vinegar.

I talked with my wife as they headed back from Maine, too. When I finally arrived home at around 5:15, she and the kids had set up helium balloons and a finish line across the top of the driveway, with a big sign that read, "YOU DID IT!" I got out of the car after honking my arrival, and waited until they came outside so that I could cross the line and break the tape on my own two feet. It was a great feeling to be home.

When I went to check the online results so I could get my official time, I was missing. After some e-mails back and forth, it turns out that I was listed with the walkers, and the timers had added an hour to my time. Problem solved, and my official time was 3:17:42.2.

LESSONS AND INSIGHTS

Why the 22+-minute improvement? Well, more mileage and consistent running for well over 2 years. When I strained my groin in January, I feared a major setback, but it was a mere bump in the road. While my mileage was far higher than ever before (multiple 60+-mile weeks and a peak of 72), I also built in more flexibility. Thanks to following Brad Hudson's philosophy, I never felt like a slave to the schedule. I backed off when necessary, either changing things around, or just adjusting a particular workout on the fly.

Cool temps on race day were also a blessing (despite the rain), though I had also potassium-loaded for about a week in an effort to help stave off cramps. Having dropped 4-5 pounds from the fall didn't hurt either.

Having failed at three prior marathons - yet never having quit - also strengthened my resolve. Having perservered through much worse than what I encountered on Sunday, I had much greater perspective about what the discomfort, pain and effort meant, in terms of what I could tolerate and for how long.

This was - simply stated - the race I'd been waiting for, but it did not just come to me. As several folks have opined, it was the training that made this day possible, not luck, or weather, or good hydration, or new shoes, or anything else (though all those things contributed). There is no way to fake a marathon. You've either put in the work, or you haven't. And - if you haven't - prepare to be exposed, whether it's at Mile 10, 13.1, 20 or even later.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS & THANKS

Yeah, yeah, I know this is not the Academy Awards, but I would like to thank some people, by name and/or description:

• My wife and kids, who despite not always "getting it", do understand how much this means to me and have expressed their joy for me
  
• My real-life friends Steve, Bill, Jim G. and the members of my running club, for their encouragement, understanding and keen interest in my quest
  
• The RWOL community, in particular "coachbr"and "A muse" for their always sage running-related advice, along with the regular posters to the "Sub-3:20" thread (Agile, Zab, GAT1977, NACN, TTM, SpiderPig, Dad4JCZ, FornoBravo, 262toBQ, Nick, lilsnoop, Justin), who've become a virtual family of like-minded folks who's performances inspire and confidence in my ability to reach this milestone helped me believe it myself; the good luck support thread (which has over a 100 posts) meant a lot, and I seriously thought about everyone's good wishes and expectations when the going got tough; sorry if I've forgotten anyone by name
  
• Roger M, who chose to share his joy for running and gift for pacing with me for much of Sunday; in a small race such as this, it was very comforting not to feel alone

-ESG

The Wrong Kind of Blistering Pace

Assuming that any given cycle in one's life has good and bad components (yin and yang, if you will), then I am sincerely hoping that the bulk of this particular marathon cycle's bad karma came and went last weekend. It was a tough weekend personally. Suffice it say that I managed to ruin my wife's and my second date of 2009 by deciding to mention how I felt about the family's decision to forgo coming to Sugarloaf with me next weekend. The flood gates promptly opened, and what should have been a very nice evening out turned into a difficult and ugly argument about things much more profound and important than running. And while the ensuing tension seems to be subsiding, the conversation will need to continue well into the near and mid-range future.

On the running front, my last "long" run - planned as 12 miles at an easy pace, with maybe the final 2-3 at goal marathon pace - turned into a minor disaster, as all five toes on my left foot blistered. For the past few weeks, I have experimented with different socks and insoles in what I had hoped would be my marathon racing shoes. I've run 3 half-marathons and at least 4 20+-mile runs in Saucony Grid Tangent 3's (I have an older, white/green pair and a newer white/gold pair). I ordered new orthotics, which arrived a few weeks ago, and I have been getting used to them. I have tried several different socks, and have tried the orthotics with and without the sock liner which comes with the shoes. The results have ranged from some annoying foot discomfort towards the end of long runs, to yesterday's blister-fest.

I headed out at around 2:30 p.m., not a normal running time for me. Thanks to all sorts of scheduling issues (including my mother's visit and departure, Mother's Day celebrations, kids' activities and my wife's work-related obligations, to name a few), I was lucky to get to run at all. I normally apply Body Glide to my feet before long runs, but I figured that 12 miles would not be a big deal, and given the day's schedule, I hurriedly prepared for my run by skipping that sort of tedious, time-consuming preparatory ritual. I threw on a pair of good-looking thin technical socks which I'd recently ordered online, because - yes - they look cool and make me feel fast.

Despite severely gusting winds (my gas grill actually blew over in the morning!), the first few miles were fine, though I felt some friction on my left foot. I paid it little attention, but it got worse as I climbed the big hill in the 4th mile of my route. At around Mile 5, I stopped and removed my shoes: my pinkie toe was awful, with a blister making it look almst twice its normal size; the next toe in was almost as bad, and small blisters were forming on all three other toes. WTF?! Did this really have to happen then and there? So, I trudged along tenderly for another 4 miles or so, until it was too painful to take another step. I stopped just after the 9-mile mark, took my left shoe off again, and used my fingernails to pop the two worst blisters. The pinkie toe one popped easily, and the pressure was gone. I made a mess of the next toe, though, pinching too much skin and thus leaving the raw under-layer overly exposed. I re-grouped, manipulated my socks to try to avoid any further rubbing, and then walked for a 1/4 mile or more. My foot hurt, but I decided that it wasn't going to be any worse if I ran it in. I ran slowly up the rest of the hill which I was climbing, then dialed up the pace to goal marathon pace. My last full mile was under 7:30, and the final 0.25 mile was under 7:00/mile pace. I finished running 6:25 pace, and my foot didn't seem to worsen.

I got home, finished popping the blisters, washed my feet carefully and limped around for the rest of the afternoon/evening. Now, I have the worst one wrapped in moleskin, just to avoid any more damage, and trust that the next few days will allow them to heal up. In fact, I'm consoling myself with the memory that when I ran - and won - a 5K in Atlanta in 2007, it was 4 days after having developed a colossal blister on the arch of my left foot, thanks to trying out my first pair of orthotics. Some "Second Skin" should do the trick, and I'm sure I can endure almost anything during a single race. The bigger question is what socks should I wear? I need to resolve that post haste.

So, last week ended up like this:

• M - Usual XT
• Tu - 9.75+ miles, with a toned-down version of the club's workout: 2x800, 2x1200, 4x200, plus warm-up, recovery jogs and cool-down; I ran them mostly at 10K-half-marathon pace, rather than 5K pace and faster
• W - 5 miles easy
• Th - 5 miles easy
• F - 8 miles, with 3M at goal marathon pace, brief rest/recovery, and 2M at goal pace, followed by cool-down; it was warm and windy and I cut out a mile of MP running, since it seemed like I was working too hard
• Sa - 5 miles easy on the trails; very, very muggy
• Sun - 10.7 miles, about 8:30 average pace, with the blister debacle detailed above

This week will likely go like this:

• M - 15 minutes elliptical and 20-30 minutes of easy stretching
• T - maybe 5 easy miles
• W - 6-7 miles, with 3 at goal marathon pace
• Th - 4 miles, very easy; stretching
• F - Rest; drive up to Sugarloaf, though may take a nice walk to stretch legs up there; stretch and foam roll
• Sa - 3 miles on marathon course
• Sun - 26.2 miles at goal marathon pace

I may or may not post again before my race report. I have no mobile coverage up that way, so I'll have to figure out a way to get the word out - good, bad or ugly - after-the-fact. Thanks for following my admittedly self-absorbed and often mundane training saga. I hope that all this trouble turns out to be worth it in 6 days. It seems like the least I could do, to bring home a BQ as a prize for all the effort of the past couple of years.

Warmest regards, ESG

Taper? But I hardly know 'er . . .

Taper Time

So, the last long run is done. The hay - as they say - is in the barn. I have reached the point that most every marathoner loves and dreads: the taper. This is the time to allow one's body to recover from the strain of heavy training and high mileage. Where the aches and pains begin to heal up. Where the perpetual feeling of fatigue dissipates and energy returns. Where one begins to focus on (read, "obsess about") the actual race which has been the target all along.

We look forward to the taper because it means more rest. It means that our toughest workouts are behind us. It signifies that we have survived the tough part, and now get to coast towards the ostensible reward for all our hard work: race day. Yet we dread this period, as well. Why? Because it disrupts our routine. It makes us wonder whether we've done enough . . . or have we done too much? Are we fit enough or overtrained? Each new twinge may mean imminent catastrophe. We fear that we will get fat thanks to our now-slothful activity level (like going from 60+ to "only" 45 miles this week, for example).

And - for me, at least - this becomes a period of obsessive weather-checking.

Having recently realized that my least hot marathon (Keybank Vermont City in 2008) ended up in the high-70's late in the race, I realize that while I may have had many valid reasons to be hard on myself, I haven't gotten a fair shot at seeing what I can do on a marathon course in decent long-distance running weather. The consensus is that anything above 60 degrees means that a marathoner should expect to slow down. By most accounts, 45-50 degrees and overcast with little to no wind is ideal. The hotter it is, the harder the body has to work to keep cool, and the more difficult it becomes to remain adequately hydrated (or, more accurately stated, to remain "functionally dehydrated"). In light of all three of my marathons, I'm feeling a bit crampophobic, though I have not experienced cramps at any time during training, even during some recent warm weather runs. So, despite knowing that online 15-day weather forecasts aren't worth the paper they're printed on, I'm nonetheless checking www.accuweather.com at regular intervals, hoping for some good news. Problem is that this strategy is nothing more than a recipe for enhanced neurosis, since I know that a good forecast is bound to change, while a bad one is likely to hold. Yes, when it comes to race day weather, my cup of Gatorade is definitely half-empty.

Putting aside weather-related craziness, I will unequivocally say that I've never been better prepared for a marathon, and I have more than a mere chance to qualify for Boston this time. My mileage has been significantly higher than ever before. My recent race times have been personal bests, all in the midst of training (meaning I've run them on tired legs). I am - hallelujah! - injury-free at this moment (not counting minor aches and pains which are completely normal at this stage). With a little luck and some smart pacing, I should be able to see 3:1x:xx on the race clock as I approach the finish line in 13 days.

Last Week's Recap

Last week was the first week of this cycle where I did not officially make my mileage goal. Life got in the way, but since I'd planned it as a "swing" week anyway, meaning it may or may not have been a taper week, it really did not matter. Here's how it played out:

• Monday - Usual cross-training, circuit, core & stretching
• Tuesday - Cursed Day #1; supposed to do about 10 miles with 2x15 minutes at half-marathon pace (HMP); had to skip the run to the track (because my daughter's bike's been "borrowed", forcing us to drive); it was close to 90 degrees when we started, then a major storm system moved through, dropping temps to around 80, with wind gusts of up to 40 mph; then, in the worst development of the day, my trusty Garmin Forerunner 305 just died in the middle of the workout; I estimate I got in a total of about 8 miles, with 15 minutes and then maybe 8 minutes at HMP
• Wednesday - Bought a Garmin Forerunner 405 in the morning; did 10 miles easy at lunchtime, including 6 1-mile laps around the lake at a local park
• Thursday - 7 miles a little harder than easy; good pace and nice, low HR
• Friday - Cursed Day #2; work turned crushing, and I squeezed in a 45-minute treadmill run, instead of the 10-miler with goal marathon pace miles thrown-in; need to calibrate the foot pod to the new Garmin, since I apparently ran a new 10K PR; According to the watch, I somehow managed low-6:00 pace despite keeping the TM at 2.5-3.5% incline; I'll call it a GMP/Tempo/WTF run
• Saturday - 7.5 miles on the trails, including some hill sprints and surges; 3-mile hike with the family later that afternoon (which gives me 60+ if I count it, but I won't)
• Sunday - 18.4 miles, with about 14 at GMP+30-40 secs (8:00-8:10/mile pace), but which turned out to be a bit faster since I'm still adjusting to what appears to be inaccurate instant pace readings on the new Garmin; overall pace was about 8:08/mile, and my average HR was around 150-ish, which is a very encouraging sign

It was very exciting and motivating to read about many of the RWOL forumites marathon performances this past weekend. There were tales of great personal successes; at least one tragedy (a runner who'd been training for the Pittsburgh Marathon who was killed by a car last week); incredible Masters' performances; runners needing medical attention. It certainly got the race juices flowing, as if they needed any help.

Taper Week #1

This week should end up like this:

• Monday - XT as usual
• Tuesday - "Ladder" intervals at the track; 8+ miles total
• Wednesday - 6 miles easy
• Thursday - 6 miles easy
• Friday - 8 miles, with 2x3 miles at GMP and a 5-minute active recovery
• Saturday - 5 miles easy
• Sunday - 13 miles, with maybe the final 3 or so at GMP

Week's total = 46 miles

It's a testament to my preparation that this feels like a very easy week. Not sure how I'll handle only running 22 or so miles in the 6 days before the race. Speaking of the race, I may put up a separate post on this, but I will confess to my virtual friends that my feelings are hurt thanks to my family's decision to forgo coming to Sugarloaf with me. They've decided instead to go see my in-laws and their new puppy. I've mostly kept quiet, as part of me is a bit relieved to be able to have some quiet time to prepare and reflect. However, given how much I've put into this, I would have liked my family to be there to share my joy (I hope) when I cross the finish line. What's a guy to do?

Thanks for reading, and for your supportive comments along the way.

-ESG

I Could Run for Miles & Miles & . . . .

With apologies to The Who, I take this opportunity to boast about getting through my highest mileage week ever. From Monday, April 20th through Sunday April 26th, I ran 72 miles. Looking back 10 days from Sunday the 26th, I ran 106 miles. The best news is that I am surprisingly functional. Tired and a tad sore, but essentially uninjured and in better position to make a full frontal attack on 26.2-mile course than I have ever been. I'm nervously excited about running the Sugarloaf Marathon in 20 days (gulp!).

The mileage PR was only one of two personal bests which I set last week. On Friday evening, I ran a local 5K, hoping for a sub-19:00 finish. I did not get it, but the details appear below.

Here's the breakdown of last week:

• M - 3.5M @ recovery pace on the TM
• Tu - 12M, w/7M on an indoor track (including 4x400m at about 6:05/mile pace); last 5 on the treadmill, progressing down to goal marathon pace (GMP)
• W - AM: 8+M easy; PM: 4M easy
• Th - 6+M easy, plus a couple of 100m strides
• F - AM: 4M "shake-out run; PM: 1.25M warm-up, 3.1M race, 2M cool-down
• Sa - 7.5M easy on the trails
• Su - 20M, with miles 15-18.5 (total of 4.5) at GMP

With the slight overages on a couple of those runs, the total came to 72 miles, which is at 10% more than I've ever run in a week before.

Now the question is whether to do a 3-week taper (which would start now) or a 2-week taper. Having had poor results from 3-week tapers before, I will strive to run 60 or so miles this week, then do a 2-week taper. While it may just be a matter of hair-splitting, I'm not calling this week a taper week since I've only run a few 60+-mile weeks in my life, though this one will be the 5th one out of the past 6 weeks.

A NEW 5K PR

I had skipped the annual Friday evening race the past couple of years because of scheduling and training considerations. I wanted to get at least one 5K in during this training cycle, if for no other reason than to find out how far I've come since last year. In early April 2008, I ran 19:49 on cool day on a flat course during my first-ever 60-mile week. By the following weekend, I was hurt, and never quite recovered in time for my spring marathon.

This year, on the heels of a fast 3-miler in early March, I wanted to crack the 19:00-minute 5K barrier. I knew full well that the deck was stacked against me given my recent mileage, but I figured, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I still need to adjust to my new "fast" pace, which is difficult when my training is focused on the marathon. It's worth mentioning that Friday was to that point our hottest day of the year, and start-time temps were around 80, a bit of a shock to the system of a guy who'd run in layers just earlier that morning (low-40's). So, here's the tale of the race from Friday:

• Mile 1 - As in March, I started at a suicidally fast pace, trying to settle into a rhythm; I had wanted to go out at around 6-6:05/mile pace, and then see if I could hold that for another mile and then push the pace for final 1.1; since I was running about a 5:20 pace at the half-mile mark, I reigned myself in; despite having hydrated well (or so I thought), I had a terrible case of cottonmouth during the first mile; the course took us (as a result of a last-minute change) onto a mile+ of trails; first mile split: 5:53
  
• Mile 2 - This mile contained a good stretch on the trail and the course's two main hills, sandwiched around 4 tight turns; I took a sip of water at about the 1.5-mile mark, which helped me a bit; I was hurting and could tell that I didn't have much "pop" in my legs and felt my pace drop off; two-mile mark in 12:20 (6:27 mile)
  
• Mile 3-3.1 - During the first mile, one guy passed me after we all settled into our "natural" paces; I kept him in my sights, and tried not to let him increase his lead on me; for most of the last 2 miles, he was the only person close to me, but another guy came back to us in the last half-mile or so; I tried to increase my effort, and ended up passing them both with less than a quarter-mile to go (more a function of their fade than my acceleration); last 1.1 miles in 7:01 (I messed up pressing the lap button here; overall recorded distance was 3.18)

Net time on my watch: 19:19; official time (which was reported differently several times, as a result of a technical problem along the way) = 19:26. I finished 12th overall (out of 320) and got 3rd in my age group. I was pretty satisfied, but really wanted to break 19:00. Of course, if it'd been cooler, or the course had stayed confirmed to the road or I'd run fewer miles in the preceding week, it might have been different. I guess the bright side is that I still have some 5K glory to look forward to this year: first the sub-19:00, then 18:35, or sub-6:00 pace. Baby steps.

Besides, I'd trade a 16:00 5K for a sub-3:20 marathon and a ticket to Boston 2010.

Sunday's long run was harder than I wanted it be, due in equal parts to fatigue and the sudden heat wave which hit us like a ton of bricks. I did 20 miles, with 14 pretty easy (a little under 9:00 pace) and 4.5 at marathon pace (or close). I was going to do 5 miles at GMP, but my feet hurt (a new source of concern about my race shoes and new orthotics) and I figured I should shut it down and run it in easy. Yes, I'm trying to be a little smarter this time than I was in prior training cycles.

THIS WEEK'S TRAINING

This week may end up looking like this:

• M - usual XT routine
• Tu - 10M total, with 2x15 minutes at HM pace (around 7:00); it may be in the 90's, so that workout might be scaled back a bit
• W - 10M (with maybe 6x10 second hill sprints)
• Th - 6M easy
• F- 10M total, with 6 at GMP (7:30/mile)
• Sa - 6M easy
• Su - 18M at about 8:00 pace (GMP +30 seconds)

Total of 60 for the week, then tapering officially begins.

Hope your training and racing is going well, or that you're dedicating yourself to a new goal somewhere down the road. Thanks for reading. -ESG

On Boston

BOSTON

Monday marked the 113th running of the Boston Marathon, 26.2 historic miles from Hopkinton, Massachusetts to the self-proclaimed hub of the universe. Laypeople may call it "the Boston Marathon"; to passionate distance runners around the world, it's simply "Boston". I had hoped to be there myself (enough people asked me about in the past month, for crying out loud!), but my faithful reader knows my tale of woe. Three marathons; three disappointments (and only one was a legitimate BQ attempt).

The Boston Marathon is the distance runner's Holy Grail. With its demanding but attainable qualifying standards, it creates an "elite" event for the recreational runner. It's like being able to enter the Masters despite being a 10-handicap golfer. Sure, the pros would tee off first, but you'd get your turn, and - if it all came together for you - you might just shoot the round of your life.

After holding a qualifying-exempt invitational entry form a couple of months ago (courtesy of a well-connected colleague), I decided I would continue to work towards qualifying. I'd like to claim to be a principled purist, refusing to compromise my ideals just to get to "the show" sooner rather than later. In reality, though, I decided that the experience of qualifying, of seeing the clock display less than 3:20:59 when I finish a marathon, may actually end up trumping Boston itself. I just didn't want to deprive myself of the experience. So, I participated in this year's marathon by volunteering at the pre-race Expo.

The Expo was a joyous occasion. Other than missing an exit and dealing with Boston crowds, parking and closed streets, it was nothing but a feel-good atmosphere, basking in the collective positive energy of a healthy, eager crowd of people who enjoy doing what I most enjoy doing. my job was simple: let people try on sample shirts so that they would choose the right size. I worked in the men's large/extra large section, and was surprised to see that Boston-qualified runners come in all shapes and sizes. Many a guy just stripped off his shirt, tried on the race shirt and chose his size. The women were - sadly - more discrete.

I met many of my virtual running friends, from all over the country. It was great to put faces to names. Karma abounded as I checked in with the volunteer coordinator, only to find "A muse" trying to find me. He looked just like his online photos, and I like to think that my lending him some arm warmers helped him reach his goal of 2:46 (a shockingly fast time; lucky the arm warmers did not disintegrate at that speed).

My fellow t-shirt sizer was a nice woman who admitted to running Boston as a Bandit (i.e., an unregistered runner), part of a dated tradition. She even planned to have her daughter pace her for the last 5 miles. Serious marathoners would generally find that behavior uncouth, but she was nice and plans to try to qualify for Boston for real. I made a couple of gently judgmental comments, but mostly let it slide. And, although I've been tempted, I haven't actually slept in my sharply awesome bright yellow Boston 2009 volunteer's jacket.

Race day proved to be exciting beyond belief, despite watching events unfold in a 4 square-inch screen via Universal Sports' online feed. Both the men's and women's elite races were exciting, with Americans Kara Goucher and Ryan Hall in contention the entire way (both finished 3rd). Yet, the real excitement for me came from tracking my many running friends. All told, I had about 25 or so people on whom I checked throughout the race. As with all running-related tales, their stories spanned the gamut from great personal triumph to abject suffering. One friend nearly ended up in the hospital after posting a PW (personal worst) time, which would - ironically - still qualify me to run Boston. Others had incredible PRs, as they etched their names into the historic register of our sport. Still others fell short of their time goals, but managed to get outside of themselves and enjoy the spectacle into which they'd earned their way. As one Boston Globe blogger wrote, "Think of Boston not as your final exam, but as your graduation ceremony". They runners had done all the hard work, and they were merely taking a 26.2-mile victory lap from Hopkinton to Boston, on the world's oldest continuously run marathon course.

TRAINING

Needless, to say, Boston fever has not hurt an aspiring qualifier's training motivation. I ran a little under 64 miles last week, thus averaging over 60 for the past 4 weeks. Sunday's long run was 20.2 miles, with 4 sets of MP, as follows:

• 2M = 7:41/7:42 (long, slight uphill miles)
• 2.5M = 8:33 (monster Sugarloaf replicator hill)/7:22/7:29 (pace for 0.5)
• 2.5M = 7:31/7:32/7:30 (0.5)
• 2M = 7:31/7:32

Average pace was 8:15/mile; average HR was 149. Had some weirds pains that came and went, including what may be my feet adjusting to new orthotics (an acute pain under my left arch made me think that the run was over after 5 miles).

Here's how this week is looking:

• M - 3.5M easy on TM; circuit/core/stretch
• Tu - 12M (with 4x400 @ 5K pace
• W - 12M, with 8 in the morning and 4 in the afternoon/evening
• Th - 6M easy (maybe with 4x100 strides)
• Fr - AM: 4M shake-out run; PM: 5K race (6+M total)
• Sa - 8M easy (trails)
• Sun - 20-22 (mostly easy, but maybe last 5 or so at MP) - that would be my 3rd consecutive week with a 20+-miler and 4th of the cycle

Total will be 70+ miles for the first time ever. If I feel great, then I'll do 60+-miles next week and then do a 2-week taper before Sugarloaf. If I'm feeling too tired, I'll back down and have a 3-week taper. This training cycle has been all about pushing hard while remaining flexible. So far, it's working out well, but I hope to know for sure in a little over three weeks.

Thanks for reading. -ESG

The Ups & Downs of Marathon Training

Coming off of last week's half-marathon, I've been thinking about ups & downs, at first in terms of hills, but in a more symbolic context, as well. I live in a hilly area, and my next marathon is at a ski resort, for crying out loud. Of course, as every dedicated runner realizes sooner or later, running can become a multi-faceted metaphor for life.

For a variety of reasons, I tend to shy away from getting into the details of my non-running personal life on here (yes, I do have one), so suffice it say that last weekend sucked. Like virtually everybody, I have a few especially stressful things going on in my life right now, including an ailing father who's in the hospital for the third time this year. Two of my three kids had a bout of stomach flu last week. On Saturday morning, my wife and I made an ER visit with one of the kids (everything's okay now, but we'll need some future help).

I had planned to run 5 recovery miles on the trails on Saturday, which I did when we got back from the hospital. It was cold and raw, and as much as it was great to be back in the woods, my heart wasn't in it.

Easter Sunday started inauspiciously, with my two youngest kids acting like spoiled, insufferable brats, demanding candy, wanting to skip church (which means a lot to my Christian wife) and otherwise being disagreeable about everything from eating breakfast to getting dressed. Yes, this is likely the result of some parenting deficiencies, but that realization did make managing the morning any easier. I offered to stay home with them so my wife and oldest daughter could go to church in peace, but my wife said she would deal with the little ones, that she would not miss church on Easter and that she didn't want me missing the whole second half of the day to do a 3-hour run. So, I tried to get into the the right frame of mind for my scheduled 22-miler, of which I was planning to do the final 5 miles at goal marathon pace (GMP). It turned out to be one of the worst training runs ever.

Now, I hate making excuses, but part of the process of improving as a runner is to identify and attempt to correct the things that compromise optimal performance. Ideally, one does that during training so as to get it "right" on race day. Here's the short list of what I believe conspired against me, roughly in order of importance:

• Stress
• Sustained winds of 25+ mph
• Passover curbing my carb intake; under-fueling in general
• Under-hydrating
• Insufficient sleep, even by my usual "6-hours-is-plenty" standard
• Not fully recovered from/still adapting to recent training stressors (specifically back-to-back 60+-mile weeks ending with a tough half-marathon PR race)

Also, trying to approximate what I'll face at Sugarloaf, here's the elevation profile of the course I plotted for myself:

It was 36 degrees when I went out at around 9:00 a.m., and I took it easy. The wind was tough, but not debilitating, for the first 4-5 miles. Then it smacked me in the face like a brick wall, and I was being blown on and off the shoulder and sidewalks regularly. I stopped at a gas station to use the bathroom, take a gel and fill my water bottles, bracing myself for the climb from miles 7-10, which I purposely plotted since that's where the big climb is on the Sugarloaf course. The highlight of the run was that I took those miles smoothly, averaging around 9:30/mile, or about a minute slower than I should take miles 8-10 on race day. I got to the top and went down the other side, a steep descent into the wind, followed by a killer 3-mile climb straight into the worst winds of the day. Miles 12-15 gain about 400 feet, and with the wind in my face, I was physically spent and mentally out of it. I lost my focus, and I spent the next hour ambling towards home, just wishing it was over. My hips felt tight, so I stopped to stretch (more than once). I was dehydrated, rationing my remaining 4 ounces of Gatorade Endurance and 4 ounces of water, until I came to a little private school on a country road where I filled up on their outdoor faucet. Slightly reinvigorated and no longer freaking out about running out of fluids, I was able to get myself down to around 8:30 per mile, but it was still a slog. Overall pace was about 9:00 for the run. Nothing about that was "easy". Total mileage for the week (a cutback week) was a little over 55.

Some 3 hours-plus after setting out, I was back home, trying to stretch out the doubts which had managed to creep into my psyche as the result of one poor training run. While successful marathon training has a lot to do with physical and mental toughness, my psyche - at least as far as the full marathon distance is concerned - remains rather fragile. Three disappointing performances, coming off of months of hard work and personal sacrifice, have a tendency to do that.

One reason I've delayed in completing this post is because this week's training schedule has been a work in progress. At this point, it looks like this:

• M - XT as usual; a little extra core work
• Tu - 11M total, with some drills and 10x200m hill repeats at 5K pace/effort, done with the running club; slowest repeat was at 6:24 pace; fastest at 5:39 pace; first one was 6:18; final one was 5:42
• W - 8 miles easy, perhaps with a "moderate" finish
• Th - 10 miles easy
• F - 8 mile progression run, starting with 2 miles at 9:00/mile, dropping 30 seconds per mile every 2 mile, until last 2 miles are at goal marathon pace
• Sa - 6 miles very easy, probably in the woods
• Su - 20 miles, with 5 miles easy, 4x2 miles at goal marathon pace (4-5 minutes easy in between sets) and 5 miles easy

That would come out to about 63 miles, and hopefully serve a couple of purposes. One is to start "dialing in" my goal race pace of 7:30/mile. Another is to work hard without overtaxing myself, so that I may do my first-ever 70-mile week next week. I've decided that the way I feel at the end of the 70-mile week will determine whether I do a 2-week taper (as planned this time) or a 3-week taper (as I have done before).

In addition to the need to peak at the right time, I need to stay healthy and have confidence that my goal is attainable. Of course, good weather would be a bonus. I'd love to start a marathon worried about being cold, perhaps even having a layer which I could shed after a couple of miles. Two of my last 3 half-marathons have started with temps in the high-20's/low 30's, and those runs have gone very well for me. If the temps in Maine on May 17th start out in the 40's, I'll be very happy and confident about experiencing a marathon where it all finally comes together for me. In a little over 4 weeks, I'll know.

-ESG