Just One Marathon

You Don't Bring Me Flowers

I’m not afraid to say it: lately, I hate my Garmin.

Blame poor design, a failing battery or cold-weather limitations, but when you really come down to it, my Garmin has been letting me down.  And I’ve been making excuses. But it has to stop, because right now, I’m doing all the work in this relationship.

I’ve actually been accommodating my Garmin’s lack of commitment for a while now. For example, when I noticed that the light was no longer working a few weeks ago, I  told myself I had probably imagined that the light function actually exists on the 405 model. Only after going back to check the manual did I realize that while most Garmins have a light, my Garmin had made a personal decision to opt out of that feature. And yet, I forgave it. Heck, I rarely use the light anyways. And if it weren’t for my own refusal to entertain the idea of bifocals, it probably wouldn’t be necessary at all.

Then, last week, the Garmin quit working at kilometre 17.5 of an 18K run. Again, I made excuses. It was really cold outside, and besides, my pace probably wasn’t going to get any better in those last 500 metres. But it’s not the first time the Garmin has abandoned me during a long run. Two years ago, at the beginning of a half-marathon race, it quit just minutes after crossing the start line. I was forced to run 20K with no Garmin – the horror. And at the Wineglass Marathon? Happened again. It gave up at kilometre 36, despite being fully charged the night before. And like the abused runner I am, I blamed myself, reasoning that in my exhausted and addled state, I must have brushed against the bezel.

Now, the twitchy little device has started playing head games. At the 5K mark of yesterday’s 21K outing, it starting spitting out this message before every lap: “Lap history full. Delete older activities.” (Or something like that. I can’t check, because the Garmin and I aren’t speaking right now.) Since I upload (and then pretty much ignore) all my activities to the Garmin website regularly, I didn’t even know I had to delete other activities from the watch. No fair.

Bottom line – Garmin, you’d better shape up. Because I’m still young, and there’s a lot of life in these legs. And it’s not like I don’t have options. I’d like to stay together, though, for the sake of the children. Because they’re the ones who are going to have to teach their mother to use a new electronic device. And at their age, that’s just cruel. 

The View from Square One

If you’ve seen me on my long runs recently, you might have a hard time believing I ran a marathon just three and a half months ago. Afterwards, I slacked off in a major way, often running only once or twice a week and sometimes not running at all. It was awesome. And now I'm paying the price.

I’m back to my regular training schedule, but there are bound to be a few sore muscles as I track down, catch up to and jump back on the running bandwagon. This morning’s 18K was no exception. Run on what I hope will end up being the coldest day of the year (-33C with the wind chill), I logged a sluggish and slippery 6:12/km pace.

My goal race is Around the Bay, a 30K event in Hamilton, Ontario on March 28^th. I did the race once before, in 2009, and ran it in 3:17. But I’ve learned a lot since then, and logged some results that make me think I can do better this time. At this point, I have three possible goals.

Goal 1: Finish and improve my time. Feel healthy afterwards.

Goal 2: Finish in less than 3 hours. Feel healthy and satisfied afterwards.

Goal 3: Finish in 2:51, achieving the 5:42/km pace required to run a 4-hour marathon. Feel healthy and delusionally-optimistic afterwards.

Here’s the thing – I don’t want to run the first half significantly faster than the second half, the way I did in The Marathon That Must Not Be Named. So in a few weeks, I’m going to have a good long talk with myself and set a realistic goal for Around the Bay. I’m going to choose a pace and stick to it. That will require some real discipline on my part, because Around the Bay features some pretty spectacular hills right at the end. I’ll need to moderate my pace in the early miles and push myself at the end, just when it’s getting difficult. Here’s the elevation map, which I … um … “borrowed” from the very enjoyable blog Run by Numbers (thanks!):

 

 

 

 

 

And yes, there’s a guy dressed as the Grim Reaper who stands at the top of the last hill. He attempts to wave exhausted runners into the cemetery conveniently located nearby. With that in mind, I'll add:

Goal 4: Avoid feeling so exhausted that I want to take him up on his offer.

Pride, Fear and All That Jazz

I’ve made it my goal to run to work once a week, as I prepare for Around the Bay. While I can’t say that I’m overjoyed at the idea of waking up early in the dead of winter and dragging my sorry carcass to the office, it really hasn’t been as horrible as I thought.

I think that’s because, despite the cold, exhaust fumes and excessive number of hills I encounter during the 9K run, it’s kind of a novel experience. Three things really spice up this run:

Fear of death: My Dad is a regular reader of this blog, so I hesitate to write this, but my running route to work is not always, totally 100% safe. When I start my run at 7 a.m., it’s still dark, and about half of the run is on a busy road with no sidewalk and a curb buried in snow. So that means running on the road, beside distracted, under-slept drivers who are talking on their cell phones, checking their Blackberries, eating breakfast and arguing with their kids. While it’s a bit nerve-wracking sometimes, it also keeps me alert. I don’t even listen to my iPod, I’m so busy listening for the screech of car tires. 

Peer pressure: At least three co-workers have mentioned that they have seen me running to work. And it’s a well known fact that I don’t actually look that good running. In fact, I think that recreational running should be a bit like AA – you don’t know someone’s in it unless you’re an addict as well. But if one of my colleagues does catch sight of me, I’d like to look fast. Or at least not slow. That’s an incentive not to let my shoulders sag or slow my pace. And if I do need to stop, I try to manage a high-velocity spit, so I look sporty.

Potential Spontaneous Dance Numbers: There’s lots of fun people-watching on a run to work. Recently, I’ve noticed how many people waiting for buses actually sing aloud to their MP3 music. I love this new development in human behaviour. It gives me hope that the run will turn into a show-stopping musical dance number, something like this:

 

Happy Most Depressing Day of the Year, everyone! Keep belting out those tunes.

Tempo Run: I Don't Get It

A few years back, I was doing an evening run with a local group. Shortly after we started, one of my running buddies glanced at a group who had surged quickly ahead. She said contemptuously, “I thought this was supposed to be a tempo run.”

And I was thinking, “What the hell is a tempo run?”

Yes, I’d heard the term, and even read a description or two, but I couldn’t make any sense of out of it. Something about starting a little slower, running almost as fast as you can for the middle distance, then cooling down at the end. But my problem back then was that I was always running as fast as I could. I had two speeds: running and not running. For me, it wasn’t a subtle art.

Fast forward a few years. I’ve built a good base of miles, so I’ve got the endurance. I’ve learned how to structure a useful speed training workout on the track. I’ve gradually, with a few exceptions, figured out how to pick the appropriate pace for the distance I’m covering. But I still can’t figure out the tempo run. (Throw in all that stuff about lactate thresholds and oxygen use and ... well, let's just say it gets a little complicated for a gal who, just this week, used the imaginary word "scientifical" while making a presentation to a group of doctors, nurses and health care professionals.)

Last Thursday, for example, I set out for an approximately 9K run, and thought might provide a good opportunity to break the tempo code. I read up on tempo runs in one of my favourite running books, Run Less, Run Faster. It described a 2K warm up, followed by approximately 5K at a challenging but manageable pace, then a cool-down of approximately 2K. But during my first 2K, I found myself with a deadly case of Lead Legs that I just couldn’t seem to shake. Plus, it was slippery, hilly and cold. So when I got to the 2K mark, I just thought, “naaahhh”, and settled for what was a lot more like a long, steady Sunday run.

That’s only the most recent example. Somehow I just can’t seem to slow myself down at the start and then push myself hard mid-run. Truth be told, it’s making me feel like a bit of a suck.

Any advice? 

The New Me: Old and Forgetful

Two days. Two good runs. Two demoralizing experiences. Here’s how it all went down.

Tuesday: Are You Talkin' to Me?

I decided to check out an indoor track near our house. It’s a 400 metre track inside one of those ugly sports dome monstrosities. But it’s convenient – just moments away and open seven days a week. When I arrived, the teenager staffing the front desk oriented me to the dome, explained the rules and outlined the costs. “It’s $9 a visit, or $43 a month”, he explained, then he glanced at my grey hair and paused. “Unless … ummm … how old are you?”

I felt a deadly calm come over me. Was this little twerp actually offering me the seniors’ discount?! I looked him straight in the eye and said, “You’d better not be asking me what I think you’re asking me.” His gaze faltered. “Uhhh, no, um, that’s not right. No, of course not. That’ll be $9.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” I replied. “Now just take the money and let’s both forget this ever happened.” (Okay, I didn’t say that last part out loud. But I definitely said it with my steely-eyed stare.)

After that, well, let’s just say I was very motivated to look kick-ass fast during my intervals.

Thursday: It's Not the Years, Honey, It's the Mileage

I ran to work, a distance of just under 10K. Running to work is a bit of a logistical challenge. I’ve got to bring in clothes the day before, then pare down all my possessions to the few I’m willing to carry with me on my run (passcard, Blackberry, keys, cash). I have a locker at work, with all my toiletries, makeup and a towel, so that I can quickly shower and change once I arrive. On Thursday morning, I thought I had it all under control. I had remembered to bring an outfit to work on Wednesday – even the shoes and jewellery.

I had a pretty good run. I started out with the intention of doing a tempo run. However, on a hilly route with snowy, slippery pavement, I just didn’t have it in me to pick up my speed. Instead, I aimed for a steady pace on the hills, and I think I achieved that. I made it to work in just under an hour – pretty decent time on a route with 10+ traffic lights.

Unfortunately, on arriving, I discovered that I’d forgotten the key to my locker. That meant I had no access to the soap, towel, shampoo, hair brush and make up stored just on the other side of the thin metal locker door. Fine. People of my advanced age are resourceful, right? I grabbed a handful of paper towels from the washroom, used a process of vigorous rubbing to substitute for soap in the shower (not as fun as it sounds), then finger-combed my hair, pinched my cheeks and went out to face the day. Everything went smoothly until the end of the day when I discovered what else I’d forgotten: a coat and boots to wear on the bus ride home. A kind friend from the office took pity and offered me a ride. We had a great chat and I was dropped right to my door in plenty of time to shuttle my youngest son to hockey practice.

So what could have been a really frustrating day actually ended on a really positive note. I’m not feeling quite as philosophical about becoming a member of seniors’ discount club, though.

Everyone's a Critic

So I’m explaining to my teen-aged boys that I’ve listed the highlights (and possibly the low points) of my running year on my blog. I mention that running the half-marathon with my 16-year old was one of the high points.

“And was the fact that he beat you one of the low points?” my 13-year old asks innocently. Uh, thanks, hun. I’d forgotten about that. You’re grounded.

I only forgave him because this is the bed he slept on at the friendly-but-shabby hotel we stayed in when I ran the Wineglass Marathon in Corning, NY: