running naked

the temperature has now dipped to some number that is a close enough approximation of my shoe size. as a breed originally designed to jump and retrieve off the frigid waters of canada, axel certainly does not require merino socks, fleece "outerwear", or a baselayer in order to head out for a run.



it is time for fleet feet to carry a line of 'technical labrador wear'.

long runs are my laxative

the low mileage training week preceding "marathon sunday" is typically a source of extreme frustration for a heretofore regular morning tryst with the toilet bowl.

sadly, not even coffee can combat "tapering".

lobster, lighthouses, lactate thresholds, and a rather lacklustre attitude

after spending 7 plus hours confined to a delta airlines economy class seat, a jet lag haze eclipsed the reality of how this would impact the integrity of my hip flexors for the (locally) ubiquitous 50 mile 'lobster ride and roll' a day later. scenic views, a caloric deficit, and white bread stuffed with sweet crustacean claws were my sparkly, shiny object.



a zen like state was finally achieved when peanut m&ms provided a blissful trance from the fugue that had settled in by mile 25.



i can obviously blame transatlantic travel for a less than stellar performance at the 'lobster'. and ever the planner, my crappy effort during the 'dempsey bike challenge' at the beginning of october will be attributed to an intensive marathon training schedule leading up to it. this will also go towards explaining an equally geriatric endeavour at the marine corps marathon (at the end of october), because i knackered out my legs on the very hill bike course 3 weeks prior.

'making excuses intervals' is the only area of cross training where i am currently exceeding expectations.

"the scottish play"

to enter into a high mileage relationship with the asphalt, is not for the weak of arch, feeble of fridge, or those averse to spending extended periods of the day perching over porcelain. it is a pugilistic endeavour, where the final dress rehearsal does not involve breaking legs.



wardrobe and costume is crucial, particularly when training 'on location'. despite my readiness to fully acculturate to the climate and don a monogrammed tartan footie sleeper suit, access is denied for those in possession of too much north face.



cinderella's castle or the portland headlight; recreating a 'close enough' environment to the final performance is important- both are swarming with nikon-clad tourists and wailing children wearing (fleece) hats with animal ears on top.



ultimately, it is the countless "practice" miles remembered and shared (or not); the hershey squirt and subsequent abandon of underwear in a bathroom at the park, a faceplant-on-the-wooden-bridge at mile 18, or the fact that two blondes shuffling in sync get more honks than one, or one plus a brunette.



proper recovery is integral to repairing damaged muscles, lubricating the synovial joints, combatting a 2,400 calorie deficit, and becoming so paralytic that a suggestion to "audition" via lottery for new york, is actually taken seriously.



unfortunately while i did not develop a big, black, bruised toenail from all this marathon training, i incubated a rather juicy apostrophe shaped blister in my wool sock.



"out damn spot"- something to pick at later.

an athlete's advent calendar

long distance is extremely challenging and can be utterly demoralizing, whether it's sitting in a trans-atlantic economy class seat for 7 hours, squeezing that extra point two out of your lactic flooded legs at mile 26, or attempting to maintain relationships (this goes for the people you get to see naked and/or the ones you don't). of course i would rather tolerate burning muscle groups and organ systems, than a scorching perineum (and it's surrounding neighbours) for the 10 plus hour childbirth marathon.

i have been virtually marathon training. my buddy and i share the same time zone, but not the same longitude. we are following identical schedules, with phone calls before (long weekend runs) and at powerade stops halfway through, to compare notes on how many honks we've had, how sucky it feels, and "share" a sports bean or two.



as a female, the obvious co-dependendent/i-can't-let-someone-else-down chromosome means that accountability to another person is the biggest motivator to maintaining any discipline. weekly packages have been keeping our respective postmen burdened with all manner of random running related retail. week 1 represents the importance of balancing excretions "before", so that there are minimal secretions "during".



week 2 addressed the need for adequate fuel, and as was noted in the accompanying card, "a l'il reminder of [your] other home".



week 3 provided pre/mid/post refueling, as well as inspirational reading for the daily bowel down-time.



week 4 was a tribute to the apres run relaxation, meditation and dissociation process.



and because "it gets cold in maine"; a little extra support for the digits, from a locally owned running store (owned by a british expat who settled in the 'ville).



guilt cannot be overcome by distance. but opening up the double doors on day 24 is always the best surprise.

now i can go harder and longer

as with the professionals who wield speculums and/or hairdressing scissors- if this is at the same appointment, you may also be the person who enjoys getting beaten with kitchen aid appliances, or the glaucoma is interfering with your ability to differentiate a curling iron from pelvic scraping tongs- brand loyalty reigns supreme for footwear.

running shoes are supposed to retire to the big landfill in the sky between 350 and 500 miles- unless your gait is like that of a charging elephant or tonya harding at a crow bars r us sale.



i am pleased to announce that the brown shorts wearing stork has delivered a package, and i can now begin the process of breaking in my new shoes with a layer of foot funk. but first, a retrospective. henry VIII collected wives, and while none of my shoes have been hung, drawn and quartered with their insoles burned in front of them, they have each been succeeded by a newer, less stinky muse.

my first pair, have negotiated hills, date plantations, UC berkley's campus, and completed two half marathons, on two different continents. now they have been relegated to the domain of 'home improvement' and 'take dog for a walk'.



the second pair displaced 'paint splat' to witness half marathons 3 and 4. they are now a prototype for a 'hiking-after-it-has-rained' model.



and most recently; 'my first marathon'....



i really liked the shiny blue, it was an acceptable subsitute for not developing a matching set of bruised toenails.

going for a run; the developmental cycle

as all good biologists, psychologists and steve prefontaine (sarah jessica is to manolo blahniks as "pre" was to adidas) worth their teaspoon of sodium chloride know, there is a beginning and an end. a single venture into maximum heart rate, lactic threshold, and chafing"bits", can thus be seen as the recapitulation of a double helix of the human sojourn-- or toothless and encopretic, to dentures and encopretic, plus every movement in between.

fresh babies are pretty much incapable of anything beyond wriggling around dressed up in pumpkin/pea pod/gerbera daisy outfits and emptying their bowels. the novice runner is all too familiar with the latter function, when at mile 2, anal dilation is imminent, and the pre-run poo becomes routine ever after. learning to navigate in a forward motion, without tripping or falling on your backside, is the same beginning for toddlers and trainees alike.

the growth spurt to adolescence, at mile two-and-some-change (for the fellow 10-ish minute mile club) is evidenced in a clumpy gait and an all consuming obsession with how your shadow looks "retarded", especially when furtively trying to pull one short leg (it's always just the one side) from a perspiring crotch, or doing a two step roundhouse kick to coax it back down an equally sweaty thigh.

people who complain that they hate running are either my sedentary, fine wine and stinky cheese appreciating younger sibling, or those that give up after 15 minutes. contrary to what teen cosmo journalista's would have us believe, the first is always the worst, most painful, growing pain-y, whitehead pustule mile of any run; it is for your body. the next ones are for your mind, soul, and justifying that large oreo blizzard.

finally a comfortable cruising pace is found, where creeping clothing is ignored, thoughts of richter scale cellulite jiggle are expunged, and breathing no longer sounds like a middle aged asthmatic watching the spice channel from his treadmill. these are your 30's.

and the final stretch to the last lampost is typically completed under the "zimmer frame and orthotics" category.

twenty-six point two; number two

running 26.2 miles has officially been crossed off the "list of things to do before i die" (still waiting for "crush grapes with my feet" and "drown face in chocolate fondue fountain"- as the preferred way to die). however, stepping it up to an ultramarathon, or ironman (yeah, i don't do anything involving 'speedo' couture), is easily over ruled by the chance to repeat comittment vows to my running buddy- who was very "persuasive", employing several bottles of 'blue tattoo' pinot.



at first, i told her she could kiss my reduced, post marathon arse.



then i recalled our apres race euphoria and/or sport bean's delirium, and decided that this would be an excellent way to maintain aforementioned arse's residence in current size of jeans.



if all else fails, then we are strategizing for an energy conservation formation at mile 23...



it will be long distance training, and if this works as well as it has for my relationships, then i will be exchanging gu's with a speedy kenyan at mile marker 20.

start/finish

endings can be sad, a relief, or a celebration, but usually an ambivalent combination of all three. marathon training is now approaching the finish line, of course this means that actual marathon racing is only 2 weeks from the starting line. and i am experiencing first date anticipatory anxiety. it is either going to be so bloody awful that i'll make excuses and want to stop everything before it gets too far, or things will feel effortless and "right" (no swearing/whining/self deprecation).

today was our final "long" run; 14 miles. however, "numerically & geographically challenged" (me) miscalculated the route, and our mileage was closer to 17. but this provided additional "reflection" time on beginnings, middles, and ends. during the first 10 miles (when endorphins were doing what they are supposed to), i felt sad at the impending loss of a familiar routine and regular contact with my buddy. however, around mile 15, 'empty-stomach-except-for-sports-beans' nausea, set in (yesterday, it was 'too-full-of-waffles-and-berries' nausea), and i began to look forward to the fact that this regularly scheduled discomfort-ing experience was time limited.

as with all journeys, there have been some surprises and disappointments along the asphalt. namely, that i am supremely perturbed that none of my clothes are any looser after all the intensive calorie burning aerobic activity i have endured. or that i am unable to overcome genetics. the reality is that no matter how many miles i clock, i will always run every single one of them on short, footballer's (british, not american) legs. "long", "lean", and "sinewy" is just not part of my DNA. and finally, i have experienced a chronic melancholy over the absence of "toe haematoma". conversely, i have been pleasantly surprised at the resiliency of my knees, state of mind, and stomach's ability to keep from surrendering oatmeal/granola/waffles into nearby bushes. i have also discovered a new post run/shower snack alternative to chips and guac; hummus and garlic pita chips.

more temporal mementos are the multiple tank tops' straps' cobweb, now seared into my back, and the candy corn tan line between my shorts and socks. for a truly lasting keepsake, i will always have a mark along my xyphoid process, where the heart rate monitor has chafed a scar into my skin.

i am looking forward to being able to ride my mountain bike more frequently. i am guaranteed some bruises.

i'll do it, if you do it

women tend to operate as a tribal unit; going to the bathroom together, holding hands while the mole doctor singes off something potentially malignant, or venturing into victoria's secret during their semi-annual sale. do-ing together means that things happen, they get done. the decision to train for a marathon was a collective one. much like the decision to wear running shoes (and matching socks) to the kentucky derby, the day before a long training run. one person would be sooo; "what not to wear", two would be; "cooler than bjork wears".

today our goal was 23 magical miles, although we planned to walk 3 first, for a total mileage of 26. we did everything "right"; behaved ourselves at derby, went to bed early, wore newly broken in shoes, hydrated, and ate our energy snacks. the only minor snafu was the post-derby strapless dress sunburn now rubbing against straps. in fact, all was well until a misplaced foot resulted in an elegant full body faceplant at mile 18. fortunately this provided delirious giggling to entertain us through mile 20, until numb feet gave way to acute pain in the left hip; my IT band had finally surrendered. while mind games can stave off boredom and fatigue, when the body packs it in, no recitation of the alphabet backwards, or visualization of assorted co-workers in a jello wrestling match, can ameliorate the pain.

so i started to cry. unfortunately i couldn't even do that successfully, as sobbing and trying to breathe while running is just not possible. this led to a downward spiral of self-flagellation that i was now one of "those girls" (who cried). of course, short term memory had already erased a lecture i delivered last week to a new moutain biker; "we have ALL cried on the trail". i cried because i hurt/couldn't breathe/had only come 21.5 of the 23 miles/had to WALK. "other" people (oprah winfrey/katie holmes/puff daddy) had run 26 miles, what was MY problem? my buddy later told me that she was relieved to see me stop and cry; to see that i was "human" (that did not make two of us). i recently saw an interview between kristin and lance armstrong where they agreed that 20 miles is the true, first "half" of a marathon. despite the laws of conventional mathematics, i would have to agree.

ultimately, i committed to marathon training because i felt that it would be an important 'character building life lesson'. to know i could do something challenging, in spite of the pain and self doubt-- like committing to a relationship.

in theatre, a crappy dress rehearsal means a great performance. but i think i forgot that part of a good life lesson, the part where the learning takes place, is not done while coasting along feeling good, but when you have to stop and pull over, recognize where you are, how far you've come, and acknowledge that this is tough right now, but it will get better. and that crying (and walking) is normal, permitted, and even "ok". fortunately i have a very patient, and supportive running buddy who was able to let me drape my crusty self all over her, and "escort" me to the finish.

we burned 2,689 calories, unfortunately i am unable to negotiate the short distance to the fridge to replace any of them.

run like a kenyan on redbull

this was written on a sign i read while running into churchill downs this morning, for the final leg of the kentucky derby mini marathon. and while i wasn't averaging "2% body fat and 6 foot long legs" minute miles, all the necessary parts and organs appeared to be functioning pretty efficiently. granted we knew that 13 miles would feel like a warm up, given the 26 mile goal on the calendar in just 4 weeks.

and either the hill training paid off, or the mass of bouncing nike, dri-fit, and hairy backs was enough to detract from any gradients on the course. we were able to find some interesting characters to pace with (not the group of elvis', or powerwalking ladies sporting their artillery of gu/water/gel flasks), including an old man decked out in full cotton, who started perspiring profusely after the first 15 minutes. unfortunately the visual of his backsweat was quickly reinforced by our olfactory senses and we were caught up in the wake of his B.O.; this gentleman must have missed last week's special on AXE at kroger.

i was ultimately relieved that my (obsessive) concern about evacuating the remainder of the previous day's burrito at mile marker 3 was unwarranted.

next stop; rock and roll.

shop~bike~run

last weekend's 18 miler, and this past week's inaugural mountain bike ride of '08, necessitated a visit to local bike and running stores, respectively.

store # 1: guys seem to enjoy bike shops the same way women (other women, not me) can rack up hours browsing and sniffing their way through a candle outlet. i personally find the latter nauseating to the point of migraine headaches, and the former so intimidating that i would rather get in, get out, and maybe no one will notice that i really don't know a bloody thing about tubes/cables/levers/chains/pokey things, and what they do on (or to) a bike. i think perhaps this may also be attributed to a former liaison with a pro cyclist- if he was versed in the ways of all things on 2 wheels, then by default i should be (the same silly cognition that my father's profession (dentist) qualifies me to identify a bicuspid or incisor at 30 paces). i left with lube (chain and skin chafe).

store # 2: the plan was get in ("size 6 brooks, please"), get out. the reality was; sit down, try on a shoe ("you've been wearing a size too big"), try on another shoe, talk with the owner (a transplanted brit) while he squeezed and poked my feet. i shared with him my frustration at the lack of black toenails (he offered to use the hammer they had back in the storage room "free of charge"). we bonded for about 20 minutes, about our peripatetic parallels to regions in the US, UK, south africa, and bahrain.

i got a hefty discount on the '08 shoes, and plenty of freebies: running socks, a singlet, and advice ("don't go running without a sports bra"). must have been the accent and the ovaries.

he did promise me that i will get black toenails-- and that they will fall out.

(yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!)

sweet seventeen

i was feeling pretty smug (note: smugness really provides camouflage for fear) at the prospect of running (completing- it's important to think positively) 17 miles. i had 8 hours of sleep in the bank, some steaming hot porridge (high glyceamic index: good, egg mcmuffin: bad), a complete evacuation of the bowels, and a "rest day" (lying around and reading two books) prior. the course was mapped out and bullet pointed, stashed in a zip loc bag (no chance of my backsweat blurring our route directions).

and then i walked out of the door.

cold, wind, rain. the triathalon of meteorology. if fleet feet had been open, or REI/UPS delivered to: public bathrooms, top of dog hill, cherokee park (in 30 minutes), i would have dropped the cash for a piece of overpriced, technical raingear. instead, i settled on whining as the accessory du jour.

fortunately for my buddy, there was no reason to whine. the rain eased off, our legs and lungs felt great, the new course was interesting (flat), no chafing issues (inside thigh chub had been adequately "buttered"), and we had sufficient water/gel/gu/sport bean/clif blok breaks.



(several hours later...)



it was a relief to reach the car- "only another 9 miles and we'd have run a full marathon"- i can't imagine adding another 2, or eating anymore fruit flavoured, sugary energy snacks. my left hip ached, and my feet felt like prisoners of asphalt war.

~ i will have to remove my nail polish to check the toenails.

faking it

the last time i went for a run in the dark, the clocks were set to "it's bloody cold, go home and put on your jammies and make a mug of hot chocolate" time. now it is light well past "flannel and cocoa o'clock", and while i have voluntarily elected to put myself through 26 consecutive miles this june, i have not completely lost my mind by going for midnight training excursions in the interim.

this morning i went for a run, and it was still dark (i generally don't rise before daylight unless it involves being at an airport check in desk). the only thing different was the soundtrack of cheeping birds and the surfeit of hardcore, "proper" runners (me not included) striding by in their visibility tights and their visibly sinewy quadriceps.

afternoons were meant for recreational runners, like myself, who do not wear "singlets", or compulsively check their heart rate monitors to make sure they are (uncomfortably) in their "training zone".

of course, my co-workers at the coffee machine all think i'm a "proper" runner (you bet i casually dropped my pre-dawn activities into conversation this morning).

they seemed less enamoured with the oral dissertation on chafing and blackened toenails that followed.

chafing

as i no longer have ringworm to contend with, my skin is going into withdrawals. today i ran 15 (point 3) miles, and am experiencing redness and soreness in parts that petroleum jelly does not usually reach.

it is a well known fact that cotton is the enemy of the distance runner, or middle aged baby boomer who never updated their wardrobe. and i am a "fabric of our lives" devotee who admits to wearing knickers under bike shorts (see blog from last summer about smegma in your chamois). during previous higher mileage half marathon training, i used vaseline to prevent inside thigh chub chafe ("ITCC"). however, colder temps and longer pants this morning, meant that this particular area was a non-issue. instead, i have sustained some serious "nappy rash" around the knicker elastic line (you know the part).

i also found significant "heart rate monitor chafing", while i attempted to stand up and maintain my balance in the shower this afternoon.

(still no black toenails).

on finding my sole mate

it is hard to find another person who will be patient; not rush you before you are ready, but also not take things too slowly. it is a special someone who understands exactly, when you say "oh, my god, i need to find a bathroom NOW, or else my sphincter is going to expel the clif bar i ate 45 minutes ago."

i have run with people that i want to push into a nearby ditch; once i catch up with their wannabe kenyan pace. i have also run with those individuals who take their "walk breaks" very seriously (and often). and finally, the inconsiderates who ask a question; "so....where exactly is it you are from?...how did you decide to get into art therapy?...what exactly happened on the last episode of lost, because i missed it?" right as you hit the 579 degree angle that is "dog hill".

running in races tends to provide an armpit's eye view of other peoples' sweaty regions. however, the reality is that you are really not running with these cess pools of perspiration. running en masse is more like speed dating for the comittment-phobe. where "everyone else" is a mere moving target on the course, picked out with the sole purpose to distract and pass another mile while you question the sanity of the slightly overweight, middle aged guy wearing sweat soaked, blue cotton shorts, that are now being eaten by his bumhole.

training "sole" mates have come and gone (to asheville), and it is difficult to find like footed individuals. fortunately i can be monogomous again.

ice queen (of the road)

due to the snowstorm that "suffocated" the derby city this weekend, not to mention my own disproportionate ratio of simple carbs consumed (in the last 48 hours times 4) to kilojoules (not) expended, it was time to head out today, and get a run in. i am training for a marathon, you know.

so i shuffled, jogged, walked, skidded, skated, and hopped on the pre-plotted 6 mile "terrain". i think i actually like "running" in ice and snow, it forces me to go a lot slower than my uh, "race pace". i may even pretend there is ice and snow on the ground when i do eventually run the marathon.

in san diego.

in june.

in sickness and in health...

my comittment has been severely tested this weekend. normally a 6 or 7 mile run is not a big deal, however the mileage was on the training schedule and therefore, had to be done. there is nothing worse than "having to", even if you have willingly chosen to "have to".

the early miles body check; legs felt good, lungs felt good, stomach; not so good. nausea accompanied each step. but not enough to jack it in. some days there are sore knees (or an impacted lower intestine), making the whole process difficult/annoying/downright miserable. however, there are always other runners out there; smiling and waving encouragement, understanding and knowing "the struggle". and when snowflakes start falling (in a pretty, "narnia" type of way, not a five month, "mongolian blizzard" way), i know that tomorrow is a chance to have a better day.

which i do.

my relationship with the road

i had a bad feeling this morning, in my stomach, although i think i confused it with the 4 glasses of wine and creamy gorgonzola cheese that had been downed the night before. i did not want to make the effort to get dressed in the layers necessary for braving the elements, and head out for several miles of "punishment".

it was not what i expected or planned. i started slow, was patient with myself- no expectations, and actually enjoyed the run. the hills weren't too hellacious. i went further, and did more than i anticipated i was capable of.

sometimes the hardest part is just getting out the door. after that, the hills are easy.