Pain Party, or How I Learned Not To Run 17.5 Miles In A Downpour Immediately After A Race.

The half-marathon was Saturday. I had prepared well, and patiently. I took every precaution, down to eating a very specific pre-planned amount of food in the morning of. I thoroughly hydrated, and used the foam roller on my legs beforehand. I did very well, clocking an outrageous PR of 1:33. This also qualified me for the KeyBank Vermont City Marathon’s preferred corral.

The next morning, taking the advice of an ultra-marathon legend, I ran to recover. While I was planning on ignoring the training plan I had and only running 3 miles, I ran the full five. My knees hurt arriving home, I knew I was at the limit of pushing my legs sans-injury.

I treated the rest of Sunday and Monday as rest days, very careful not to use my legs weirdly and to take care of them. Tuesday rolled around, and it was time for my eighteen mile training run. This is the story of that run.

Pain Party, or How I Learned Not To Run 17.5 Miles In A Downpour Immediately After A Race.

Tuesday morning at 2:30 AM my alarm went off. It was time to see if the lunar eclipse was visible. Nope, clouds. Fantastic. Drank some water and went back to sleep. 7:30 AM, alarm #2. Time to get up and get ready for class. I got to the bus late, but still on time for class. Just at that moment Ben at CCTA texts me and says his Mac mini won’t boot at Cherry St. Looks like I was right on time. I stopped in and fixed the computer with time to spare to catch the next bus.

After class, which involves sitting for three hours with one break, I bussed downtown, bought a new rain jacket to run in, some fruit, and walked home. It’s a bit of a walk, about a mile. I ate and prepared. The forecast showed that in three hours or so the temperature would start dropping landing at about 40-35F, and snow would start. It was already raining at 60F. Now or never! I wore board shorts with compressions underneath, and my longsleeve thin smartwool under the raincoat. I had BodyGlide on my thighs to prevent chafing, which is mandatory on these long runs.

I couldn’t find my water bottle, and put my stainless kleen kanteen bike bottle inside my Nathan bottle caddy to help hold onto it. This would prove invaluable.

Starting out, I was unsure if I was up for this. I kept thinking maybe I should just do 5 miles, or 10. Maybe I should do this tomorrow instead. I was barraged by rain and wind, keeping my head forward and letting the hood take the brunt of the rain. At one point I started to fear hail, and was looking for cover. By the time I was at three miles I knew I was past the point of no return for treating this as a rest day. I had run down the Ethan Allen Homestead path that skirts the intervale and US127.

My left Achilles had started to complain a little. It was at this time that I noticed I had more control than I used to over my ankles and calves, and I think the race must have unlocked another level of conscious muscle control. This happens occasionally in running, the more you run (especially at intensity or fatigue) the more you learn your own body. I thought this was very cool, and began to leverage this to offset the Achilles issue.

My hands had started to grow cold. My right especially, gripping the metal bottle, but it seemed to have actually helped warm it. My left was mostly shielded by the jacket sleeve. I climbed the hill to the bridge at the end of the path, and began the crossover through the New North End. Running down Leddy Park Dr, I chanced upon my mother who was driving to the supermarket. I chatted with her a moment, probably looking ancy to get moving but secretly enjoying having a chance to stop. I asked if my water bottle was in the Jeep, still hoping to ditch this metal ball and chain.

Continuing on, I reached the champlain bike path. I felt tired but it seemed consistent, so I thought I can do this… and continued on. There were still thoughts of There’s still time to go get a ride back and There’s still time to cut this short and not do the whole distance. I pushed these aside, calling them doubts.

Around mile 6 I stopped at the lookout stairs looking over the north side of the bay. The rain was hard, and the lake choppy. Water lapped against the shore full of tree-size driftwood. I listened to the water, and for one of the first times since leaving Hawaii, I completely zoned out in the sound and breeze, ignoring the pain and the rain.

A minute later, having finished stretching my legs again (left especially), I started off. At this level of fatigue, starting again feels like trying to push a car. It eases up though, and the body just falls into it eventually. My left ankle had loosened up, this was good.

Running up the path, I thought back to the episodes during the race, and recognizing all the memories of the people showing support and the small boy giving me lemonade. Time to eat! I chose the almond butter and maple syrup for more lasting energy, saving the peanut butter and honey for the home stretch. I sank my teeth into the packet and pulled every last bit of food out. Oh… my water… well, halfway empty, probably more-so. Better ration it.

I passed a woman running, at which point I mustered all the charisma I could to say “Good Afternoon!”, to which she replied “It’s not that bad, right?”. It was still raining fairly hard. This at least helped to validate my being out here, slowly growing colder and wetter as water snuck in through the sleeves and collar, and sweat slowly did its job from the inside out.

A short while later my right Achilles arrived at the Pain Party fashionably late. I welcomed it with a grimace and continued on. At this point chafing was beginning to become a problem, but I didn’t think it bad because I knew I had anti-chafe on.

The waterfront path has the unfortunate design of going flat in a straight line. This can make it seem endless, which either helps you zone out, or becomes a personal hell of mileage. I finally reached the bridge after what seemed like an eternity. Running up it, I could see the river and lake were both very high, and flooding was at the brink of occurring near some houses. I ran down the concrete path (which felt pleasant), then out onto the road. Half-heartedly dodging puddles with tired legs, I continued on toward the park. Avoiding puddles wasn’t entirely necessary, but they do add a level of wetness that somehow escapes after a while and I didn’t want to have happen too many times.

I reached the park where the race had started three days ago. I hit the gravel path and took every chance I could to run on grass. The Garmin vibrated. 9 miles. You can run to the causeway, but you need to stop at 18 miles on the way back I promised myself. Almost to the causeway, there was still snow on the side of the dirt road in the drainage. Being an adult, we don’t often see these things anymore and really think about them, but it brought me back to a time living in North Brattleboro and wandering up the dirt road during mud season. Running is an incredible way to get old memories to seep out of the cask of time, and one of my biggest thrills in the sport.

I reached the causeway at 9.6 miles. Actually resting, I dropped my bottle. I contributed to the lake’s ecosystem. Then I stretched my legs again. This sort of helped my right, but not really. I had stopped for too long, I was getting cold beyond recovery. I started again, with little water left. Just halfway to go.

Immediately I felt the type of drag that makes one not want to leave bed in the morning. I knew the temperature was dropping fast and I had to make it home in good time, but part of me wanted to just curl up on the side of the road and fall asleep. My right Achilles was still alive with soreness and I was already hungry again. I shoved all this physical trauma into the back of my mind and focused my thoughts elsewhere.

When runs become this difficult, it’s sometimes impossible to reach “flow” as some call it, and I end up focusing on the run itself for miles. Reaching Buckingham Drive for the second time, I was now following Saturday’s race course for the next handful of miles. The pain also blurs memory and I forget details to a certain point.

I looked out at the water one last time and broke back up Leddy Park Dr. I stopped in at the park to check the water tap, but it was still shut off from winter. Same situation on every building I found. I knew I was hydrated enough to make it back, but it was barely. Instead of taking the recreational path back home, I took the rest of North Ave. I figured the traffic and distraction would be valuable, and it was better to not be alone where nobody could find me.

I ate my peanut butter and honey pack early, knowing I needed it. I also downed the last half-mouthful of water in my bottle and tried to catch rain in my mouth. I didn’t care about puddles at this point, my feet were drenched. Arriving back in my neighborhood, I still had just under a mile left. I opted to run once around the block and end at that. Just before this point, I started to have real foot pain in my right foot. Apparently I found my maximum mileage. I continued landing in puddles on purpose because the cool water helped, and seemed to absorb some impact between my foot and sole too.

Arriving at my stoop, I felt destroyed. I did basic stretches on the steps. Getting inside, the first thing I did was grab a mango and walk into the shower. My thighs were bleeding from chafing and my very unfortunate left nipple was sore. I stretched a bunch and took all the supplements I had. I then downed a smoothie of 6 bananas and a cup of strawberries, and extra protein powder. Following this, I promptly laid down and watched the Google Ara Developers Conference in bed.

April Half-Marathon in Burlington!

The race was a blast. My mother dropped me off in Colchester as I had finished drinking my custom energy drink (3-4 coconut date rolls and spirulina blended in water). Almost everyone waiting was wearing baselayers, water bottles, ipods. Completely ridiculous. I took a warmup jog around Airport Park (it's an old grass airfield). I had been drinking so much water, I peed twice before starting 30 minutes later. I had to urinate right before the start while I was in the corral and the only thought going through my head was "too late now, guess I'll go in an hour and a half". 

I looked around, enjoyed the experience of being in the race, then faintly heard the guy yell start. I immediately started my watch and noticed that I was being passed too much, and was getting stuck behind the pack. I looked at my watch and my pace was too slow. This is exactly what I had planned to avoid. I latched onto someone weaving through and followed him to the outside, at which point I passed TONS of people. I continued passing and passing and passing everyone I could for the first 4 miles or so. 

A lot of the passing was on teensy uphills that others weren't trying on. I've learned I can burn those muscle groups harder because I don't use them on the flats as much. After that it became harder and harder to pass others, but it was still my goal that kept me going. Just one more person, over and over. I had passed most of the iPod wearers at this point. I had my target pace of 7:35 sharpied on my arm (along with the milemarks for water stations) but I was blowing that away, constantly taking stock how close to burnout I was and scaling back just enough to bear it. 

Around mile 6 I started running in the dirt on the side of the path, to save on impact endurance. I caught up to this girl, she was the fourth or fifth woman at that time (probably 60th place total). We talked and I tried to help push her but she wasn't feeling it. She didn't want to get caught up to by the people chit-chatting behind us. We were doing about 7-7:20/mile. 

At 7.6 miles I had eaten my almond butter/maple syrup snack and drank water. I picked up the pace again and pushed hard to catch up to the next woman. It took me three miles but I got there, and then a guy passed me who I had passed earlier. I followed and used him as a pacer, we were running 6:30-6:45. I kept with him from mile 10-12.5 (telling him not to let me pass him for much of the way), at which point he had to leave me to find his girlfriend. 

Now I bonked, and thought I was almost done. My pace dropped to 7, 7:30, 8, 8:30, and when it hit 9 I had gotten to the mental point of saying NO, NO WALL. I had to decide to not my body dictate my speed and started pushing it harder and harder, it was like pulling a boot out of mud after running twelve miles. And slowly increased it again, and had gotten back to about 7:20 when I started on the downhill right near the finish line, and as I turned the corner I bolted and felt a surge of adrenaline that I can't say I've ever really had before, it was invigorating like a bolt of electricity. Then I must have been running a 6 minute mile to the finish.

My mother was at the finish waiting for me. She was volunteering checking bibs right in the finish chute, so I got to hug her right over the finish line.

What a great day!

Why?

The 60-70 day point in many workout plans is where the visible improvements seem to taper, the body reaches a weariness in its soreness that seems like it can't get worse, and the mind starts questioning the point of it all.

I don't really view this as a "workout" plan, but rather a "life plan". Regardless, it's happened. The dead of winter doesn't help either, and this early February cold is a lot to fight with. Getting out of the house is tremendously difficult sometimes, particularly on those -8 degree mornings.

So I ask why. Interestingly, I usually ask before a run. Rarely during. Never after. Afterward I have my answer. Many times this cycle repeats. Many have tried to give a good response to the question over time, but ultimately I don't think there is an answer.

The question is "Why run?".

I believe when Kant determined that good of will is the only absolute and universal good, he didn't have running in mind. It's hard to bring to mind any part of running that is foul, mischevious, manipulating, bad of will. It doesn't bring harm to others, only happiness to the runner. It is an activity rich with innocence, yet simultaneously arduous and challenging.

Does running make one happy? Well, no, not really. Yes. Sometimes. This is where the question becomes difficult to answer. It doesn't always bring joy or happiness. Sometimes it's the most difficult thing one does all month, or all year, rich with pain, sweat, sometimes blood. Leg injury, dehydration, and other issues can result. But it feels good. That good feeling brings a general happiness to all aspects of the runner's life. It feels right. That pursuit of something that feels like doing the right thing encourages doing the right thing in other aspects of life.

Ultimately, it is subjective. People run for different things. Personally, the reasons I run fluctuate constantly, and interestingly enough each reason is a plenty good one. It's a way of life, not just one activity, and it changes the runner for the better.

Bringing this back around– each day I feel like I'm in a low point, when it's 0 degrees with 10mph winds and my shins are sore from the last two days, those are the days I read half a book on running, or watch a documentary. I remind myself why it is good by watching others in the moment of doing it. Observing that everlasting rhythm of feet hitting this planet, in constant and relentless pursuit of nothing but the push to make the mind and body do more than before. To be more than I am.

Onward and upward.

I've been running.

It was very hard to get myself off the couch which I had pathetically smashed my toes and face into and passed out on in a puddle of drool after getting back from class. Waking up an hour later feeling relatively dead with sore toes, I downed two pints of water, put some music on, and moved about as much as possible to psych myself up to the run.

It was my first 9+ mile run, I'm very pleased to see I'm getting better at listening to and controlling my body, this is the most consistent pace I think I've ever mustered. Slowly I'm getting there! It wasn't very long ago I was dragging myself out the door to run 1.5 miles in 30 degrees with full layers. Now I’ll go do 9 miles in 14 degrees with minimal layers. Anyone can do this. You can do this. I’m doing it in the middle of winter! Although admittedly, the unattractively ice-covered balaclava isn't particularly fun to breath through.

Today I ran up the Waterfront Recreational Trail past the stunningly beautiful and ice encrusted Lake Champlain. The trail was "redneck plowed". That's what I call only having truck tracks to run in. There was only one incident of an almost twisted ankle.The very new to me Asic Gel-Kayano 20's held good traction on the crunchy snow of the tire tracks that I was able to run in.

I then stopped at the Starr Farm Dog Park, trudged through the shin-deep snow and used the swingset for 30 seconds(so much fun to do during a run!), before continuing on down North Ave back into Downtown.

The concrete was a nice break from trying not to fall, but the pillowy texture of gel shoes on snow was lost. At the hour mark I had my first mid-run eating adventure, with a Justin's Honey & Peanut Butter Blend. I had to keep it stashed in my glove to prevent it from turning into an ice cube. These are 69 cents at my local co-op, and I'm drawing a blank as to why gel packs would make any difference right now for me, this gives everything I need right now in a much more whole food way. Even during the bicycle tour, honey and peanut butter were staple snacks. This pouch even has salt and oil. So yay. Food. Then I had to carry the empty plastic another mile before finding a trash receptacle on North Ave.

Almost home, the ubiquitous dog without a leash decided to bark aggressively and start chasing me. This kicked in an instinct I've had left over from the bike tour, when we'd fend off three dogs per day. Basically, keep running, but faster. A good way to live life too I suppose.