How to train for a marathon in 3 weeks.

So, I have a marathon in 27 days.

I haven't ran 20 miles or more since April 2014.

I will probably die in 27 days.

Should I bail on the marathon? Yup. Will I? Nope. The thing is... even though I'm not trained to run a marathon, I am on a decent little streak of running and I am actually REALLY enjoying running right now. Sure, it's slow and it's a grind, but I kinda feel like a runner again. It's glorious.

*

So, I want to just plow through and try to run as much as possible before the race and then just suffer through it as best I can. (It will be a SLOW, LONG marathon). 

Here's the plan.

Weekend 1:

Saturday: 10 miles

Sunday: 16 miles

Weekend 2:

Friday: 10 miles

Saturday: Probably not much (traveling)

Sunday: 10 miles

Monday: 20 miles (I will probably die).

Weekend 3: 

Saturday: 12 miles

Sunday: 20 miles

Race Weekend:

Friday: 8 miles

Saturday: 5 miles

Sunday 26.2 miles.

Is this dumb? YUP. Will I injure myself? Maybe. Do I recommend this for other runners? Hell no. Will this be entertaining for you guys? Probably.

 I've made a huge mistake.

 

 

 * Thanks for the wins, Ol' Ball Coach.

 

Race Report: Flying Pig HALF Marathon

As you know by now, I bailed on the full marathon in order to just run the half. But, in case you're still interested in the story... here's the race report.

The drive up to Cincinnati was uneventful. We got into the madhouse that is Downtown Cincinnati on Saturday afternoon and someone in the parking lot gave us their parking voucher! Now, that's some good karma. I'm sure that dude had a helluva race on Sunday morning.

The expo for the Pig is BIG and the first couple of times I went, I was annoyed by all the people and the booths, but I guess the third time is the charm. Also... of note... I got to see this guy in person for the first time:

 Ryan Hall.

Also known as the tiniest man I've ever seen. 

Seriously. 

I'm just going to leave this photo from the movie,

Darby O'Gill and the Little People

right here.

Anyway, we collected our swag (slightly disappointed this year... the shirts are cut a little too generous and the bag was crap) and headed off to check into our hotel. We had a nice dinner at a local restaurant, the Greyhound Tavern and were in bed EARLY.

Here's the thing... Cincinnati is in the Eastern Time Zone. The race starts at 6:30. We set our alarm for 3:30am (we were leaving the hotel at 5 to make sure we were parked before the streets closed). That means we got up at what felt like 2:30am!! (Good practice for the Grand Canyon, I suppose). It was ridiculous and I am dizzy from just re-reading all that. Anyway, we got to the race with plenty of time. But, as usual... there were not enough porta johns. They started shooing everyone into corrals around 6:15, which is fine, because there are porta johns in each corral. BUT ONLY 2. WTF? Melissa and I stood around in line for over 5 minutes after our corral had already been let go and there were LOTS others behind us waiting. Oh well. I'd rather be relieved and start in the back. Maybe they should divvy up all the porta johns to go into the corrals. That way everyone is there early! I dunno. I've never organized a race, so, I'm probably better to just complain than offer up suggestions. 

I think they intentionally wrecked this photo to stay off the blog.

assholes.

I wanted to start the race around a 9:00 pace. Melissa decided to stick with me (she was signed up for the half). Our first mile was over 10:00. No big deal. We started cranking down and finally settled into a 9:00 pace. It was an overcast, comfortable morning. 

The spectators for this race are great. Except, I did almost chew a dog owner out around mile 2. He didn't have his dog on a short leash and the dog lunged out in front of Melissa, making her stumble around him. The owner yelled... "HAHA WATCH OUT." Ummm... excuse me? You watch your fucking dog, asshole. Maybe instead of tending to your beer, you should be tending to your adorable dog to make sure he doesn't trip a runner or get trampled by one.

It was shortly after that incident that we encountered a guy wearing these shorts:

 Don't be fooled, my friends.

It was all business in the front.

But the back was a crazy grey and white pattern.

Nice legz. 

Melissa and I remembered his bib number for the entire race so we could look it up. Sadly, it's not as funny in this picture as it was during the race. 

We cruised up the hills at miles 6-8 and like I said before... once I saw the 8 mile marker, I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. 18 more miles???? Are you kidding me??? I told Melissa that I might just run the half. She tried to convince me to continue on. But, I came up with all kinds of brilliant excuses... including this gem: "What if I get to mile 24 and sprain my ankle and then I can't do the Grand Canyon????" As soon as I said that, she was like... oh yeah... just do the half. Bwahahahahahahaha. Brilliant.

And then she said... "well we better pick it up. I'm not finishing over 2:00." BLARG. I was hoping to just lollygag to the finish. The half course is pretty different after the split, than the Full. There is a significant downhill stretch and all that pounding made my stomach start to grumble, so Melissa left me when I popped into a porta john at mile 10.

I finished just BARELY under 2 hours and was pretty happy with just running the half. I got a pretty terrible side stitch from the downhill and the stomach trouble and I was just kind ready to be done. We went back to the car to change and then headed back to the finish line to see the guys finish.

All-in-all, I think there might be some lingering demons from my DNF there in 2012. I probably won't go back to run the full there again. I LOVE the course and the city... but, I think 3 attempts and I'm done. I highly recommend the race though. It's Melissa's PR course (which is pretty amazing to think about as you're chugging up the hills early in the race) and the guys had pretty decent days on Sunday, too.

Another Week

I'm starting to feel like a broken boring record here. Sorry about that. That's one good thing about training plans and schedules: Automatic Blog Content.

But, here I am anyway, to talk about my mostly lackluster week of training.

I did race on Saturday, which was BY FAR the highlight of the week. So much so, that it deserves it's own blog post. So, stay tuned for that.

The rest of the week included lots of smallish runs. My longest run of the week was a whopping 9 miler on Thursday. I had hoped to crack the double digits in a run on Sunday, but I woke up with a raging hangover that included a bad case of the pukes. Not pretty. I am old. I cannot hold my alcohol anymore.

But the party was fun and worth it! Irish Car Bombs and friends... doesn't get much better than that.

Dear Brother, Sorry your evening was cut short because I had

to run to the bathroom and puke.

Bitches representin'. 

I am slowly but surely starting to get my passion and motivation back for running. I think I am very susceptible to vitamin/mineral deficiencies and I have been REALLY bad about taking my iron and B vitamin supplements lately. I trying to get back into that habit, because I honestly can tell a HUGE difference in my running when I am good about taking them (and I don't even care if it's a placebo effect thing or not. If it works, it works).

I still haven't signed up for the Pig yet. But, I'm still pretty sure I'll run it. Even if I'm not in PR shape, I really do love that race and it will be good training for the grand canyon. Plus, it's about 6 weeks away. So, if I can string together a decent amount of running between now and then, I might just have a shot at having a decent day.

Weekly Recap

I've lost count.

We are experiencing what can only be described as an Iceapocalypse right now in Nashville. It's kinda awesome, because since I am the only person in my office that lives within walking distance that means that I'm the only one here which means LOTS of great things:
1. The coffee pot is ALL MINE.
2. The copier is ALL MINE.
3. No one is interrupting me every 3 minutes.

You add all those things together and holy moly I am getting a TON of shit done.

And it's equal parts not awesome, since I'm the only one here I have to answer the office phone and tell people... "yeah, you know how you stayed home from work because the roads are so icy... yeah, so DID EVERYONE ELSE."

Anyway, I'm taking a break from my awesome working streak, because I can't be TOO productive. That's just not right, y'all.

As you know, I decided to stop "training" for the Pig, which sadly, did not just automatically make my runs instantly better. WTF? You also know that I skipped my speed workout for the 2nd week in a row. LOSING! But, I did manage to get in a teensy little Marathon Pace run on Friday before my long run on Saturday morning.

I was all psyched to run 19-20 miles on Saturday, but I finished the day with 15. What the hell? And no, I'm TRYING to run the Hanson marathon method here, it's just that's the furthest I could go without wanting to throw myself into the Cumberland River.

In other weekly news... Saturday was a big day. It was mine and The KoB's 2 year anniversary and mine and Leo's 1 year anniversary! Crazy.

There were plans of dinner and dessert (basically the same as every Saturday, haha) and dog park. But unfortunately someone got food poisoning from a convenience store sandwich (it wasn't me, which is surprising, because I had the egg salad sandwich) and instead of gorging myself on Jeni's ice cream... I was off to CVS (where I did buy myself a Butterfinger Egg). The traditional 2nd year anniversary gift isn't Pedialyte, but The KoB sure got a lot of it anyway! There is definitely a re-do Anniversary/Dogiversary planned for this weekend.

Catching Up- The Eugene Marathon

Back in January, The KoB told me that he'd decided that he was going to run the Eugene Marathon for his goal spring race. PERFECT! I said. I'd already done that race, so I could focus on PRing the Half and extra bonuses: My best friend lives in Oregon and Oregon is Beautiful (see this post).

The week before the Birmingham Marathon, I went to Eugene's website to sign up for the half and I couldn't pull the trigger. I decided to wait till after the race. And... as you can probably put two and two together... Yeah, after the Pukefest Birmingham Race, I signed up to run the full in Eugene.

I kept this as covert as possible, only because I thought that part of the reason Birmingham turned out the way it did, was because I was so fucking nervous. And I thought by not telling people about Eugene, that I could run without pressure and see what happens.

I'm telling you what, folks, it was HARD. Coming up short in your goal race and then rolling that into training for ANOTHER goal race 9 weeks away was mentally the hardest training I've ever done. The miles and workouts came pretty easily, but damn... getting out the door most days was REALLY hard. I am so thankful that I had The KoB, Steve, My Bitches, and Nashville Striders Training Runs to keep me honest.

My personal expectations for Eugene were to run what I had hoped to run in Birmingham, and even though my training was suggesting that I was capable of running faster, I had my eye on the 3:42-3:45 range. I wanted to make up for Birmingham and finally put that bad taste out of my mouth and be able to move on.

Guess what? IT DIDN'T HAPPEN. Yeah, I ran the race and while I never really felt good, the goal felt totally attainable until around mile 18.5 and I started getting those familiar tingles in my stomach. After mile 20, I had to jump off the bike path and squat behind a tree. After that, it was all downhill. I started getting side stitches, I puked and dry heaved, I made a porta john stop, I felt sorry for myself, and then I essentially quit. I walked/ran a couple of the last miles, all the while beating myself up for not being able to push through like I did in Birmingham. It was a pretty epic FAIL on my part. To put it into perspective for you:

Through Mile 20: 2:49:31 (8:29 pace)
My finish time: 4:07:04 (9:26 pace)

That's right folks, it took me an hour and 17 minutes to go the last 6.2.

Eugene: 2
Amy: 0

I crossed the finish line and immediately saw The KoB who was waiting just past the finish chute. We spent about 3 minutes asking each other... "How'd YOU do?" and trying to sneak looks at each other's watches. Finally, I was like... "Dude, I just finished. So, not too well." and then I found out that he had PRed!!! He ran a 2:47:48!!!!!!!!!! Like. Whoa. 

We left the race and headed back to my friends place in Portland. And I have to say... as soon as I crossed the finish line and found out The KoB's time, I kinda shrugged off my bad race. I was a little bummed, naturally. But, I wasn't really all that pissed or frustrated. Sure, I was in the best shape I've ever been in for this race and sure, my asshole stomach robbed me of another PR... but, you know what? Hopefully, I'll be in even better shape next time and each marathon, it's taking longer and longer for my stomach to mess up, so maybe next time I'll make it the whole 26.2.

You can only do what you can do at any given time. And one day... my time will come.

The whole weekend was fantastic. It was great to get to spend time with my friend Stephanie, I hadn't laughed that hard in a LONG time.

 This pretty much sums up the whole weekend.

And damn... the Eugene Marathon may be a total bitch to me... but, The KoB left with a shiny, new PR.

And this pretty much sums up our relationship:

Me trying to convince him to do something (smile)

and him thinking that I'm a crazy, bossy bitch (I am).

And now... I rest. FOR REALZ this time, people.

And so it goes...

So, because I'm far from a rational and reasonable person, I decided to kind of keep on trucking with training through the Spring. The thing is, the summer SUCKS here to train. And I hate to spend this spring lollygagging around and then get hit with the summer doldrums. The plan is this... to keep training and run a few races (another 5K [WTF am I thinking?], probably a 10K and maybe another race or so) until the summer starts and then just take like a month off and get blasted drunk everyday and stuff my face with ice cream cake and Fritos in June or something.

Sounds awesome, doesn't it? I mean, the last part. Not the part about continuing to train.

So, Coach has kindly agreed to keep guiding me down the path of PRs by sending me schedules every week and responding to my emails about my goals for NEXT YEAR (I am a monster) and just generally being her awesome coachy self.

And... it's been going okay. I'm very bipolar about training lately. Somedays I'm OMFGAllAboutIt and other days I'm all EffThisShit. Fun times. Most days though, I get out the door and I guess that's what matters the most.

This week has been a clusterfuck. I pushed my workout till wednesday night, which made me too tired to do my mid-week long run on Thursday. I took Tuesday off just because I felt like it. I ran doubles 3 days this week (this is not as bad ass as it sounds; the morning runs were puny). I'm afraid my coach is going to look at my log for this week and see how rogue I was and be all...

What's this shit? Awww.. hell no, bitch.

Hopefully, I can salvage the week with proper schedule-following weekend. TBD.

Race Report: Mercedes Birmingham Marathon

This pretty well summarizes the race.

But, I guess I owe you more than that.

Friday night my car started to overheat. AWESOME. So, Saturday morning was full of me driving to my parent's house to pick up one of their cars. To be honest, it was kind of nice to have something else to be frantic about the day before the race.

The KoB and I hit the road around noon and after witnessing a fight at a gas station, (At first glance, it appeared to be an old dude and a young lady who was working at the gas station, but it turned out she was trying to break up the fight between two old dudes. WEIRD) we arrived at the expo around 3, easily picked up our bibs and magically ran into our Bitches Posse.  After the Bitches Posse checked into our hotel, we agreed to meet in the lobby at 5 to roll over to a Macaroni Grille that was close by.

Here is where the day turns into an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I could go on and on about our experience with trying to find a place to eat that night, but I'll just say... if you're looking for good, quick, efficient service at a restaurant in Birmingham... ummm.. good luck. On the other hand, if you're looking for a job in the food service industry: GET YOUR ASS TO BIRMINGHAM RIGHT NOW.

Around 6:15 we ended up at a McAllister's Deli where I ended up having a half veggie filled baked potato and half veggie sandwich. It wasn't anything to write home about. But it seemed fairly safe and at that point, I was just happy to have something to eat. 

I had no problems falling asleep the night before and slept through the night. I think I was just exhausted from the adrenaline rushing through my veins all day long. I did my usual routine of waking up at 4:30, immediately eating and starting to drink coffee and we left the hotel around 6am. 

I was more anxious than I was nervous. It was a strange feeling.

Cheryl and Coach look like they should be on the cover of a magazine.

I look like I should be on a curb somewhere. 

The weather was perfect. And our friend Melissa was there to take our clothes at the last minute, so I was able to wear my sweats until about 5 minutes before the race. Doesn't get any better than that. Before I knew it, the race had started. The first few miles felt like they always do. It took me awhile to get warmed up, but by mile 5 or so, I was feeling pretty good. 

The KoB was right there with me and I felt much calmer having him there, keeping an eye on the splits.

Everything was peachy keen until mile 12ish. I had to pee and we found a porta john around mile 13 and I popped in real quick. After that, I felt much better. But, I think I instinctively picked it up to try and make up time. I was struggling for a little bit, there. I asked The KoB for a Leadville Story. He told me the story of the first time he ran it, he woke up at 2am to get ready for the start, only to find out that it was RAINING. And that it would rain for most of the 100 miles. Ummm. Yeah. That made my pansy-ass marathon feel like a cake-walk. Inspired, I clicked along for the next couple miles.

Now, I had been fueling as ChaCha brilliantly suggested (and turns out, Melissa does the same thing): 1 shotbloxed every two miles. It was actually kind of soothing. To have something routine happen so often. But at mile 14, I could barely chew the thing. It all the sudden tasted disgusting. I was starting to get this weird, nauseous feeling. I also felt like I had to go to the bathroom. So, we stopped at a porta john THAT WAS OUT OF TOILET PAPER, so I kept on going. I told the KoB that I felt like I was going to throw up. He told me he'd be right back and that he'd catch up and he ran over to a McDonald's. About 3 minutes later, he comes flying up besides me and past me. I see him take his glove off and put something in the palm of his hand, when I got up to him, he said... "trust me. lick my hand." I knew immediately that it was salt and I prepared myself for it. I licked his hand and took a little bit of water. 

I was not feeling well.

Around mile 15/16 I finally threw up. It was just passed a water stop at the top of a mini hill. I heaved probably 3-4 times and TMI: they were full heaves. No spitting, but real throw up. Gushing everywhere. Once I stopped, I felt like a million bucks and we kept going. We were starting to get to a rolling hills part of the course and I was feeling so much better and was able to get my pace back to where it needed to be.

The KoB was great. He didn't baby me after I threw up. And he didn't push me. Once he realized that I was fine and feeling better, he kept telling me that my goal was still attainable. Not to give up. And I wasn't giving up. I felt so much better and we were able to push it for the next couple of miles. 

And then the feeling came back. Extreme nausea for about a mile or so and then finally, I stopped at a porta john. And while in the porta john, USING THE BATHROOM, I STARTED PUKING INTO THE URINAL. And eventually I couldn't make it to the urinal, and I was just puking all on the inside of that porta john. It was disgusting. I got out and told The KoB that I puked again, and he was like... "uhh.. yeah, I heard."

Again though, I knew I had another couple of miles of feeling good. So we ran and I tried to push it. My goal was still there. 

We ran up the hills (good lord the course was hillier than I expected) and The KoB yelled at every person walking up the hill. And I'll be damned if they didn't all listen to him and start running. Anytime he saw someone walking on the course, he would come up beside them and yell profanities encourage them to start running again. It made for some good entertainment (especially when some guy yelled at him for cussing).

By mile 23, I was letting all the throwing up and bathroom breaks get in my head a little. I was like... how am I running 26.2 miles with nothing in my stomach? I slowed a little, mentally here. But, The KoB kept after me. Encouraging me. At mile 25 I got that feeling again. And at mile 25.5ish (I could see the 26 mile marker up ahead of us, for fuck's sake) I had to stop and puke again. This is #3. This time it hurt. I felt like I was puking my toes up. Some guy who ran by made a comment about leaving my guts there and going and getting my glory.

That was definitely the longest stop I made to puke. It was painful and I felt so goddamn defeated. But, once I was done, we made our way to the finish.

Uh oh.

Here it comes.

Watch out. #4 coming.

Christ.

 There I go...

That's my head at the bottom of the picture. 

Throwing up.

I finished with a time of 3:54:33. I made 4 porta john stops, threw up 3 times during the race and didn't take any fuel after mile 14.

Everyone keeps telling me... BUT YOU PRed!!!! You should be happy!!!!

 
Fuck THAT. I didn't spend 23 weeks of my life training to run a 3:54. I didn't ask The KoB to give up his weekend training runs to pace me to a 3:54. Running-wise.. I am in the best shape of my life right now. My fitness is there, my legs are there... WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?

I am really frustrated and really pissed. I put in so much work. My Coach put in so much work for me. The KoB put up with a crazy person for 23 weeks... all that for a 3:54. I was capable of more on Sunday. And nothing is more frustrating than not living up to your potential.

Anyway... all was not lost, Cheryl ended up killing her BQ time in her first marathon (That's how bitches do, yo). I PRed and I think The KoB and I got a little closer in our relationship: nothing says intimacy like seeing the insides of your significant other.

Reflections, thank yous, and future plans to come in another post. This one is long enough as it is.

Race Report: Run for Rotary 5K

WTF is wrong with me? I've been itching to run a 5K for awhile now. WHY???? Because 5Ks are so glamorous and they are so freaking hard for me. The thing is this... I've never trained for a 5K. So, all my attempts are me just hoping and praying and doing voodoo dances the night before that "race day magic" will strike and I'll end up PRing. Sadly, my friends, that happens like once every 2 years. One of these days (I keep saying this), I'm going to put some time into SERIOUSLY training for a 5K, but that day is not today.

So, without further adieu, the race report that I am the most experienced in writing:

The time where I thought I was going PR, just because I'm awesome, but then I discovered about a mile in, that 5Ks don't care how awesome you are, they just want to steal your soul and stomp all over your confidence.

Yay!

Friday before the race, I was amped up! I had committed myself (mentally) to the pain and suffering and was ready to go to battle. Bring on the pain, bitches! Strangely enough, the pain wasn't really the issue. I mean, don't get me wrong, that SOB 5K hurt like hell. BUT, some other factors were at play, as well.

Things I learned from not PRing:

1. The timing of the warm-up is KEY. Particularly when it's cold and damp outside. I thought I was timing my warm up perfectly, I finished with about 5 minutes before race start (and I should note that that was 5 minutes LATER than the dude yelling into the microphone was suggesting. Uhhh.. there's like 200 people here dude, we don't need to be at the start line 10 minutes before the race starts). It was our first really cold, really damp morning of the fall and I was freezing my ass off in those 5 minutes.

And then... 5 minutes turned into about 15. Because, they started the 10K first and then kept saying... we'll start the 5K 2 minutes after the 10K (seemed reasonable to me). EXCEPT 10 MINUTES LATER... we get lined up.

I get it. It's a charity race. No bigs. But, holy crap, it was cold outside. And my legs became frozen blocks of ice in that 15-20 minutes of standing around waiting for the start. And for a 5K, I kinda like my legs to be warm. Ya know?

I did jog around a bit on the track before the 10K started. But, those last 10 minutes, I was standing around waiting to get started.

Throwing jealous death daggers with my eyes to that

little girl with tights AND a hoodie on. Bitch.

Lesson Learned: ASK the RD what the precise start time of your race is going to be. And then don't believe him and jog around for an extra 5 minutes.

2. Uhhh... Here's a little nugget of knowledge: To run fast, you should probably practice running fast. Like, I dunno, maybe have some intervals in your training or something.

Lesson Learned: You're probably not going to PR, if the fastest you've been running in your workouts is 8:30 pace. Dumbass.

3. Dress for success. So, here's an embarrassingly little factoid... My 5K PRs have always come when I'm wearing compression tights. This thought didn't occur to me, until about 30 seconds into this race when I was wrangling with my shorts waistband, trying to keep those fuckers up. 

The thing is... when I run fast (say anything under a 7:45), things... body parts... jostle around a bit too much. I'm not talking about my boobs. I got those suckers locked and loaded in my sports bra. I'm talking about my gut. It's uncomfortable, it's inconvenient (cause it jostles my shorts off) and it just fucking sucks.

Lesson Learned: Wear compression tights to suck in all those jiggly parts. (Also, related: will have to be a winter race, because I cannot handle compression tights when it's over 38 degrees).

 This was about 400 meters into the race. This was before

my dream unicorn of a PR gored me with it's horn.

4. Time your splits. So, this is a change for me. In the recent past, I've been firmly in the... "I don't need to know what my splits are as I'm running" camp. My idea was that if I looked down and saw a 7:19 for the first mile, I'd flip out and slow down. That was old Amy. New Amy WANTS to see a 7:19 for the first mile and then a 7:19 for the next mile and the next mile, etc. I'm no longer scared of running too fast. Now, I'm scared of running too slow. (Thank god, because uhhhh that's the point of a race, I think). Welcome to racing, Amy. Took you long enough to figure this shit out.

Lesson Learned: Time your splits. And then speed up! 

 With about 600-400 meters left to go. 

God, I hate 5Ks.

5. Constantly tugging at your shirt, because it's too short is annoying as hell.

Lesson Learned: It's time to retire the orange Scenic City shirt. Especially after your belly makes a sneak appearance in every race photo.

The words of my eloquent coach after seeing my results.

Thank god my next race is a half marathon... Uhh.... this weekend.

Update

My running is still pretty shitty.

I tried faking it last weekend. I ran long on Saturday. I picked my favorite route thinking that I could somehow get the magic back by running on crooked country roads with nostalgic landmarks from my childhood. I stopped at one particular point on the road to take in the beauty of the sun-sparkled dew on the unkempt fields. I kept telling myself over and over again, that I love this! I love running! And then, I realized... Shit! I have to run 5 miles to get back to my car. I hate running! Fuck running!

I've been getting some gentle nudging that maybe it's time for a little break. Initially, I was all... break? Fuck that. I don't need no stinking break. I will not give into this funk. I will continue on and make running my bitch. But, upon reflection, maybe it is time to scale things back a bit. I keep telling myself that it's just mental, but I'd have to be a real tool to realize that it's not physical, too.

I've realized that I'm happiest when I'm knee deep in training. Which, is completely shocking. I've never been good with doing what people tell me to do or doing things that are expected of me. But, for whatever reason, having a shiny new plan every week and knowing that someone is checking my log to make sure I'm doing those runs is so much fun!

So the idea of scaling things back a bit and just running a little for the helluva it (aka my running for the 5 years prior to Half Marathon PR training) sounds just AWFUL. It sounds boring and lame and not worth getting up in the morning for. Blah.

I spent about 20 minutes yesterday mapping out a race schedule for myself for the rest of the year. And you know what... it's totally got room for a little break from running for the next couple of weeks. Ugh. I am begrudgingly scaling back. A little! Just for a couple of weeks! Arg!

*In non pity party pathetic news, I went to my first ever track meet on Saturday. Ummm... So much fun!!!!!!! Holy crap I had no idea that watching people I don't even know running around in circles could be so much fun and make you feel inspired and jealous at the same time! I also had no idea that I could be as nervous as I was watching KoB set a PR in the 5000m! So exciting!!!!

Race Report: The Flying Pig Marathon

This is the post that I never wanted to write. And I certainly never dreamed I'd be writing it about THIS race. THIS race that I was in the best running shape of my life.

I'm not really ready/interested/willing to talk in great lengths about the race on here. Even if I was... there isn't a lot to say. I'm disappointed, pissed off, embarrassed, sad, and frankly, over it.

I'm not the type to wallow around in my failures, so, the idea of going into some melodramatic, detailed, woe-is-me race report kinda makes me want to vomit. But, I like you guys (most of you, anyway), and even though I'm kinda done talking about it, I feel like I owe you guys some sort of explanation. (And also, this way, instead of having 5 different conversations with some of you individually about this whole piece of shit race, I can just say it once and be done with it).

Sunday morning was perfect. I couldn't have asked for a better start to a race. The weather was brilliant, I wasn't nervous, I was in my proper corral about 30 minutes before the start of the race, I was hydrated, fueled, and mentally prepared to push and hurt and run the race of my life.

And despite the perfect conditions, by mile 17, I was done. And the hardest thing, the most gut-wrenching part of the whole miserable experience is that I can't place the blame on one thing. I can't say, Amy, by doing this, you royally fucked this race up. SO DON'T EVER FUCKING DO THAT AGAIN!

I didn't go out too fast and blow up. I didn't suffer some kind of awful injury on the course (thank god). The hills didn't off me (although, they sure as hell tried). I didn't get too hot. The race wasn't too crowded. I wasn't undertrained or overtrained.

And yet, I didn't finish.

What pulled me from the race isn't some kind of glorious, epic excuse... Nope, I'm not awesome enough for that. I had to quit the race because I was literally running my guts out. From one porta potty to the next. There is no way to sugarcoat this, so I'm not even going to try; starting around mile 7, I got an awful case of the shits. At first, I thought I'd just have to make a couple of stops and it'd be no big deal. Unfortunately, it got to the point where about a tenth of a mile after my last stop, I was looking for the next porta potty.

I don't think it was my dinner the night before, or my fueling the morning of. I wasn't dehydrated or experiencing heat exhaustion, I didn't have some kind of random stomach flu or bug. I just couldn't run without having to stop every 3-5 minutes to take a crap. I don't know what the hell my problem was, but my stomach was not interested in me running a marathon that day.

And so instead of finishing my 16th marathon. I DNFed for the first time.

Onward and upward. Or whatever.

History Lesson

For the past couple of weeks I've been walking around looking like this guy...

Just TRY and tell me I'm not effing awesome, bitches!

But, I was also kinda going through a mini-freak out session. You see, I thought I was awesome back in 2009 when I set my old half marathon PR of 1:49:54. And I kept running alot and training hard and then I failed miserably at my ultimate goal that spring: to go sub 4:00 in the St. Louis Marathon. What happened? Why did I miss my goal by 12 minutes?

Luckily, I have every single freaking mile I've ever ran in my entire life logged in RunningAhead. I spent some time looking it over and saw all the high mileage weeks in 2009 and started scratching my head. I remembered running over to the track with Vandy Montana and diligently doing Yasso 800s. We did some hill workouts (occasionally), and I was running a lot with Vandy Montana who is significantly faster than me! Perfect, right?

WTF?

BUT, my memory and my history are two entirely different things (always). Upon closer inspection of my running log from 2009... it appears that even though I remember going to the track a lot, in actuality, after the beginning of March that year, I kinda, sorta stopped. I was logging a lot of miles. But, they were all just moderately paced runs, with no specific workouts.

DING DING DING.

What a dumbass! This explains a LOT from that marathon day. It explains why I felt like HELL trying to keep up with the 4:00 pace group for the first 14 miles (HELLO... no marathon pace runs!!!!) and it explains why I felt great at the end in the last few miles of the race (high mileage weeks, perhaps?).

All I can say is thank god I have a coach and I'm not bumbling around trying to figure this shit out on my own anymore.

How to...

Figure out if you're an awful running partner:

Review your text messages for the week...

Doh! I suck.

Bah Hambug.

Well, just as I should have expected.. setting myself a crazy/dumb ass goal has not made me excited to go out and run more... in fact... it has made me want to run less.
You'd think, being a 31 year old fairly self-aware individual I'd have known better...

Digressing...

UGH. What can I do to get excited about running long distances again???? TELL ME PEOPLE, I NEED HELP.

** This message brought to you by... Amy's OCD tendencies and her thighs... who both need running more than you can imagine...

Training... kinda.

So, technically, I was supposed to start training for the Knoxville Marathon the day after I got back from Mexico (Dec 13). However, my flights were delayed, there were no taxis at the airport for a good 30 minutes because there was snow on the roads and I didnt end up getting home till around 2:00am that Monday morning... The next day was also kinda snowy/icy, so I skipped it, too. Now, since then I've been good with the running. I've been running consistently, but I haven't exactly been following my very specific training plan.

Lately it seems like there's a huge difference between TRAINING and RUNNING for me. I mean, sure... they seem like they're the same thing and for my last 3-4 races, I've just been using running as training. But, to PR in Knoxville (nay, not just PR, but break 4 hours) I know I've got to TRAIN and not just run.

And truthfully, I'm excited about it! I'm excited to have specific runs planned with specific paces to hit. But, I guess not excited enough to actually start doing them yet. They look really fun on paper, though!!

Oh well.

I did get in a semi-long run this weekend (if you call 11.7 miles a long run, cough cough). But, I'm not worried. I'll get back on the training track very soon. (Literally, in fact). I'm going to re-adjust my training schedule to start fresh next week and I'm going to attempt to include getting back to some strength training routines (as easy as it was to convince my brain that running and yoga everyday is covering my strength training bases... my body has quickly convinced me that that's not the case. sigh).

If anyone has suggestions on a good calendar either online or a way to set one up in excel or something (My present one looks really kick ass in excel. (Have I mentioned before that excel is my bitch?) but, it's not really easily set up to accomodate cross-training, etc. It's less calendar-like and more agenda-looking). Main requirement is that I can print it out and hang it on my fridge and cross my workouts off when I skip them when I complete them!

Damn you, Garmin.

So, I bought myself a Garmin (finally) for my birthday this year. So far, I love it! I love being able to know immediately when I'm done with a run how far I went. I love being able to plug it in upload my runs easily and quickly.

I resisted one for so long. I always considered myself a low maintenance runner... I didn't need no stinking computer on my wrist.

But, I finally caved and decided that it would be useful and might help me become a better runner.

Now... I'm not so sure...

Here's the story...

6:30am Saturday morning. My running partner C and I head out for a 16+ long run (basically a name your own distance route) with the Nashville Striders. It's a cool morning, but the sun is out and though the route is hilly (hillier than I remember), we start off with a decent little pace. Initially, I felt like shit. My sinuses had been acting up all week and I knew it was only a matter of time before I came down with an actual cold. But, I was determined to get this long run in (especially since the last one was a huge FAIL). I was hoping that C would keep me at a reasonable pace for the first half (she was quitting at 8 miles) and then maybe I could try to negative split the last half of the run.

By mile 6, C and I had picked up another girl I had met on previous training runs and while they chatted away, I kept looking at my watch thinking oh my god, I'm going to have to be left for dead out here today. Our pace was consistently under 10 and most of the time under 9:30 when I looked.

I kept expressing my interest to slow down. And the girls agreed. We all knew we were running way too fast, particularly because the route back was hillier than the route out. We tried slowing down. And it never worked. NEVER. How does that happen? How do you try to slow down and you don't???

By the time C left us, we cruised to a 9:17 9th mile. (It was probably one of the flattest parts of the course, though). I could feel the crash coming. We took a little another little route that tacked on about a mile and a half and there were some short, but steep hills and it was then that I realized I was just going to have to stop and walk and try to convince my new friend to go on without me. For whatever reason, I couldn't slow down with her. She was sweet and was letting me control the pace, but I just couldn't. I was looking for 10:15/10:30 and the most we were getting was 9:45. I was constantly checking my garmin. Trying to gauge the pace.

We made it to the last water stop and I had to urge her to go on. I know she didn't want to run alone and she stuck around with me as long as she possibly could... but I just couldn't do it. Finally, she went on (and I'm sure sped up to her regular pace) and I walked a bit and then started back and was able to settle into a slower pace.

But the damage had already been done. Towards the end, a couple of friends that had started late caught up with me... I ran with them a little bit (both of them run faster than me) and one of them said she was going to stop and walk soon and the other said... "I'll just stick with you, feels like you've got a good pace going." I looked down at my watch... 9:44. "haha." I replied... knowing that I wouldnt be able to maintain that pace. Eventually I stopped for a walk break and they continued on. I started back up to a slower run and eventually caught up with the one who stopped and walked and we walked the last 1.5 miles together.

My question is this... Was it all just psychosomatic? Like... was I feeling so shitty, cause I knew that my pace was faster than it should have been and therefore I assumed I'd feel like shit? How would the last half of the run felt if I hadn't had my garmin on? If I hadn't known what the pace was? Maybe, if I hadn't known how fast I was actually running, I would have felt better? Maybe I would have been able to maintain the sub 10s for the rest of the run (well, until the last couple miles, cause they are HILLY).

Maybe I should change the screen on my garmin for long runs... to not tell me the pace.

In any case the run SUCKED. I ended up getting wayyy sicker on Saturday afternoon and spent the rest of the night and the next day feeling like ass and in bed as much as possible.  I can't blame garmin for all that.... but I do think I would have felt a little bit better on the run, had I not known what my pace was at any given second.

Here are my splits... could I have kept the sub 10 pace if I hadn't been wearing the garmin?? Hmmm....
Mile 1 9:50
Mile 2 9:31
Mile 3 9:09
Mile 4 9:28
Mile 5 9:52
Mile 6 9:22
Mile 7 9:25
Mile 8 9:22
Mile 9 9:17
Mile 10 9:39
Mile 11 9:49
Mile 12 10:14
Mile 13 10:50
Mile 14 11:59
Mile 15 12:09
Mile 16 12:38
Mile 17 14:39
Last .56 8:47.58 (15:43 pace).

A Fresh Start.

So... February as a month, was AWESOME. I turned 30, I celebrated my birthday with my favorite people in the entire world in one of my favorite cities in the entire world. I had another birthday celebration with my family a couple weekends later, then I spent a weekend partying in Nashville with friends who were in town.

A good month socially. Indeed.

A bad month for running. Battling the flu and various hangovers made for some really shitty and really short runs.

So, I'm chalking it up as a recovery month. Which... I haven't had in awhile and after 3 marathon+ distance races in as many months... I'm not beating myself up about it. I'm feeling good and well-rested.

So, today is March 1 and I'm ready to start a new month. I'm ready to get back into the nitty gritty of training.

8 weeks to Big Sur!!!!!

The Big Fat "A" word.

So... here's the deal. Any endurance that I've had on hills (which admittedly, has never been very much) is all but obliterated. I cannot chug up a hill at a fast pace to SAVE MY LIFE. I mean... it's a serious problem. We're talking a good 1-2 minute pace drop on hills. WTF?

This is not good, folks. Not good especially when everyone I tell that I'm doing the Big Sur Marathon, look at me with jealousy and then immediately quip..."Well, be ready to add 20 minutes to your time there." Add 20 minutes???? Hell, I'm looking to shave off 13!

So, we're at code red status here. I need to seriously start incorporating hill repeats back into my weekly routine. Last week, I got all psyched about it. Wednesday morning, I told myself... Wednesday morning is perfect for hill repeats. So, I got out of the house, headed that way and then completely passed by the street that I wanted to do hill repeats on, totally forgetting about it. Once I realized it (like half a mile afterwards), I ran back to it. And when I got there... I looked at it. And then I ran right past. I just didn't have it in me.

Since I have no sense of Accountability on my own. I'm proclaiming right here on the blog... that Wednesday will from now on be HILL REPEAT DAY. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Ughh... brings all new meaning to phrase "hump day." I am already dreading next Wednesday.

Drunk Long Runs.

I knew in advance, that it was going to be tough. Friends come in from out of town... you meet for dinner. You try to gauge the situation at hand by singling out each person in your group and saying... "Yeah... tonight we're not going out too hard, right? We're saving that for tomorrow night, right?" Each person tells you... "yeah, I mean... we'll probably be home by midnight. It's been a long day."

You say, "THANK GOD." to yourself, knowing that you have to meet running partner C at a predetermined spot 6 miles into an 18 training run (she's only training for a half) at 6:30 and then drive to the starting point of the Nashville Striders 18 mile training run starting at 7am. I knew that if I got in bed by around midnight.. I'd be fine for 18 miles.

But then, as another friend meets you at the Beer Sellar and proclaims to everyone... "I'll match everyone drink for drink. Let's throwdown tonight." You say to yourself.. "F**k it." And you order another pitcher and a round of shots (and play a round of Bags that Jay Cutler paid for. Thanks for the game, dude).

And by the time you leave Lonnies just for a minute so that you can do a shot across the street, only to get kicked out immediately after shot, because it's already 3:00 in the morning (how is it 3?? It was just midnight!) and by the time you get home and it's 3:30 in the morning and because you're still drunk, you think... hells yeah I can run 18 miles, 3.5 hours from now; you set two alarms for 5:45 and you pass out.

And then IMMEDIATELY after you set the alarms, they're going off. You roll out of bed, eat a banana, take two aleve and head out the door. You realize about 2 minutes into the drive.. that you're still drunk.

C gets get into the car and immediately says... "You smell like alcohol."

You get to the training run... worried that you put your running shorts on inside out or that you forget to put on a sports bra, but luckily... everything is intact and well. You meet up with Matt and it's time for the run to start.

For the first mile or two, the drunkenness works in your favor. You're numb and the fresh air and sunshine make you feel alive. And then mile 3 hits and you realize that your body is struggling to keep the alcohol from last night inside your body. It wants to come out... in one of 2 ways. And neither of those ways is good.

You struggle. "If I can just make it to the 6 mile point where C parked her car," you tell yourself. You squeeze and tighten your entire bottom half and try to keep the burping to a minimum... the alcohol is revolting against you.

You know that the quicker you get to mile 6, the quicker you'll be done. You push.

And finally, you see the car.

6.3 miles while still drunk and keeping the booze in your system the whole time? Not too shabby.

So, I didn't get in a long run this weekend. After the run I thought to myself... well, I can always get it in tomorrow on my own. And then Saturday afternoon and evening came and then Sunday morning and as I crawled into bed at 3:30, I didn't set my alarm. I can get my long run in next weekend.

Maybe running while still drunk is good practice for the next beer mile...

Mother Nature 1 - Amy 0

So, Mother Nature hates me. It's official, I've decided.

I'm still trying to get back into the groove of heavy training, since my week off thanks to the flu. But everytime I start to get all gung-ho and ready... I wake up to ice. For instance... today (and last monday and tuesday, but who's counting?). Last night, I did something that I haven't done in years... I laid out my running clothes for the next morning. Hoping that that would speed up my morning routine which has seriously gotten ridiculous over the past few months (Is it really necessary to sit on the couch and watch 25 minutes of awful local morning show? No. Should I be running or sleeping during that time instead? Yes).

So, when my alarm went off this morning, I hopped out of bed and looked out the window. And what I saw did not make me happy. There was ice. Not just snow people... ICE. All over the parking lot behind me. F-ING ASS! I contemplated giving it a try anyway... but in the end, I didn't. I went back to bed in the hopes that maybe this afternoon the sidewalks will be clear for a little evening run.

UGH. Yes, I'm a control freak and Yes, I get very upset when I can't have things my way.

Please, Mother Nature... you can be as cold as you freaking want. Bring it! ... but please spare us the frozen precipitation. It's getting a bit ridiculous. I have a marathon to train for.

Race Report tomorrow (Oh, yeah... did I forget to mention I ran a half marathon on Saturday? My bad. Details tomorrow).

Damn hills.

I had it all planned out. I was going to get out to Percy Warner Park to get a good 20.7 mile run in. My last long run before the Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey Marathon on November 22. I would run 18.2 on the actual race course and then an additional 2.5 on a fairly easy trail (if you can't tell, I'm FREAKING out about running 30+ miles on trails in January. FREAKING OUT).

I had talked Melanie into running 11.8 of those miles with me, so I only had to do about 9 miles by myself. Piece of cake, right? Heh. Heh. Rigggghhhttt.

I got up early Saturday morning and got to the park just as the sun was rising. It was unbelievably gorgeous. I started the 6.4 loop (5.8+LL) backwards and was immediately happy with that decision as I was able to watch the sunrise as I battled up the reverse side of 9 mile hill. The weather was gorgeous, the leaves were all orange and yellow and as the sun bled through them it looked like the sky was glittering gold. Breathtaking. I flew through those initial 6.4 miles and headed to my car for a drink and to meet Melanie for the next segment of my run.

As I waited, I guzzled some gatorade, some diet coke (mmm.. caffeine), and I had half of a Barely Naked granola bar, which I'd never had before. Yes, my name is Amy, I'm training for my 8th marathon and I STILL make rookie mistakes... like.. eat something new in the middle of a long run.

Melanie and I got started and things were going fairly well. I felt decent initially and since Melanie and I hadn't seen each other in awhile, we had a lot to talk about. And as the run went on... I was extremely grateful that Melanie had a lot to talk about, because I started STRUGGLING.

Around mile 5.5/6ish I started feeling lazy. My legs felt heavy, I was starting to get thirsty (Yes, my name is Amy, I'm training for my 8th marathon and I consistently make the rookie mistake of forgetting to bring a drink along) and I had to stop for a quick walk break. As the run went on... the more walk breaks I had to institute. Luckily, Melanie was totally chill about it, and didn't call me out for being such a pansy.

Around mile 9, as if my brain, legs, and thirst wasn't enough, my stomach decided to up and revolt on me as well (a conspiracy of the body? I think so). Stupid granola bar. So, needless to say... we skipped the Luke Lea loop that time and I skipped out on the 2.5 trail. So, I ended up with 17.6. Which... I'm slightly disappointed in, but I realize... when your brain checks out on you... and your body and stomach follows suit, there's nothing you can really do it about it. So... I'm not worried. I am glad that I got a good 17.6 miles of the race course in. Granted, I felt like I wanted to die during the last 6 miles or so... But that should be good practice for me. Because, I'm sure, during the marathon I'll feel like I want to die for wayyyy more than just 6 miles.

The elevation profile for the Monkey

I keep trying to remember that I did run the Country's Highest Road Marathon back in July... after running a marathon the previous day. And that bitch was HARD. Like... really, really hard. I remember finishing and immediately saying to Vandy-Montana "well, now I'm not worried about running the monkey." (I had just signed up for the monkey the day before). So, I KNOW I'll make it, but... I just don't want it to suck really hard. After Saturday's run... I have a feeling that it is going to suck really hard.

In other news, shout out to my running partner, Matt, who finished the Outerbanks Marathon this weekend in 4:00!!! (I hope this doesn't mean that you're ditching me for someone faster, now?)