Week 13
"90% of this is 50% mental"

Week 14
"Ouch"

Week 15
"Lessons learned"

Week 16
"Face-to-face with race pace"

Week 17 - Marathon
 

Week 13
"90% of this is 50% mental"

This is how low the human mind plummets when approaching the end of a 32 k training run.

Our route back to the store that Sunday morning, was, as usual, along Ottawa’s Rideau Canal. The training program had begun in the depths of winter when we ran while throngs skated. Now, in early spring, the shallow canal sat drained of water. Each of the 430’s grimaced at the muck-covered garbage, commenting on how horrible it was to see (pick one): broken chairs, tattered books, beer bottles, dilapidated buoys, shopping carts, or ducks picking through the mire.

These were also welcomed distractions to get the mind off aching knees, sore ankles, blistered feet, fatigued arms, chilled bodies, thirst, and hunger. Once you hit the three hour mark, you search for things to amuse. It doesn’t take much.

The end of the 32 brought us to the rear of Frank Clair Stadium, home of the CFL’s Renegades. The end zone section was in view and I recall making mental calculations.

Maybe 300 m to reach the back of the end zone. Which is 25 yards deep. Plus 110 yards for the field. Plus 25 yards to the end of the other end zone. Plus a few yards more for running an arc around the stadium. What’s that formula for circumference? Pi times the diameter, which is…Plus the width of the fields, including grandstands. Plus the jaunt along Bank St. past Pizza Pizza…

By the time I’d estimated being within 400 m of the store, I was at the store.

The night before, I’d gone to bed a teeny bit apprehensive. After all, 32 k was within striking distance of the actual marathon. It was also 3 k longer than a rather difficult 29 the week before and more than three times longer than the longest run of my life before I began this program. I tried to imagine what alternatives there were to running for three and a half hours.

I could drive to the west end of Montreal, pick up ribs at the Bar B Barn, and make it home before they were cold. I could watch The Godfather, with time to spare for snack-hunting. Or, I could read the first chapter of any novel by Michael Ondaatje.

Would there be a point when I’d want to give up, when my body, troubled by an uncooperative right hamstring, would moan it had had enough? Had I eaten the right stuff the last few days? Did I really know how to pack my muscles with sustenance when I got up in the morning?

Training runs have no distance markers or cheering bystanders. (it’s a bit early in my training and speed objective to call them fans). You carry all your energy needs. You have to stop at red lights, run along narrow paths, weave around walkers, and be wary of nasty silent cyclists who zip by from behind. In truth, there is no chance for mental doldrums.

The time passes. Not quickly and certainly not without feeling twinges normal humans could do without. But the brain, like the body, has taught itself over 13 weeks to deal with distractions.

I complete 32 k and to my utter amazement, I’m smiling. My joints won’t function without considerable creaking, but I’m smiling.

Good grief. For the first time, I realize I will actually finish a marathon.

 

Week 14:
"Ouch"

This is my third consecutive day without a run.

Some weeks ago, a guest instructor at the clinic mentioned "trauma" among common training injuries. I’d dismissed it with a shrug since the only real discomfort I’d yet felt was a tight hamstring,

Until the shallow curb in front of Ottawa’s War Museum.

The 430’s were midway on the return half of our 23 k run. I was at the rear of the tight pack, not paying attention to anything in particular because there wasn’t anything in particular to pay attention to. Occasionally I lowered my eyes to make sure I wouldn’t clip someone’s heels.

Suddenly the head in front of me dipped and before I figured it out, the middle of my left foot found the edge of the curb. Down I went, stumbling for a couple of awkward strides, a pain shooting through the foot.

I let out a not-so-manly ouch. Or maybe it was "Ay-ieeeee!!!" Most of the 430’s are ladies and it just didn’t seem polite to curse loudly, so I struggled to camouflage my blue streak by grumbling behind pursed lips.

When I straightened up, they stared at me, aghast at my misfortune. One lady whipped out an Advil and stuffed it in my hand. I downed it immediately.

There was no question I’d done myself harm. At first I was upset with the possibility of not finishing the run. Then I wondered if this was the end of my marathon dream. At the urging of everyone, I finally agreed to take a short cut and head to the Slater St. store. There, I limped to the cash and told my tale of woe to a young employee. Within seconds, she was driving me to the Bank St. store.

The group arrived as I was preparing to leave. I was offered lifts home and plenty of thoughtful help on how to treat my injury. One fellow suggested I immerse my foot, shoe and all, in ice water. Seemed an unkind thing to do to month-old shoes.

At home, I knew the moment I’d remove the shoe ugly things would be, um, afoot. I shoved my bare foot into a bucket of ice water, the singularly most unpleasant thing I’ve done in years. Instead, I resorted to bags of frozen food, alternating between peas and mixed vegetables.

I’ve spent the last few days icing, raising, icing more and self-massaging. The blueness that once threatened to discolour the entire foot has dissipated to just a hint of its former self. The puffiness has also lessened so that now my foot just looks like it’s gobbled a few too many ‘roids. And no, I haven’t gone for an x-ray.

I’m able to stretch, do calisthenics, climb stairs, and take out the garbage. No pain. No twinges. I even took some delicate light jogging steps today while walking the dog. Meanwhile, my body is practically shouting at me every evening to stop being a wuss and get out there.

A colleague who ran 10 marathons offered sage advice. The extra few days off won’t make much difference a month from now, he said. Let the wound heal.

I’m sporting a week-long pout but I’m taking his advice. Mother Nature has till Sunday and the 29 k run to finish her work.
 

Week 15:
"Lessons learned"

After the last long run, the tapering begins. Three weeks before the event, I can attest to having ridden an impressive learning curve during the training. The time has now come to store the valued memories for immediate recall at 7 am on May 30.

Here’s some of what I’ve learned:

• Running in a pack is hazardous, to wit my tumble off the curb that kept me runless for a week. It turned out to be a foot ligament sprain, however, my carelessness almost cost me. Best advice: keep a body distance behind the runner in front of you. Unless of course the conversation up there is particularly intriguing.
• Do not eat corn chips before a long run.
• Sometimes straight, boring routes need distractions to keep my mind active. For instance, I’ve taken to counting cracks in the sidewalk. This will not be a problem on race day since it’s on the road. In that case, I plan to count the number of spectator heads shaking while I go by who are thinking, "That guy’s cracked to be doing this."
• Gels are an acquired taste best left to acquiring for running. Actually, the chocolate ones aren’t bad at all and might make an interesting sauce. The tricky part would be running with the cake plate.
• At the end of week one, I wondered how you blow your nose while running. Since optics are important, it just doesn’t look very athletic to pound along with a dainty piece of tissue fluttering in your hand. I’m hoping for a cold day so I can wear long sleeves.
• Buy new socks for long runs. I’ve done that twice and both times my feet told my legs how wonderful it felt. Admittedly, this is edging perilously close to developing a "feetish."
• Tighten water bottle caps. One of the 430s spent the better part of a 26 k run with diluted strawberry gel covering her jacket and tights.
• Strength sneaks up on you during these training months and you don’t know you’ve got it till you need it. I’ve pretty much convinced my wife that the muscle strength is just for running, not vacuuming.
• Speaking of running in a pack, it’s perfectly okay not to talk for long periods. People seem to respect each other’s need for silence, or in my case, the need to visualize a long nap. We all drift into our own space at times, crawling out only when comfortable. For instance, during an early 13 k run, three women behind me were chatting away when I happened to overhear something about female hygiene. I reacted by turning my head slightly, to which one of the ladies joked, "Look Richard, that’s the risk of running with a bunch of women. Pretty soon, you’re going to start ovulating."
• We’ve been warned time and again not to go out fast. I’m not afraid this will happen since fast isn’t one of my gears.
• I’ve pruned and tuned my eating habits, shedding almost all unnecessary foods and eight pounds along the way. Fortunately, gel manufacturers don’t consider chocolate a frill food.

Week 16:
"Face-to-face with race pace"

According to our instructor, not to mention Runner’s World magazine, the three weeks of tapering and pace training before the marathon are the most important.

Historically, I’d cultivated a cynical view of mags’ "tried and true" advice. It dates back to the days when I’d read how certain hairstyles and aftershaves could wow the ladies. Usually, I spent so long grooming and dabbing, I didn’t get out of my room till the clubs closed. The advice had never said anything about timing.

Except now, experienced marathoners agreed with the magazine.

After a discussion on how to taper, we began our Yasso 800 race pace runs. The Yasso 800 is named for marathoner Bart Yasso. This is the fellow who completed more marathons than perhaps a normal human should and theorized that training with 800 m runs could replicate your marathon time. Thus a 4 minute-10 second 800 would roughly translate into a 4 hour-10 minute marathon.

In previous weeks, I was wound up learning how to eat, drink and fake merry during long arduous runs and hill training. Now I’m wondering if I can maintain a pace, any pace.

The 430’s split into two groups. My group’s first 800 was under four minutes. Not good. We needed to train ourselves to maintain race speed which meant we’d need to be around 4:20-4:30. One lady suggested I set the pace. I don’t know why she suggested it. She was probably assuming I knew how to do it. Or maybe it’s because I had a watch and she didn’t.

By the seventh 800, we’d become consistent at 4:08. Everyone seemed pleased. I remained puzzled.

"Isn’t that too fast?" I asked. "Aren’t we doing something wrong?"

Their answer came as a collective shrug.

Here I was, less than three weeks before my first marathon, and I hadn’t a clue how to set a pace. As if our 800 m pace problem wasn’t enough, at the beginning of the evening session, a marathon veteran left every rookie baffled.

We’d also been discussing how to maintain the 10 and 1’s from start to finish. Then we’d gotten on to water stations which are situated every 3 k. We were advised to fill up on their water or Gatorade and hold our own supplies in reserve for the last 10 k or so.

The problem, the veteran posed, was that the water station intervals did not ever coincide with the 10 and 1’s. You’d be in the middle of your 10 minute run when, presto, you’d slow, even walk, to get through the station. This could mangle my already uneven pacing.

What to do?

Two days later, on a 10 k steady run, I tried timing my own 10 and 1’s. In the middle of the run parts, I’d toss back a few gulps from the water bottle to replicate the awkwardness of running through a water station and drinking.

When I reached home, half the liquid was in me and half was on me. Worse, I’d run the route nearly 2 minutes slower than when I hadn’t attempted mid-run drinking.

Suddenly I’m confronted with something I hadn’t considered at the outset of training. 10 and 1’s – 3k interval stations – maintain race pace of 6:20 per km.

Ohmigod. I’m going to have to run AND think!