Shaking Off a Good Ass-Kicking

I responded to my friend at Be The Dog, and after I was done I realized I had a breakthrough and should keep this for my own.

CW - We realized last week that we'll be running races on the same day.  You have a half-marathon in Brooklyn over the Columbus Day weekend, while I'll be in Portland, OR, for a marathon.  (Being good government employees, we have that Monday off.)  I'm glad you learned so much from the Parks Marathon; even if it wasn't your fastest race, you gained more by figuring out how to make the ones that follow better.

I'm digging for similar silver lining after a training run this morning, but I'm not as sanguine as you.  After a summer of oppressive weather - I like hot weather over cold, but enough is enough - this morning autumn seemed to have broken with the temperature around 20C at sunrise.  I made it to Gravelly Point before the 7 am start, after eating and packing all that I needed.  This was going to be a good one, a perfect landing on the accelerated training schedule I adopted to get me to Portland.

I'm resigned to a 9-minute pace, and today's target was 20 miles.  No one else raised a hand when the run leader asked runners to identify their paces.  Overachievers at 8- and 8:30-paces, where I used to be, and a bunch in the 10-minute and or more-sensible groups.  I was prepared this time.  In previous weeks, I've started with 9-minute types, only to find that we were planning to run different distances.  They'd cheerfully reverse course after 4 miles, leaving me to trudge on alone, or I'd come to my turnaround only for them to bear down and continue with their challenge.  And today a guy sidled alongside me, and asked if he could run with me.  (Do you have to ask in this situation?)  We headed up the Potomac, watching planes landing and rowers rowing and, predictably, at mile 3 he said goodbye and left me to my fate.

This time I was prepared.  I brought my iPod, and quickly dialed up a genius mix based on "Shake It Off."  I have the musical taste of a 14-year-old girl.  I shimmied alone through Arlington, into Georgetown, along Rock Creek Parkway onto the Zoo's grounds, reversed course to the Lincoln Memorial.  And by this time, things weren't going well.

I have an unusually high exercise heart rate - 150 is pretty light for me.  (My resting is about 48, so no one seems concerned.)  However, at anything above a crawl my HR vaulted.  I improvised a heartrate fartlek, backing off when my heart rate skyrocketed.  People passed me; once upon a time that didn't happen.  Sometimes they passed me twice, because they would zip past me, only to then rest as I caught them, and then they'd have to catch me again.  At Hains Point I fell apart - the silver stake was the tantalizing water fountains at the several bathrooms--all out of service.  Crossing the Potomac, I caught up with Kimberly, one of the more reasonable people.  We chatted, then resolved to run the last mile together.  God knows that if I hadn't been running with her I would have succumbed to the cramp building in my right leg, and if the run leader hadn't been standing in the Gravelly Point lot with a checklist I might have called the whole thing off.

But it wasn't enough to finish.  On the short drive home, I felt really lightheaded, and once I got home, climbed two flights of stairs (why, Lord??!) my legs cramped badly, so much so that I asked my wife to stand over me and give me a deep massage with her heels.  That helped, and with a multivitamin and a lot of water, a nap, and a shower, I was back among the living.

I'd like that not to happen during the race, especially since if I fell apart I'd still have 10K to go.  I see that drinking lots and lots of water would be good.  I will try to link up with like-minded people to get through the tough spots.  I'm happy with what I wore, with one exception:  I'll have a spare Band-Aid in my pocket.  You're a woman, so you may not realize that after a lengthy run the friction of a salt-laden shirt over a man's tender, exposed chest can lead to the telltale, painful "Bloody Nip."  I will eat immediately after I finish.  And, frankly, I needed a good ass-kicking to know that even if things go south I will finish.

So the next time I take to the trail, I'll look back on today's run and shake it off.  It was a necessary step in the process of showing up in Portland ready to run 26.2 miles.  And not die trying.