Well - it's time for a deep breath and a leap of faith. I'm less than a week away from my first half marathon - by far one of the toughest goals I have ever set for myself. Running 13.1 miles at one time was never - I truly mean never - something I ever would have imagine myself doing in my wildest dreams. I was never a runner growing up. Sure, I was athletic and involved in all kinds of sports and activities, but I was never good at distance running and never even desired to be. If I was good at anything related to running, it was sprinting, and that was when I was young. Then a wonderful thing called puberty hit me in my teenage years, and those changes significantly slowed me down. From that point on, I didn't run. I ran as part of another sport I was doing or as punishment for screwing up in one of those sports. Honestly, if someone had told me a few years ago that I'd sign up for a half marathon, I would have laughed. Roll on the floor laughing.
That's part of why this is such a big deal to me. I've been proud of many of my accomplishments in life so far, but most of them were expected or anticipated. They were things that I was good at, and generally centered on school and education. This half marathon is something out of that realm and a goal that I personally set up for myself - not one that was set up for me. It's a goal outside of my comfort zone and outside of something that I'm good at. I'm not going to lie - I'm not good at running. It's hard for me, and I'm slow. It takes me longer than most to increase my distance. But I'll be darned if I haven't worked harder than just about everyone out there to achieve this goal.
And that's why I'm sitting here with my stomach in knots and my head telling me so many different things. One second I'm sure I can do this and will finish just fine. I've run the full 13.1 miles on a few occasions now and made it every time. Sure, it wasn't pretty, but I did make it. I can do it. But....the next second my head is second guessing me. As always. It's saying that those training runs were SO SO hard. That I almost didn't make it. And that those runs were in ideal weather conditions in a place I am familiar with and on a relatively flat course. Honestly, I feel like a kid going to my first day of kindergarten with a bunch of kids who have already been there for 3 months. I have NO IDEA what to expect, and a good majority of the people I'll be there with have done this time and time again. I feel like I can read all the articles and blogs, and even the press releases from the Akron Marathon in the world, but nothing can calm me down.
I did pretty well throughout most of my training (even though, as I may have mentioned, I didn't follow a formal training plan), but I think most of my anxiety comes from being sick with a head cold with only three weeks to go before the half marathon. I hardly ran at all that week. Not only did I feel run down, but I couldn't breathe enough to run, and I opted to rest and rest and rest to get over the illness more quickly. My worst days of the head cold were unfortunately the Friday - Sunday of the weekend that I was supposed to be my very last long run. I never got it in. I didn't know what to do. So I tried getting back out there on Tuesday and just running whatever I could after work since I was feeling better. I only made it 3 miles before I couldn't breathe anymore and started coughing uncontrollably. It was miserable and embarrassing. It was also totally defeating and a huge blow to my self confidence. I was already concerned because I missed my last long run and took almost a whole week off from running that close to the race. And now a 3 mile run felt impossible. What was I going to do? Well I'll tell you what I did. I made excuses almost every day this past week about why I couldn't go for a run and how I need to sleep in every morning because I wasn't fully recovered. I took tapering to a whole new level. Now I have no idea what to do this week in preparation for the half marathon. I can't just take another week off - for a total of 3 weeks in a row. But then again, I can't tire myself out right before the race after such little activity the past 2 weeks. I'm going to need to force myself to find a good enough balance between tapering and ensuring I'm not trying to run a half marathon after basically not running for three whole weeks.
Needless to say, I'm nervous. My worst fear is failing. I just can't accept that outcome, but I will be devastated if I don't finish or if I have a terrible experience. I just need someone to tell me it's going to be okay and that I'll make it. I need to believe it, too. To make matters worse, not a single person is coming with me that day. It's 45 minutes away, which isn't far at all, but I feel guilty asking someone to give up their entire day for me. I mean, what are they really going to do while I run? Nothing. They'll sit around and be bored. They probably wouldn't even be able to actually see me cross the finish line anyway. But there's just something about the feeling of going into this all alone that totally sucks. No one will be there that morning to give me a hug or tell me I can do it. No one will be there when (if) I cross the finish line to celebrate with me or tell me they're proud. So I'm torn. I mean, I certainly wouldn't want to sit around all day while someone else ran, especially if it wasn't something I was interested in. On the other hand, there's a part of me that just wants to be selfish for one of the biggest events of my life so far, and I want to cry sometimes when I think about being there all by myself with no one to share the experience with. I'm sure I'll be fine anyway, but sometimes I think I'd have a little less anxiety about the day if someone was there with me.
But I'll stop blabbering away and tell myself to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need to pull up those big girl panties for one more week. Someone please tell me I can do this. I just want it so so bad and am also so so scared of failing. It makes me wonder, do all runners feel this way before races? Is it just the new ones? Just the ones with less support? And does this anxiety get better after doing more races? Some things for me to ponder tonight, and something I might someday find the answer to if I keep on running. Good night to all and sweet running dreams.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Monday, September 9, 2013
13.1 Training Run - In the Books!
So I'm 3 weeks out from my half marathon, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I am not a confident person by nature. If there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I've never had a lot of self-confidence, and my daily life is filled with self-doubt and negative thinking towards myself. I have to give credit where credit is due: my husband has BY FAR been the biggest source of improvement for me in this area. When I'm with him, I am comfortable in my own skin and at least feel comfortable being me, even if I'm not proud or confident of myself all the time. He has helped me leaps and bounds with my self confidence, and I can never thank him enough. When I began running, it had a similar effect - though not quite as profound. As I began to see continuous improvement in my endurance and speed, I became proud of myself for the first time in a long time. I wanted to tell the world. But no matter how much better I was doing, that monster of self-doubt was never far behind. That moment 8 months ago when I clicked that button on the screen to register for my half marathon, I must have been having a good day. Because I truly believed in myself that day. I had no doubt that I could make it.
A lot changes in 8 months though. And while I've mostly kept up with my training and long runs, there's always the voice in my head before my long run each week telling me that I can't do it and that I won't make it. And then I'm afraid to even get out there and try. I've skipped a couple of my long runs because of it. On those weeks, I've ended up with somewhere around 10-12 total miles for the week, which just isn't acceptable for half marathon training. This Sunday was no exception. I had just run a 5k race on Saturday for a company/community competition. While I had to walk up a couple hills a bit, I still rocked the race and came in with a time I could be happy with for such a hilly course (it was in our local park that is notorious for its hills). Waiting to run this race on Saturday, I was looking around at the variety of people there. I was intimidated by the people I saw that were obviously runners. As I ran, I did my best, and even though I was proud of it myself, I was also embarrassed. I had to walk. Those people that I saw that looked like obvious runners - they didn't walk. Not only that, but it dawned on me that I'm not one of those "obvious runners" when put in a crowd like that. I run 3-6 days a week, 20-30 miles a week at this point, and am tackling a half marathon in 3 weeks. That's something not a lot of everyday people can say, but at the same time, why don't I look like one of those obvious runners? I can't help but wondering when that will happen. I want those lean, tight calf muscles and lean upper thighs that actually show off the muscle and power they have. I want that definition. I want all my hard work to show on the outside too. I'll admit, I was jealous. I know I still have a daily battle to fight with my eating and nutrition habits. And maybe if I ever fully tackle that, I'll be able to see that definition I want so badly.
Then on Sunday I had another monster to battle - my long run. I was scheduled to run 13 miles again (I ran 13 miles 2 weeks ago, and skipped it last week because of my self-doubt). After church and breakfast with my family, I should have come home and gotten it out of the way right then. But instead, I sat down on the couch to relax and do some meal planning for the week. I rationalized that I should go to the grocery store first so I wouldn't be too tired and badly in need of a shower if I ran before grocery shopping. As the day wore on, I stared that self-doubt in the face. Was I actually going to go this time? I came home from the grocery store, unpacked everything, and changed into my running clothes. I made all the appropriate preparations. I got some cold powerade ready and picked out a squeeze pack of baby food to try (yes - I said baby food. I am trying little squeeze packets to take on my long runs, because my stomach can't seem to handle the highly processed blox, gels, etc. that most runners use - I have gotten SO sick from those, and I'm not trying that again). I took a deep breath and headed out. I walked to warm up then stood there in the middle of the bike trail just staring at it fade into the distance. I was doubting myself again. I was afraid to start because I was afraid I wouldn't finish. Somehow, I started anyway. But even as I got into mile 2, my brain was still fighting me. What was I doing out here? I was already feeling it, and I hadn't even completed 2 miles. I was crazy to think I could do it. How dumb. I didn't belong out here. And I certainly had no business running a real half marathon race.
I;m not really sure when it happened, but I finally just stopped thinking about it. I let my mind wander, focused on my pace, on relaxing, and on letting go of my week. I looked around and took in the nature and scenery around me. I remembered the countless times my Dad and I had biked this same trail and recounted some of those favorite memories. (I also vowed to call him for another bike ride soon before the weather really turned too cold.) I turned around at mile 4 to come back towards my powerade. I was keeping a good pace and felt ok so far. The 4 miles back to my powerade were mostly a slight uphill grade, and I started to feel it. I remembered that the last time I tried this distance, I started to waver around 7.5 miles and stopped to walk. I never really recovered. I wondered if I hadn't walked, how much of a difference it would have made. So at 6.5 miles, I busted open my squeeze packet (squirting it all over my hand in the process....only me!), and slowly started to fuel between there and mile 8 where the powerade was. I was nervous about the trade off for the powerade. I had left in in my own backyard - which meant I had to divert off the paved bike trail, jump a ditch, and grab it off the ground. I knew I needed it, but I also knew I didn't want to walk. I couldn't let that be my downfall again. I must have looked ridiculous to anyone watching, but I cut across the trail, leaped over that ditch and grabbed the bottle in one motion, and turned to jump the ditch again back onto the trail - I never slowed down. Hahaha! I'm definitely not the most graceful person, but grace wasn't the important thing here! I didn't need to look good doing it - I just needed to do it!
I sucked down a good 1/4 of the powerade and felt better instantly. I relaxed after the stress and tension of multiple ditch jumps and opening the bottle, fell back into a nice groove, and kept going. Unfortunately, the next 2.5 miles of my run were also an uphill grade until my turn-around to come home again, and I was really feeling it about mile 9.5. My legs were getting tired, and I think every inch of my body and clothing was covered in sweat. I couldn't even tell I was sweating anymore because I was so soaked. I kept going back and forth between it being really hard to keep going, and then suddenly feeling pretty good like I could go on forever. It was all I could do to get to my turn-around point at 10.5 miles. I knew the way home wouldn't be quite so bad because I wouldn't be going uphill anymore. I just kept willing myself to get that far. I eventually made it and turned around, feeling instant mental relief. I still felt a lot of pain, but I was so close now. As I continued to run, the effort got harder and harder, and soon a 12:00/mile pace became a hard effort. But I couldn't walk now! I just couldn't! I could tell by the pain in my legs that if I stopped now to walk, I'd never make it. That's truly what kept me going. I know that sounds dumb to say that the pain in my legs made me keep going, but I knew that stopping would be so much more painful. And I don't mean that metaphorically - like it would be emotionally crushing not to keep going - but that it would be physically more painful. I counted down the half miles, the quarter miles, the tenths of miles, until suddenly I was at 12.5 miles. I could actually see the spot where I knew I could stop. Even then, I couldn't speed up too much more. My legs just physically wouldn't even though I felt like I was sprinting at an 11:30/mile pace at that point. I heard my GPS tracking app tell me I'd completed 13 miles. Only 0.1 to go! I tore my phone off my armband to watch this last 0.1 tick away, and finally FINALLY made it. I made it! I hadn't walked! And I'd pushed myself to make it under 2:30:00! I finished at 2:28:34. I smiled - until I actually stopped running and slowed to a walk. I don't think my legs have ever felt so much pain in my life. I'm not exaggerating. It was like instant cramping in every leg muscle. I focused on my breathing and tried to speed up my walk to reduce the dramatic difference in speed I'd just created (not that I was running all that fast by the time I was done). I got myself under control and tried to relax while I walked it out. I started to feel a little better, and then suddenly I felt like I was going to barf because it hurt so bad. I generally have a high tolerance for pain, so this was surprising to me. I turned around and walked back to my house. I grabbed some water and guzzled it down while I went back outside to continue walking it off. I eventually got myself under control and came inside to stretch and recover. While I was stretching with my legs up against the wall, I grabbed my phone and reviewed the stats on my GPS app. I couldn't stop looking at the mileage that said 13.11 miles. And I ran the whole way. I was proud of myself. I had to admit. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't what those obvious runners would have done, but I did it. I'm sure I'm still going to be afraid on race day, I'm still going to doubt myself, and I'm still going to be embarrassed to be out there with those real runners, but I'll still go try. I guess we'll find out in 3 weeks how that day really goes! I don't feel ready at all!!!!! (Even though I've done it a few times now in training....) :o)
A lot changes in 8 months though. And while I've mostly kept up with my training and long runs, there's always the voice in my head before my long run each week telling me that I can't do it and that I won't make it. And then I'm afraid to even get out there and try. I've skipped a couple of my long runs because of it. On those weeks, I've ended up with somewhere around 10-12 total miles for the week, which just isn't acceptable for half marathon training. This Sunday was no exception. I had just run a 5k race on Saturday for a company/community competition. While I had to walk up a couple hills a bit, I still rocked the race and came in with a time I could be happy with for such a hilly course (it was in our local park that is notorious for its hills). Waiting to run this race on Saturday, I was looking around at the variety of people there. I was intimidated by the people I saw that were obviously runners. As I ran, I did my best, and even though I was proud of it myself, I was also embarrassed. I had to walk. Those people that I saw that looked like obvious runners - they didn't walk. Not only that, but it dawned on me that I'm not one of those "obvious runners" when put in a crowd like that. I run 3-6 days a week, 20-30 miles a week at this point, and am tackling a half marathon in 3 weeks. That's something not a lot of everyday people can say, but at the same time, why don't I look like one of those obvious runners? I can't help but wondering when that will happen. I want those lean, tight calf muscles and lean upper thighs that actually show off the muscle and power they have. I want that definition. I want all my hard work to show on the outside too. I'll admit, I was jealous. I know I still have a daily battle to fight with my eating and nutrition habits. And maybe if I ever fully tackle that, I'll be able to see that definition I want so badly.
Then on Sunday I had another monster to battle - my long run. I was scheduled to run 13 miles again (I ran 13 miles 2 weeks ago, and skipped it last week because of my self-doubt). After church and breakfast with my family, I should have come home and gotten it out of the way right then. But instead, I sat down on the couch to relax and do some meal planning for the week. I rationalized that I should go to the grocery store first so I wouldn't be too tired and badly in need of a shower if I ran before grocery shopping. As the day wore on, I stared that self-doubt in the face. Was I actually going to go this time? I came home from the grocery store, unpacked everything, and changed into my running clothes. I made all the appropriate preparations. I got some cold powerade ready and picked out a squeeze pack of baby food to try (yes - I said baby food. I am trying little squeeze packets to take on my long runs, because my stomach can't seem to handle the highly processed blox, gels, etc. that most runners use - I have gotten SO sick from those, and I'm not trying that again). I took a deep breath and headed out. I walked to warm up then stood there in the middle of the bike trail just staring at it fade into the distance. I was doubting myself again. I was afraid to start because I was afraid I wouldn't finish. Somehow, I started anyway. But even as I got into mile 2, my brain was still fighting me. What was I doing out here? I was already feeling it, and I hadn't even completed 2 miles. I was crazy to think I could do it. How dumb. I didn't belong out here. And I certainly had no business running a real half marathon race.
I;m not really sure when it happened, but I finally just stopped thinking about it. I let my mind wander, focused on my pace, on relaxing, and on letting go of my week. I looked around and took in the nature and scenery around me. I remembered the countless times my Dad and I had biked this same trail and recounted some of those favorite memories. (I also vowed to call him for another bike ride soon before the weather really turned too cold.) I turned around at mile 4 to come back towards my powerade. I was keeping a good pace and felt ok so far. The 4 miles back to my powerade were mostly a slight uphill grade, and I started to feel it. I remembered that the last time I tried this distance, I started to waver around 7.5 miles and stopped to walk. I never really recovered. I wondered if I hadn't walked, how much of a difference it would have made. So at 6.5 miles, I busted open my squeeze packet (squirting it all over my hand in the process....only me!), and slowly started to fuel between there and mile 8 where the powerade was. I was nervous about the trade off for the powerade. I had left in in my own backyard - which meant I had to divert off the paved bike trail, jump a ditch, and grab it off the ground. I knew I needed it, but I also knew I didn't want to walk. I couldn't let that be my downfall again. I must have looked ridiculous to anyone watching, but I cut across the trail, leaped over that ditch and grabbed the bottle in one motion, and turned to jump the ditch again back onto the trail - I never slowed down. Hahaha! I'm definitely not the most graceful person, but grace wasn't the important thing here! I didn't need to look good doing it - I just needed to do it!
I sucked down a good 1/4 of the powerade and felt better instantly. I relaxed after the stress and tension of multiple ditch jumps and opening the bottle, fell back into a nice groove, and kept going. Unfortunately, the next 2.5 miles of my run were also an uphill grade until my turn-around to come home again, and I was really feeling it about mile 9.5. My legs were getting tired, and I think every inch of my body and clothing was covered in sweat. I couldn't even tell I was sweating anymore because I was so soaked. I kept going back and forth between it being really hard to keep going, and then suddenly feeling pretty good like I could go on forever. It was all I could do to get to my turn-around point at 10.5 miles. I knew the way home wouldn't be quite so bad because I wouldn't be going uphill anymore. I just kept willing myself to get that far. I eventually made it and turned around, feeling instant mental relief. I still felt a lot of pain, but I was so close now. As I continued to run, the effort got harder and harder, and soon a 12:00/mile pace became a hard effort. But I couldn't walk now! I just couldn't! I could tell by the pain in my legs that if I stopped now to walk, I'd never make it. That's truly what kept me going. I know that sounds dumb to say that the pain in my legs made me keep going, but I knew that stopping would be so much more painful. And I don't mean that metaphorically - like it would be emotionally crushing not to keep going - but that it would be physically more painful. I counted down the half miles, the quarter miles, the tenths of miles, until suddenly I was at 12.5 miles. I could actually see the spot where I knew I could stop. Even then, I couldn't speed up too much more. My legs just physically wouldn't even though I felt like I was sprinting at an 11:30/mile pace at that point. I heard my GPS tracking app tell me I'd completed 13 miles. Only 0.1 to go! I tore my phone off my armband to watch this last 0.1 tick away, and finally FINALLY made it. I made it! I hadn't walked! And I'd pushed myself to make it under 2:30:00! I finished at 2:28:34. I smiled - until I actually stopped running and slowed to a walk. I don't think my legs have ever felt so much pain in my life. I'm not exaggerating. It was like instant cramping in every leg muscle. I focused on my breathing and tried to speed up my walk to reduce the dramatic difference in speed I'd just created (not that I was running all that fast by the time I was done). I got myself under control and tried to relax while I walked it out. I started to feel a little better, and then suddenly I felt like I was going to barf because it hurt so bad. I generally have a high tolerance for pain, so this was surprising to me. I turned around and walked back to my house. I grabbed some water and guzzled it down while I went back outside to continue walking it off. I eventually got myself under control and came inside to stretch and recover. While I was stretching with my legs up against the wall, I grabbed my phone and reviewed the stats on my GPS app. I couldn't stop looking at the mileage that said 13.11 miles. And I ran the whole way. I was proud of myself. I had to admit. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't what those obvious runners would have done, but I did it. I'm sure I'm still going to be afraid on race day, I'm still going to doubt myself, and I'm still going to be embarrassed to be out there with those real runners, but I'll still go try. I guess we'll find out in 3 weeks how that day really goes! I don't feel ready at all!!!!! (Even though I've done it a few times now in training....) :o)
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