As you may recall, even prior to my marathon training, part of the new healthy lifestyle that I aim to keep includes a mandated 30 minutes of exercise at least six days per week. Since we decided that one hour of exercise one day doesn’t equate to a 30-minute session on two days, even as some of my runs nowadays occupy significantly more than 30 minutes of time, I still make time six days a week to exercise for 30+ minutes. Today, however, an interesting thought arose. On account of my diligent marathon training, I’ve found that the time that it takes to complete my shorter runs has gradually become less and less. This morning, for example, I breezed through four-miles in a personal-best time of 32:52. Is the day coming when I’ll be able to break the 30-minute mark on a four-mile run, and thereby technically not fulfill my prescribed amount of daily exercise since I completed the course too expeditiously? Now that will be a good problem to have.
Running
As I type this in August’s final minutes, we’re about to turn the calendar to September, with October looming not too far away. August 31st officially marked two-months-to-the-marathon for me, as Halloween once seemed far enough away to make my marathon dreams just that - dreams - while now the reality of my conquest is coming into focus. Unlike Halloween in 2008 (http://briansereno.com/?page_id=2), this time around I’ll be blissfully aware. Aware of my great fortune, aware of the tremendous legion of support in my corner, and hopefully aware that I’ve accomplished something that I previously only joked about. Imagine that - I’ll be a marathoner this Halloween. How about that? October 31st will mark the end of a two-year odyssey that I wouldn’t believe happened if I didn’t live it, and it can’t get here soon enough.
Running
We’ve celebrated my triumphs together. Now I ask for your support in my failures. When I was halfway through my 20-mile run tonight I thought about stopping, but onward I pushed, though something told me that I shouldn’t be doing so. My blistered right foot, perhaps. My left groin? My sensibilities? Anyway, I ran on. 11, 12, 13, 14…no mas. It was hot today, and by mile-14 I had already sucked down all of my rations of G2. I thought about how on race day there would be an aid station every few miles, but tonight I had to make it through miles 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20 before I could quench my thirst again. The more I thought about it, the thirstier I got. The temperatures seemed to be rising too, so I stopped. I surveyed the scene and saw a California Tortilla beckoning like a city oasis. I pleaded for water with the cashier and was rewarded with a small plastic cup that I filled again and again from the fountain. I considered running some more, but I decided against it. Maybe a 20-mile run was too ambitious after running 18 last week, so I walked. I made it another mile, and stopped again. A Courtyard by Marriott shined down on me, but the lights in the C and the T were broken. OUR YARD, it read, surely there’s a marketing tag line in there somehow. I digress. I stumbled inside and asked to use their phone. It was a local call, I assured them. I called Jessie to come get me, and down the street she came to save her distressed groom. Failure. In two weeks time, I’ll try again. Thanks for your support.
Running
Sometime on Sunday - exactly one year to the date that I first ran six miles, and suffered a rather unpleasant injury of sorts (http://briansereno.com/?p=1013) - I’ll attempt my first 20-mile run. I would suggest that it’s a) ironic b) poetic c) symmetric or d) symbolic that the combined total of my August 29th runs in 2009 and 2010 equals 26 miles - roughly the distance of what I am training for - but upon further review there really isn’t any irony, poetry, symmetry or symbolism in that fact. More likely, it’s just a coincidence, but one that I have noted anyway. Even if I’m not up for reporting with any great detail how much run goes tomorrow, I’ll certainly be sure to give myself a pass/fail grade. Stand by…
Running
Oftentimes when I run I’ll experience lengthy periods of time in which I seem to be entirely devoid of thought. My iPod plays, my feet move in turn, and I travel forward at a steady pace, but my mind seems to be switched off. Suddenly I’ll snap to awareness, realizing that a considerable amount of time has passed since I last took note of where I was or what I was doing, but then I continue my run hoping to fall back into a similar trance. Currently, my mind is bordering on one of those trances, with few thoughts to speak of. Sometimes I prefer it this way, though I doubt it makes for good reading on this blog. Perhaps I’ll have something to share tomorrow.
Running
Before I tell you about all of the celebrations and happenings that occurred this past Sunday, it is germane to revisit my distant past. Rewind back to 1986 or so (the specific date isn’t all that important), when I was a (relatively) good Catholic boy in a household that went to church every Sunday. One Sunday morning my Dad brought me and Cheryl to church, and we arrived early enough to sit in one of the center pews on the main aisle towards the front of the church. Our positioning was important because I had a plan. I was aiming to be the one in the congregation that delivered the communion bread and wine to the priest at the appropriate time during the service. Never before had I done so, and until last Sunday, never since have I had the honor either. Why? Well, 23 years ago during my exchange with the priest, out of excitement or nerves or just plain butter-fingers perhaps, I dropped the communion bread on the floor, scattering the hundreds of small triangular pieces across the alter. I froze. Too scared to cry, sure I was going to straight to hell, I think I blacked out. The next thing I remember I was at a nearby convenience store being consoled with baseball cards, as for the first time in my life one of my misdeeds was truly accidental and I was taking it hard. Somehow I recovered - the resilience of a seven-year-old, I guess - but never again was I brave enough to volunteer to deliver the gifts. Fast forward to the present, and upon entering the church for Natalie’s baptism on Sunday, Cheryl’s husband Phil greeted me with a friendly yet oddly sinister grin. ”You have a chance at redemption,” he said, as he was well aware of my troubled past in the church. ”We have nominated you to bring up the gifts.” Inwardly I cringed, though outwardly I agreed. ”I’m 30,” I reminded myself. ”I can do this.” The time came. Denise and Phil’s brother, Carl, joined me. This walk would be harder than the last time, 23 years ago. Holy Cross in Baltimore kept the bread and wine in the back of the church, unlike Holliston’s St. Mary’s where the gifts were stored up front. Not only would I have to cleanly pass off the precious gifts to the priest, but I would have to make it safely down the aisle as well. Like a running back with two hands on the ball as I warded off defenders, I succeeded. Redemption at last. Picture proof of me at work…
By comparison, the rest of my day on Sunday was easy. Yes, I ran 18-miles, but I was aided by an energy-boosting Cliff Bar at mile 6 and mile 12. When I ran 16 miles a few weeks back, I foolishly thought I could exercise for nearly three hours straight without refueling (runner’s lingo for eating). On Sunday I wasn’t nearly so dumb. I inhaled the first Cliff Bar one-third of the way through, and while the second one didn’t go down as easily at the 2/3 mark, I can’t argue with the results. I had the juice to finish, though not with the finishing kick that I like. Still, 3:10:08 after I started to run, I was home. 18 miles is now in my past too. 20 awaits.
Other, Running
Simply said, today lived up to its billing. The baptism was truly memorable. My 18-mile run was, well, long. 3:10:08 after I began, I leaned across the imaginary tape at the finish. Hour by hour accounts of today will follow tomorrow, after I get some needed rest after a long but utterly special day.
Running
I spent a considerable amount of time tonight searching for a high-carb, low sugar option that is easy to eat on the run. Thus far, my search has unearthed very little. Bagels and banana lead the way as far as potential refueling options are concerned, with strawberries and oranges also vying for my attention, but none of them are easily carried and transported by me alone as I run. To eat any of these options would require stashing the goods with someone to meet up with to stage a run-by. A run-by is somewhat like a drive-by, except I’d be on the receiving end of the exchange rather than vice versa. The ideal solution to my refueling dilemma would be to find a low-sugar sports energy bar or other product (I am going to look into ’sports beans’ though I suspect that they’re packed with sugar), but given my special circumstances I’m beginning to think that the ideal solution might not be possible. Another lesson learned, I suppose - little in life is ideal. It is how we make the best of the hand we’re dealt that makes life so sweet.
Running
I labored through 15.75 miles tonight - a quarter of a mile short of my goal - significantly slower than the pace that I’ve been able to maintain in previous training runs. While I’m not discouraged, nor will I fret too much about my pace, I am a bit disappointed that my legs just wouldn’t allow me to finish the last quarter-mile. From everything that I have read there are four key ingredients to healthy distance running - stretching, pacing, hydrating and refueling. I learned lessons about stretching, pacing and hydrating the hard way, as I have either been sore, cramped or dizzy at varying points both during and after previous runs. Tonight I can add refueling to the list of things that I’ve learned the hard way. Evidently it’s not wise to run for 2 hours and 52 minutes without refueling my body with the precious nutrients that it craves as I pound it into the pavement. I’ve read that carbohydrates are key, though I’m in search of a low sugar option - so candy bars and runner’s goo may not suffice. The search continues. My legs demand it. Next week I’ll shoot for 18.
Running
On August 3, 2009 the max-distance that I was capable of running was two miles (http://briansereno.com/?p=960). One week before that I topped out at a mile and a half (http://briansereno.com/?p=942) and failed in my quest at the time in extraordinary fashion. What a difference a year makes. This Sunday I’ll attempt my first-ever 16-mile run, and I’ll do some without the slightest hint of trepidation after successfully completing a 14-mile journey last weekend. Among other reasons, this has me marveling at what the human body can do when it is trained and tested. 26.2 miles - here I come.
Running