Laura, left, and I warming up before our pace interval training at the track.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Sweet 16 and the trail bully
I started my 16-mile run as the sun barely peeked over the Organ Mountains Sunday morning. I had been looking forward to this run all weekend. I finally mapped out a new route and I was excited to use the new Camelback my friend bought me for an early birthday present.
It was cold at the beginning of the run since I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. “Mental note,” I thought. “Wear pants over shorts for the beginning of the San Diego Marathon.”
Most of the city was still asleep on that early Sunday morning and the first eight miles were peaceful. I love the smell of the early morning.
I passed through quiet neighborhoods and by creeks of gently running water. Every now and then a barking dog rushed to the gate as I approached and startled me.
By mile nine cars started to fill the streets and my knee started to hurt. So, I stopped for a few seconds to stretch out my legs, take a swig of water and pop a piece of hard candy in my mouth for a sugar burst.
By mile 11, the peaceful morning had morphed into a busy Sunday with people rushing to get to the store, church or breakfast. At this point I was beginning to get tired.
Enter, the trail bully.
Most runners, walkers, bicyclists and dog walkers on trails in Las Cruces are extremely friendly. As you pass one another you both usually lift your hand to wave, smile or sometimes say hello over your panting breath. Most regulars on the trail circuit also are aware of the “trail code,” which includes the age-old rule that you stay on your side of the path. Most dog walkers are very conscientious about making sure their beloved pet doesn’t trip you or bite you in the butt or heel.
And then there are the trail bullies.
When you wave at trail bullies, you get a glare in return. Trail bullies are also notorious for commandeering the pathway. Sometimes they stay on their side of the path right until they get near you. They make you think they are the typical, nice walker/runner and that’s when they swoop in and move to your side. I call it the “swoop and slide” because they are cunning like a bird swooping to get intimidate it’s prey and they slide in your way.
Usually, the trail bullies don’t bother me. When I’m forced off the path, I don’t pay it much attention. And when they glare at my smile, I just keep going.
But my disregard of the trail bullies changes at mile No. 11 when I become exhausted, achy and slightly irritable as I strive to simply finish the run.
I came upon my trail bully at this exact point. She pulled the classic “swoop and slide,” but surprisingly used her dog as the agent.
The trail bully was initially walking on her own side of the trail. And as I was getting ready to wave hello, she switched her dog’s leash to the other hand so the animal was right in front of my path.
I almost ran over the little pup and partially jumped over him to avoid trampling him.
I was so irritated that I yelled in my meanest voice, “Thanks for moving your dog out of the way.” (Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s not that threatening, but it’s my best attempt at being mean.)
For the next mile or so I stayed irritated and that seemed to keep my mind on something other than my tiredness.
Then as I neared the finish and the sun glared at me with all its glory, all I could think about was how far I had left to go.
“Only three miles left…only 2.5 miles left…only 1.5 miles left.”
When I finished I felt an intense since of accomplishment. I can’t wait for that feeling when I finish the actual marathon. Of course, that comes after running 26.2 miles.
It was cold at the beginning of the run since I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. “Mental note,” I thought. “Wear pants over shorts for the beginning of the San Diego Marathon.”
Most of the city was still asleep on that early Sunday morning and the first eight miles were peaceful. I love the smell of the early morning.
I passed through quiet neighborhoods and by creeks of gently running water. Every now and then a barking dog rushed to the gate as I approached and startled me.
By mile nine cars started to fill the streets and my knee started to hurt. So, I stopped for a few seconds to stretch out my legs, take a swig of water and pop a piece of hard candy in my mouth for a sugar burst.
By mile 11, the peaceful morning had morphed into a busy Sunday with people rushing to get to the store, church or breakfast. At this point I was beginning to get tired.
Enter, the trail bully.
Most runners, walkers, bicyclists and dog walkers on trails in Las Cruces are extremely friendly. As you pass one another you both usually lift your hand to wave, smile or sometimes say hello over your panting breath. Most regulars on the trail circuit also are aware of the “trail code,” which includes the age-old rule that you stay on your side of the path. Most dog walkers are very conscientious about making sure their beloved pet doesn’t trip you or bite you in the butt or heel.
And then there are the trail bullies.
When you wave at trail bullies, you get a glare in return. Trail bullies are also notorious for commandeering the pathway. Sometimes they stay on their side of the path right until they get near you. They make you think they are the typical, nice walker/runner and that’s when they swoop in and move to your side. I call it the “swoop and slide” because they are cunning like a bird swooping to get intimidate it’s prey and they slide in your way.
Usually, the trail bullies don’t bother me. When I’m forced off the path, I don’t pay it much attention. And when they glare at my smile, I just keep going.
But my disregard of the trail bullies changes at mile No. 11 when I become exhausted, achy and slightly irritable as I strive to simply finish the run.
I came upon my trail bully at this exact point. She pulled the classic “swoop and slide,” but surprisingly used her dog as the agent.
The trail bully was initially walking on her own side of the trail. And as I was getting ready to wave hello, she switched her dog’s leash to the other hand so the animal was right in front of my path.
I almost ran over the little pup and partially jumped over him to avoid trampling him.
I was so irritated that I yelled in my meanest voice, “Thanks for moving your dog out of the way.” (Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s not that threatening, but it’s my best attempt at being mean.)
For the next mile or so I stayed irritated and that seemed to keep my mind on something other than my tiredness.
Then as I neared the finish and the sun glared at me with all its glory, all I could think about was how far I had left to go.
“Only three miles left…only 2.5 miles left…only 1.5 miles left.”
When I finished I felt an intense since of accomplishment. I can’t wait for that feeling when I finish the actual marathon. Of course, that comes after running 26.2 miles.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I'm slow. I know. Get over it.
By Laura Parker
Unlike my training partner Jenn Kistler, who runs a mile in 8 minutes and is built like a gazelle, I’m a slow runner. My average pace per mile on long runs is around 11:30. When I signed up for the Arizona Distance Classic Half Marathon as a mid-point training race in preparation for San Diego Rock ‘n Roll Marathon, I predicted my finish time at 2:30:00, which is about an 11:45 mile.
Knowing that I’m pretty slow, I lined up at the start line about three-quarters of the way back in crowd of 900 to wait for the race to begin. Finally, the starting air gun went off and the crowd started to surge forward. I was caught up in a wave of running bodies and kept pace by focusing on a woman in front of me wearing a sport belt with little bottles of what looked like blue Gatorade around her waist. Blue Gatorade? Yuck. Who would bring blue Gatorade to a half-marathon? With aid stations passing out water and regular yellow Gatorade along the course every mile or two who would even bother to bring water? It’s just extra weight…or so I thought.
The race course, which was mapped out though residential neighborhoods with a turnaround point at 6.5 miles, started on an uphill incline that seemed to go on forever. Making us run uphill like that was a pretty dirty trick, I thought. One guy with a Marine Corps Marathon shirt I was running next to even commented about how difficult it was running uphill.
After I had conquered the hill and reached a relatively flat portion of the course I looked down and my Garmin GPS watch to check my time and pace. Holy crap I was running fast! I was running less than a 10-minute mile, but I felt great! Adrenalin was surging into my bloodstream and running was easy. As I sailed through the turn-around-point I grabbed another cup of water from an aid station and was feeling good.
It wasn’t until around mile nine when I first began to feel the strain of running fast, uphill, in the hot Arizona sun. At the beginning of another uphill climb I noticed all the runners around me were walking rather than running.
If I stop and walk I’m not going to be able to get running again, I told myself.
I slowed down to a snails pace, tore open my first pack of Gu Energy Gel and tried to keep going. My hamstrings were already beginning to ache.
After a futile half-mile of “running” slower than the walkers were walking, I finally allowed my self to walk at a quick pace. The morning sun kept rising and was really heating things up. I was getting really hot and really thirsty. I stared to run again in anticipation of dumping a cup of cool water over my head at mile 10, but mile 10 came and went with no aid station.
While running/walking towards mile 11 a familiar woman jogged in front of me with little bottles of blue Gatorade around her waist. I again focused in on her and the little bottles and kept my pace. I would have given anything at that moment to have a taste of cold, delicious, thirst-quenching Gatorade, blue or any other color.
I finally reached an aid station at mile 11 where I poured one cup of water over my head and drank my final cup of water before running to the finish line at mile 13.1 and finishing with a chip time of 2:29:29.
So, what did I learn by running my first half-marathon? I probably should have taken it a little slower at the beginning to save energy for the end. I probably should have worn a hat. And I definitely should have carried blue Gatorade...just kidding. Blue Gatorade is still gross in my opinion. I should have carried water.
Running against the wind
I pushed my way through an invisible wall of wind. My legs like lead as they struggled to inch forward in opposition of the mass before me. My stomach tightened, my shoulders stiffened and my hair whipped against my face.
Forty minutes of running against the wind was almost as exhausting as my 15-mile run. I’d glance at my watch sure that I was half way there, only to discover two minutes had passed.
Before I began training for my marathon I did research about running, read marathon books, searched the Web and talked to other runners. However, there was one thing I didn’t take into consideration, one pivotal factor that could make my training more intense than I ever imagined.
The infamous Doña Ana winds.
You know, those nagging gusts of wind that send tumbleweeds crashing into cars, veer weary drivers off the road, color the sky brownish red with flying dust and cause frustration for an aspiring marathon runner.
You’ve got to love springtime in Las Cruces.
Forty minutes of running against the wind was almost as exhausting as my 15-mile run. I’d glance at my watch sure that I was half way there, only to discover two minutes had passed.
Before I began training for my marathon I did research about running, read marathon books, searched the Web and talked to other runners. However, there was one thing I didn’t take into consideration, one pivotal factor that could make my training more intense than I ever imagined.
The infamous Doña Ana winds.
You know, those nagging gusts of wind that send tumbleweeds crashing into cars, veer weary drivers off the road, color the sky brownish red with flying dust and cause frustration for an aspiring marathon runner.
You’ve got to love springtime in Las Cruces.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
15 down, 11.2 miles to go
Monday morning the alarm on my cell phone sounded at 6:30 a.m. I grabbed my phone, hit the snooze button and hid the phone under my pillow. Five minutes later the high pitched beeping traveled through my pillow and straight into my ear, so I hit the snooze button again and again and again for the next hour and a half.
I had every intention of getting up early to embark on my longest run to date — 15 miles. But I decided sometime during my battle with the alarm clock that 9 a.m. was still relatively early.
Once I was up I began my "long run routine." In preparing myself for a long run, there are certain things I have to do to feel physically and mentally ready such as hydrating, stretching, making sure my running clothes fit right and eating cold pizza!
Many marathon runners I've spoke to have their "magic" food or drink. One runner I talked to drank flat pop before a race. My magic food is cold pizza. It just makes me feel energized for the journey ahead.
So I ate my cold pizza, laced up my running shoes, put on my camel back, turned on my iPod, popped some gum in my mouth and ran.
The weather was perfect for most of the run — overcast with a light breeze. The first seven miles "raced" by as I jammed out to Santana, Dave Matthew's Band, Pinback and other random artists on my iPod.
By mile No. 7 the sun started peeking through the clouds. By mile No. 8 I remembered why I had planned to get up so early as the blazing sun followed my every step.
Mile 10 came along and I felt my blood sugar dip, so I popped a piece of hard candy in my mouth and keep truckin’ along.
A few times during the last five miles I seriously had to convince myself to keep going. I kept thinking how nice it would be to walk the rest of the way.
But if I couldn’t do this, I thought, I wouldn’t be able to do the marathon.
So, I finished my 15 miles in surprisingly good shape. I wasn’t near as sore as I was when I ran 11 miles.
However, when I looked down at my legs I noticed a nice, distinctive runner’s tan from my shorts. I will need to run earlier in the morning to avoid looking like a brown rainbow.
After the run I had so much energy. I took a shower, went tanning, cleaned my house and ran some errands. Yet, when 3 p.m. came I decided to relax on my bed and take a small break. After that I was out for the count for most of the evening.
I had every intention of getting up early to embark on my longest run to date — 15 miles. But I decided sometime during my battle with the alarm clock that 9 a.m. was still relatively early.
Once I was up I began my "long run routine." In preparing myself for a long run, there are certain things I have to do to feel physically and mentally ready such as hydrating, stretching, making sure my running clothes fit right and eating cold pizza!
Many marathon runners I've spoke to have their "magic" food or drink. One runner I talked to drank flat pop before a race. My magic food is cold pizza. It just makes me feel energized for the journey ahead.
So I ate my cold pizza, laced up my running shoes, put on my camel back, turned on my iPod, popped some gum in my mouth and ran.
The weather was perfect for most of the run — overcast with a light breeze. The first seven miles "raced" by as I jammed out to Santana, Dave Matthew's Band, Pinback and other random artists on my iPod.
By mile No. 7 the sun started peeking through the clouds. By mile No. 8 I remembered why I had planned to get up so early as the blazing sun followed my every step.
Mile 10 came along and I felt my blood sugar dip, so I popped a piece of hard candy in my mouth and keep truckin’ along.
A few times during the last five miles I seriously had to convince myself to keep going. I kept thinking how nice it would be to walk the rest of the way.
But if I couldn’t do this, I thought, I wouldn’t be able to do the marathon.
So, I finished my 15 miles in surprisingly good shape. I wasn’t near as sore as I was when I ran 11 miles.
However, when I looked down at my legs I noticed a nice, distinctive runner’s tan from my shorts. I will need to run earlier in the morning to avoid looking like a brown rainbow.
After the run I had so much energy. I took a shower, went tanning, cleaned my house and ran some errands. Yet, when 3 p.m. came I decided to relax on my bed and take a small break. After that I was out for the count for most of the evening.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Running circles
Last night was my pace interval (PI) training. According to my training program, this will help me increase my speed so I can complete my marathon in four hours. According to me, it’s just a modern form of torture.
Here are a couple reasons why I hate PIs:
• I have to run around a track (so boring)
• I have to run around a track a lot (even more boring)
Here’s how it works. My training partner Laura and I run one lap around the track (which equals 400 meters) in a certain time. I usually try to stay between 1:38 (minutes/seconds) and 1:45. Then we walk for one-quarter lap for a quick rest and start the running again.
Last night we were scheduled to run 14 laps, which amounts to 3.5 miles. Now running that distance at a constant, moderate pace would usually be an easy feat for us. But remember, we have to run a little faster and around a track, which again is so boring.
And to top that off, Laura had started early so she could finish a project for her master’s program. By the time I showed up, she only had two more PIs to run. And that meant I had to convince myself to run 12 laps alone.
Running is more a mental challenge than a physical one. A lot of a runner’s effort is used to convince herself/himself that they can keep going. It’s easy to talk yourself out of running and difficult to drowned out that little voice to keep pushing.
I almost make myself a robot when running PIs. I finish a lap, walk for one-quarter lap and the second I get to my next starting point, without even thinking about it, I run and run hard.
So, I just have to do that 14 times while getting eaten by mosquitoes, run over by a boy’s soccer team and weaving in and out of other runners and walkers.
But it’s all worth it when I finish that last lap and stroll around the track listening to Rachael Yamagata on my iPod and gaze at the sunset and Venus in the western sky.
Here are a couple reasons why I hate PIs:
• I have to run around a track (so boring)
• I have to run around a track a lot (even more boring)
Here’s how it works. My training partner Laura and I run one lap around the track (which equals 400 meters) in a certain time. I usually try to stay between 1:38 (minutes/seconds) and 1:45. Then we walk for one-quarter lap for a quick rest and start the running again.
Last night we were scheduled to run 14 laps, which amounts to 3.5 miles. Now running that distance at a constant, moderate pace would usually be an easy feat for us. But remember, we have to run a little faster and around a track, which again is so boring.
And to top that off, Laura had started early so she could finish a project for her master’s program. By the time I showed up, she only had two more PIs to run. And that meant I had to convince myself to run 12 laps alone.
Running is more a mental challenge than a physical one. A lot of a runner’s effort is used to convince herself/himself that they can keep going. It’s easy to talk yourself out of running and difficult to drowned out that little voice to keep pushing.
I almost make myself a robot when running PIs. I finish a lap, walk for one-quarter lap and the second I get to my next starting point, without even thinking about it, I run and run hard.
So, I just have to do that 14 times while getting eaten by mosquitoes, run over by a boy’s soccer team and weaving in and out of other runners and walkers.
But it’s all worth it when I finish that last lap and stroll around the track listening to Rachael Yamagata on my iPod and gaze at the sunset and Venus in the western sky.
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