Revival of the Blog, Revival of the Runner. Ready for Tecumseh!

I was going to wait until after the marathon to write this, but in the midst of all of these psychological effects of taper, I feel like the time is now.  Last April I finished my second marathon, and it was even more of a disaster than the first.  I walked away from that finish line feeling defeated and trapped in a cycle of promising training followed by disappointing races.  I felt like I had so much speed potential that peaked through in my training, but never stayed for long, and never even appeared on a race day.  I was plagued with injury.  Each time I began to make progress in my endurance, my bad knee would give out, and I'd be forced to the couch for weeks.  Each time I thought I was ready for a race, I let my anxiety overwhelm me and control me.  I crumbled into a pile of weak mush, and I was defeated before I even crossed the start.

Feeling like I want to die in the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon.  April, 2012.

It was time for big changes.  Anyone that knows me well knows that I have a pretty extreme aversion to change.  If you don't know me too well, that may seem strange, given the world traveling, alternating lives in tents and houses, etc.  Still, I'm about the most structured, rigid person that I know.  Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures.

Like most things about marathon training, these changes carried over into a lot more of my life than running alone.  Do any of you follow my travel blogs?  If you do, you might remember this entry from my first day in Uganda, titled "Value in Solitude":

"The thought of spending hours upon hours of time when I am in my most focused, most driven state with another individual yapping at me, expecting me to share my deepest thoughts and redirect energy to connect with them has never drawn me in.  When I run through town, breezing past crowds of students standing at a bus stop, or alongside groups of friends walking to class, I feel like I am all alone in a comforting sea of people, zipping by a stationary scene within my tunnel of observation.  It is one of the few times when I can be around other people, observing them, wondering about them, without ever having to bother with formalities of small talk or polite “hello’s.”  I can be entirely focused on my own thoughts, or the people around me, or the sights, or even the position and motion of each part of my body (which I spend a surprising amount of time contemplating). "

So yes, that was me.  Rigid, focused, determined, loner-Alicia.  In fact, that's always been me.  I had one or two really close friends that I would actually share things with, but for the most part, I liked to talk about two things: running and research.  Small talk made me uncomfortable.  Those are valuable traits for a field researcher, but, as it turns out, that lifestyle does not mesh well with crowded races.

I decided that if I was ever going to run a marathon that didn't turn into an utter disaster of nervous vomit (I'm not being hyperbolic or metaphoric there.  That is what my marathons consisted of), I needed to change everything about my training style, especially my aversion to interacting with other people.  So, I took a giant metaphorical gulp and then made the dive:  I joined my local running club.

I'd seen BARA (Bloomington Area Runners Association) on their group runs around town or in races before, and I even knew one or two members.  They seemed like a cult to me.  Then again, most tight networks of alliances struck me as cult-like.

The other thing that I decided to change was my running surface.  I love hiking, and chasing monkeys and apes through dense rain forests has made me pretty great at it.  There seemed to be a shift toward trails happening in the running world, so I thought I'd give the fad a try.  Mixing the place where I felt most comfortable and at ease with the sport that gave me the highest sense of accomplishment seemed like a win-win risk to take.  Plus, soft earth rather than harsh pavement sounded like a knee-pleaser.

So, on one cool, sunny Sunday morning I pulled myself out of my warm bed, took my coffee and toast on the road, and I met a group of runners from BARA at an empty ice cream stand to explore some trail.  I'm sure they had no idea that I was so nervous about running with them that I felt nauseous on the way to the park.  With in the first 5 miles of the run, however, something crazy happened.  My nerves began to settle.  I was so focused on my heavy breathing, my even strides, the drops of sweat on my forehead, that I forgot to feel socially awkward. I found myself opening up, making small talk!  They all knew so much about running, training, gear, the best races, the worst races.  Those were the fastest, most fun 13 miles of my life.  I came home already feeling like I was a member of something, a part of a team.  It sounds incredibly cheesy, but that's a feeling that this nerd has never really had.

Over the next several months each member of BARA that I ran with made me a better runner and a better person in their own way.  I began registering for races on a whim, something this rigid planner never would have done before.  My first race with my new friends was on a trail outside of Indy.  The start gun went off, and I felt my body start to lock up, like it usually does.  My stomach was upset, I wanted to vomit, my legs were cramping.  One of the BARA runners, Craig, flew around me as we ascended the first hill.  It might as well have been a mountain from where I was panting and staggering on it.  My eyes were firmly planted on the dirt beneath me, my head on the powerful ascent ahead.  Through heavy, struggled breath I heard Craig mumble to me, "Come on Alicia, just like the hills on Low Gap.  You know how to do this."  That was all it took.  I smiled, shook my arms, and reached deep enough for that second gear that I'd never been able to find in a race before.  And then the success followed.

My first trail race with BARA:  I won 2nd place in my division!

I finished a race with a smile that day.  And a PR.  And a new outlook on running.  The next several months I would win more prizes and confidence than I ever had in my life, and I would owe most of it to these people, this organization, and my willingness to let go of a bit of control.

Miranda, another member in the group, became one of my female running-heros.  She fooled me by letting me keep up with her in training.  She never let on how fast she was, the PR's she was hiding under her belt, the pure grit she had on the trail in a race.  Then I would see her on race day, focused, intense, and fast.  Afterward, if you tried to ask her about her speed, she'd assume her typical shy, humble demeanor and write it off.  My new pacing strategies in races became to finish within sight distance of Miranda.  Sometimes I managed, others it was just too much.  There was Evan, who talked about training seemingly impossible distances like 50 milers.  He invited me to run on a relay team with him and some others.  Again it will seem silly to them now, but I was the kid that was picked last for every team in school.  Just being asked to be on a team made me feel like a new person.  Other BARA runners, like Hazler, Christy, Heather, Rachel, and Chris had this infectious attitude toward running that I needed more than anything.  They talked about it like it was just plain fun, like a party.  What a novel idea.  Running for fun?  Turns out, it makes you a better runner.

Another group photo before a recent rail race.

Then there were Steph and Ben, the founders of the group.  They were like super heroes from the first time that I saw them run.  They were such seasoned, real runners.  Running seemed like walking to them, so easy, effortless, like a given part of their day.  Their breath barely changed as they would surge ahead on a climb.  They seemed to know everything about races and training.  One day, Steph, the running super hero herself, gave me the final boost of confidence that I needed to finally find the third gear of my race speed.  "Don't take this the wrong way," she once said on a run, "but your half PR surprises me.  I've seen you on training runs, and I know you're faster than that."  Finally, the validation that I needed.  Then she paced me, pushed me a little, and tried to keep me talking.  "You could BQ," she concluded.  I don't think she had any idea what that comment meant to me, or how far it would carry me in the next several races.  I went on to begin placing in my age group.  And in the next half, I created a new PR, the one that Steph told me I could get.

I placed in my division or in overall females in every race that I did after that, except for the Monumental Half Marathon, where I wiped out my previous PR.  Every race was a PR, a new award, a new me, a fun party with my friends.

Is that a SMILE?!

So, on Saturday I am about to run my first trail marathon, my third marathon.  More importantly, I am about to run the first marathon that does not turn into a nerve-vomit-mess.  It will be the first marathon that feels like a party, a new me, a successful marathoner.  After the amazing season that I've had, I don't even care that much about my time (okay, I'm still me.  I care a little).  I finally know what the good anticipation feels like before a race, because surely this is it.  I picture the finish line not just with me crossing it, but with each member of my team running across.  I can't wait to see them at the start, to feed off of the excitement, to shake away the nerves, to be a part of a group.  That's right, loner me, a part of that group.

Thanks, BARA.  You guys helped me find a new version of myself this year.

The Race Report: IU Mini Marathon March 31, 2012

The Line-up:

The icy pre-dawn air of a race morning always seems to conceal my nerves a bit.  I tell myself that the shaking and fidgeting is a consequence of the cold.  After running back and forth to the port-a-potties countless times (nervous pee-er: that's me), I found my way to the crowd beginning to gather at the start line.  That is always an energy that you cannot replicate anywhere else.  Some people are chattering uncontrollably, laughing too loudly, nervously.  Others, like me, stand in silence, exchanging glances, wondering if anyone else feels as nervous as them, feels more ready than them.  I swear, standing there, motionless, thinking about the task before you; that is always the longest ten minutes of a race.  I usually jump up and down, half-heartedly stretch a few more times, bounce my legs around as though I'm going to magically cure all of the knee problems that I'm fretting over in the minutes before a race.

Miles 1-3:

When the gun goes off, I have to summon all of the self-control that I have to not burst forward like a tornado of pent-up energy, tension, nerves, and well-conditioned muscle.  That is my favorite thing about long distance races, though.  They are about more than the muscle you've worked so hard to train and condition.  Distance races are more than anything an exercise in wisdom, restraint, self-awareness, and perfect timing, not pure power.

I held myself back this time better than I ever have before.  This was actually only my second half marathon.  In the marathon last year, I was a bundle of energy for the first 6 miles, hoping over curbs, onto sidewalks, speeding around people, waving my arms.  I felt almost like I was dancing.  We all know that feeling did not last all 26.2 miles though.  My goal for the mini this time was to test my ability to pace myself, to control my power, plan every mile, and stick to that plan.  I started slow.  I checked my Garmin (GPS runner's watch) obsessively for the first 5 miles.  "Don't go under 9 (9:00 minutes per mile), don't go under 9," I kept repeating to myself.  I may have even said it out loud.  People were flying by me, some of them clearly in far worse shape than me.  I saw people waving their arms around, engaging in a personal celebration on mile one, giving each stride their full forces of energy stores.  I swallowed my pride, stared down at my watch, and let them go by.  "Save them for later," I kept telling myself.  Aside: Yes, I do actually talk to myself this much on every long run.  It's the only way I'd ever get through a whole marathon training season of solo-long runs.  I call it runner's-schizophrenia.

On mile 2 we hit Jordan Hill.  For those of you that know Bloomington, it begins at the intersection of North Jordan Avenue and East 17th Street then travels all of the way through Fraternity lane until you reach the intersection with Law Lane.  For those of you that don't know Bloomington, it is 1.04 miles of winding, non-stop-uphill, and it gets steeper with each block.  I'd been practicing this hill twice per week.  Each time taking fewer walk breaks, making it farther to the top.  This time I'd decided to make it all of the way up and over, and I did!  As I reached the crest of the hill, two girls were holding a sign that said "You're almost there!  The next two miles are all downhill!"  As I passed them and crested the hill I gave myself a smile, a nod, and a short celebration of my victory.

Miles 3-6:

As we reached mile 3 people were no longer flying by me.  Things started to reach a sort-of status-quo for a while.  The mood was cheerful, but much more subdued.  My legs felt warm now; my heart rate was steady.  As I ran past my supporters (Mom, Dad, Adam, Adam's parents) I slipped off my arm warmers and handed them to my mom.  Warm-up completed.  Now I let myself settle in to 8:50 per mile.

Passing off my arm warmers. Warm-up completed!

  

This is a good time to mention my other goal for this race: hydration.  Usually I relied on the aid stations set up every two or so miles with water and gatorade.  In last year's marathon, however, I found real problems with my hydration, and this ultimately led to the longest final six miles of my life.  This time I chose to carry two 10 oz bottles on my own hydration belt.  One bottle was filled with Powerade Zero, the other with Vitargo S2.  Rather than try to gulp down water every two miles at an aid station, wondering in between when that next station will be, how crowded it will be, how much I should drink, I sipped constantly and slowly.  As we approached aid stations, everyone would move to the right side, slowing down, stopping, crowding, gulping down water.  I would move to the left and glide around everyone, sipping away at my own, perfectly mixed concoctions. 

Miles 7-10:

Things changed as we reached mile 7.  This is one of the hilliest half marathons in the country.  As we crested yet another hill, I saw people start to fall apart.  The mood had swiftly changed, and so had the pace.  This was when I let my legs loosen up more, and I gave my body permission to assume its most comfortable pace.  I dialed it up to 8:20, and I began to do just what I'd been waiting the whole race for, picking them off, one by one, mile after mile.  People started walking, curling over, shaking their heads in disbelief that we'd only reached the half-way point.  I started smiling, having fun, dancing with my strides.  Halfway was where I'd planned to let my body go and begin to enjoy the race.  I popped a couple of Cliff Extra-Salt Shot Bloks, sipped away at my Vitargo bottle, and motored on.

Miles 11-13.1:

8:20 was not my 5K pace, and I still had one more speed-up planned for the finish.  As we reached mile 11, we ran past a restaurant with outdoor seating, cresting a hill as everyone cheered at their tables.  My legs were starting to feel fatigued, my mind just a bit more foggy.  I popped one more shot blok, took a gulp of vitargo, and shook some tension from my fists.  Within minutes I felt the sugar wake me up, and I knew it was time for the final stretch.  I found that extra reserve in my legs, the extra beats my heart was ready to give, and I set my legs completely free for the first time in the race.  My pace ducked below 8:00, hanging around 7:50.  I used the extra muscle left in my arms to propel myself as my legs tired.  Most importantly: I smiled.  Smiling in a race is the best thing that you can do to keep your spirits up, and your focus on the finish line.

The final 800 meter push was uphill.  Still, I'd planned to sprint this, and I pulled every energy reserve I had left to do it.  I passed at least 5 people on that final stretch as we all saw the finish line, and I even had enough energy for full victory arms as I crossed the line.  That was the best I've ever felt after a race.  I was smiling, celebrating, feeling reassured that I was almost ready for the real race day.  My final time was 1:56:30, not a PR, but as good as I'd hoped for on an extra hilly training race without any taper.  Bring on the home stretch of training!  Next time I'm going for a PR!

Sprinting and passing on the final stretch!

I did it!  Feeling good after the finish!

And Adam finished his first 5K!

Post-race celebrating

Race day preparations: IU Mini Marathon

The day before a race you can bet that I will always be an anxious bundle of energy.  I can hardly sit down the whole day, and my mind is constantly pacing through all of the race plan details.  I think about exactly what pace I can run each mile at, and waste time mulling over where I can shave off minutes from each mile.  I think about exactly when I will drink, what I will drink, when I will eat, what I will eat.  I try to picture every hill, every turn, every little detail about the course.  Most of all, I focus on the final stretch, over and over again.  I picture myself sprinting, think about that final store of energy that is always hidden at the end of a race, picture myself reaching for it, grabbing it, and powering right through the finish line.  I even decide on exactly which pose I will take as I cross that line.

This is why I have trouble focusing on any detail of my day before a race.  People try to talk to me, hold a conversation with me, and I have to fight to keep my eyes glued to them, to keep some part of my mind present.  Race anxiety always hits me like a brick wall.  This is why I knew I needed a training race before the marathon this season.  I pick the IU Mini Marathon, a 13.1 mile extra-hilly race through Bloomington, IN, almost exactly one month before marathon-day.  The race did exactly what I'd hoped it would for me.

Rituals are my solution for this type of anxiety.  I have a whole list of pre-race/pre-long-run rituals, most of which are meaningless physically, but ease much of my tension by giving me a mindless activity to feel as though I am making myself more prepared for the next day.  I chug Powerade Zero for 24 straight hours to hydrate myself as much as possible.  It is really hard for my body to absorb hydration while I am running, so it is best for me to start out at full hydration capacity.  I also protein-load.  Many runners still carbo-load, but I feel like it is becoming an outdated nutrition strategy.  As a vegetarian (or technically an ovo-lacto-pescatarian - someone who eats dairy, eggs, and fish only), I've found that my body demands an extra amount of protein while I'm training.  I carry a giant protein shake of Spiru-tein and chocolate soy milk around and chug it all afternoon.  For dinner I always eat a veggie burger on spelt bread with hummus.

I keep a bottle of nail polish tucked away that I only apply the night before a race.  It's fluorescent pink, which has sentimental significance (see this post).  Pink and purple are my power colors, and I am always decked out in them on a race day.  I use my foam roller on my quads, my IT bands, my gluteals, my hamstrings, and my calf-muscles for 30-40 minutes before bed.  This works out any leftover knots in my muscles and also heats them up enough to be more pliable for a little bit of pre-bed stretching.  More importantly, it seems to melt away my anxiety.  Let me warn you though, this is a painful therapy if you have tight or overworked muscles.  I meticulously select each article of clothing and gear that I will wear, laying out my watch, shirt, shoes, shorts, socks, etc. on the top of my dresser, then stuffing them into my bag made from a Kenyan flag (again, don't ask why this makes me faster.  It doesn't, it's silly, but it's a part of my ritual).  Then, I lay in bed with an ice pack wrapped around my bad knee while I watch motivational videos on youtube (see post).

I rarely get a good night's rest.  This is why two nights before a race it is important to sleep as much as possible.  As early as 4:30 AM, I pulled myself out from the warm covers, slipped on the running clothes that I'd so carefully prepared the night before.  I lathered on some anti-chaffing creme and laced up my shoes.  I prepared my strict pre-run breakfast: a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with brown sugar and a cup of coffee with chocolate soy milk followed by a package of Cliff Extra-Salt Shot Bloks and a bottle of Powerade Zero to snack on before the race.  Adam gave me full rein of the music on our way to the start line.  We listened to my running power mix and tried to make small talk before running back through my pacing and hydration plan.  Before I knew it we were there, and it was time for line-up, my least favorite part of every race.

Thank you, Kathrine Switzer

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/04/02/149876890/photo-the-first-woman-to-enter-the-boston-marathon?sc=fb&cc=fp

Motivational Videos: Recent Youtube Favorites

I love motivational videos.  Here are some of my recent faves:

Enjoy!

The Hydration Chest: I unlocked it!

Many of you know that I have been battling some major hydration issues during this training season.  I tried everything, and I just couldn't seem to get it right.  I often drank so much that I felt nauseous but still incredibly thirsty.  I was suffering from indigestion, and this delirious, dizzy feeling that left me feeling utterly drained by the end of each long run.  Well I think I've just about worked out my perfect combination.  I should point out here that, unfortunately, this combination is always completely different for each person.

Pre-run: Vespa!  This is an amazing amino acid supplement in liquid form.  You gulp down a little packet of it and you are promised improved, long-lasting mental clarity.  The amino acid formula is supposed to initiate the utilization of fat, a much more efficient source of energy, instead of glucose.  I've had blood sugar problems all of my life.  My mother and sister suffer from hypoglycemia as well, so I can't believe I hadn't considered that the problems I've been having are related to the way that my body metabolizes sugar far to fast.  I take a gel, it rushes to my bloodstream, gives me an instant high, and then crashes my entire energy stores within 20 minutes.

Pre and during run: Powerade Zero  Apparently all of the gatorade that I was drinking was doing bad things to my energy stability and digestion as well.  Powerade Zero is loaded with sodium, potassium, and electrolytes, but sugar and carbohydrate free.  It keeps me hydrated without the sloshing feeling or the extreme highs and lows.

During Run:  I take one Clif Block (Extra Salt, Caffeine-free) every 7 miles.  If my stomach is starting to hurt or cramp, this seems to calm it down quickly.  I carry two 10 oz bottles on my awesome hydration belt.  The first bottle is full of Powerade Zero, and I drink that within the first 7 miles.  Next I polish off a bottle of Vitargo S2, which gives me a more constant supply of carbohydrates to sip away at.  I station two 20 oz bottles of Powerade Zero along the rest of my route, so that as I empty these first two bottles on my belt, I can refill them with as much Powerade Zero as needed to finish the run.

Post Run: I keep a Nu Go Protein Bar (Dark Chocolate Pomegranate is my favorite) in my car and down one on the drive home from a long run.  This makes sure that my body has the protein that it needs for instant recovery and muscle building as soon as I finish a run.

And in the end... I felt great!  This was the first time ever that I caught myself grinning during mile 17 of a 20 mile run.  Next week I will be repeating this scenario for the IU Mini Marathon!

The Doubt Battle

"Sometimes, the moments that challenge us the most - define us."  - Deena Kastor

Every day we are surrounded by hundreds of dissenting opinions, and a few of those opinions may even be directed at us.  I don't know about you, but I occasionally encounter some negative opinions (expressed both verbally and nonverbally) mixed in with the good.  Normal? I think so.  Why is it, then, that a single negative voice can have such a lasting impact on us?  If we hear a constant mix of the bad and the good, why does the bad always seem so much louder, so much truer, so much more memorable?  Listening to those ever-ringing negative voices more than the positive ones can have such detrimental effects to all areas of our lives, and they become even more dangerous when we hear them enough that the negativity becomes the voice that we repeat inside of our own heads, day after day.

I might be guilty of this more than most, or maybe I'm just not aware of how much other people listen to their own negative little voices all day.  Either way, it cuts into my fitness, my career, and my personal life more than I should let it.  A few weeks ago I went to the track for a very important speed workout designed into the training plan that I am following.  It's called the "Yasso 800" workout.  Basically, after a 1-2 mile warm up, you run a series of six 800-meter repeats at 100% effort, with 400 meters of slow jogging in between to let your heart rate recover (then you run a 1-2 mile cool down at the end).  Everything I've read tells me that this amazing workout is the best predictor of your marathon finishing time according to your current fitness.  If you average all 6 repeats at 4 minutes, you should finish your marathon in 4 hours.  If your time is 4 minutes and 30 seconds, your marathon finish will be 4 hours and 30 minutes.  I was hoping to average out these repeats in 4 minutes each to put me on target for a marathon finish of 4 hours.

I ran the first set and looked down at my watch.  Then I looked again.  Then I squinted and rubbed the sweat out of my eyes before I held the watch closer to my face.  3:28!  That's right, my watch said 3:28, a whopping 32 seconds faster than my goal.  Before I even gave myself a pat on the back, I heard that awful little voice.  "It's only the first set.  There's no way you can hold this for 5 more.  Clearly you didn't warm up right.  Clearly you're doing these wrong, or the articles are all completely wrong."  Suddenly I caught myself.  I realized how ridiculous this was.  Mid-lap I shook my head and shut my eyes, unclenched my fists and shook the tension out of my wrists.  "Let's try this again.  3:28, you ran 3:28!  The work is paying off!"  I realized I was smiling now, and I'd started my second set.  I felt my arm muscles take charge and my feet striking faster.  Throughout the whole workout I did this.  I kept hearing the negativity, feeling it creeping up on me, and then shoving it down deeper, forcing my own praise and realizing that I'd earned these faster times.

I averaged all of my 800s in exactly 3 minutes and 30 seconds.  The negative voice was not ready to give up.  I walked away from the track coming up with all of the reasons that this kind of time really meant nothing that important, that I still had so much more progress to make.  The sound of my own negativity can almost be deafening at times.  I stopped it again though, and I celebrated.  I celebrated this single small victory, and smiled all of the way home, because I don't think that any of us do that enough. Training will break you if you don't celebrate the small victories.  Life will break you if you don't celebrate them.  If you let your whole life pass you by while you are acknowledging all of the tiny things that you could have done better without stopping to truly reward yourself for the daily improvements and milestones that you make, it will all have been for nothing.  The big steps are nothing compared to the hundred small ones we make.

That celebration paid off.  Days later when I was in the midst of an 18 mile run, feeling my fuel running low, the water sloshing in my gut while the rest of my body cried with an unquenchable thirst, I told myself that I surprised myself once this week, and this was one more chance to do it again.  Had I never celebrated that, I would have never been able to conquer my doubts when I needed to most.