theSmudge.com

I like running trails. There’s something exhilarating about being in the outdoors, exploring nature and soaking up the world’s beauty. My legs also like running trails. They prefer the softer surface, and they love flying down hills with reckless abandon.

Saturday’s trail run, however, was long. It had relentless uphills, which took forever to conquer because I had to walk them. Even the downhills weren’t always thrilling, because they were steep enough that I had to slow down. I’ve learned that if I don’t put on my natural breaks and just go with it, my quads (thigh muscles) won’t hurt too much the next day. I had to slow down, though, or else I would have gone tumbling head over heels.

After 3 hours and 58 minutes, and 18.6 miles, I finally returned to the starting point. It started and ended on the beach in Sausalito, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d done a shorter run there before, and I knew the trail would take me up to a point where I’d actually look down on the Golden Gate in all its glory. That didn’t happen Saturday, though, because it was foggy and windy for the entire run. Yes, I’m whining. But look at the elevation I faced (and which I didn’t really notice when I signed up for the run):

OK, it wasn’t completely without a view. My friend Steve had remembered a certain viewpoint, so he stopped to get pictures:

The run ended at noon Saturday. As I type this more than two days later, my legs still won’t talk to me. They revived a bit yesterday, but when I woke up this morning they were in full denial. I was laughed at today as I hobbled around work, trying and failing to make my calf and thigh muscles work. This is marathon-level of soreness, despite being eight miles shorter than a marathon. Then again, I ran it only about a minute faster than my marathon five weeks earlier, so I guess it was marathon-like.

Somewhere around the third hour Saturday, I was not happy. I’d long since told Steve to go ahead because I didn’t want to slow him down. I’m glad I did, because if I’d been worrying about that, it would have further added to my exhaustion. See, not only did I battle true, complete fatigue and muscle pain, but I also faced a mental battle. I was alone for long stretches of time, and I began to think I was the last person out there. I wasn’t actually worried about being abandoned (I knew better than that, and there were people doing longer distances). But this was the first time I’d been so isolated for so long on a run. I’ve run up to 20 miles solo at once, but even then I say hello to pedestrians and stop for water at a coffee shop or gas station.

This was a new kind of isolation. I think it mingled with some long-growing dissatisfaction with parts of my life. And it was not fun. I trudged for miles uphill, no longer even caring to look at my GPS watch to see how many miles were left. Around mile 14, a photographer was on the course. It had flattened out (briefly), and I actually saw a couple other runners at that point. I saw the photographer in the distance, and I tried to smile for him and for myself. This was truly the best I could do:

I got to the last aid station, and I was SO happy to see people. They filled my water bottle, offered me snacks, and said the last 4.5 miles were the best part of the course — “unless you like uphills.” I was quite happy to hear that it was not uphill. But I also didn’t really want to leave, because I’d actually reached real people. I lingered for a bit, but finally gathered my wits and moved along.

Here’s the part that’s both ridiculous and heartening. (See, I’m not all doom and gloom!) In my time at the aid station, I’d caught up to a couple other runners, and a few had caught up to me. What I didn’t know was that two of the women were in my age group — and at that point we were all tied for second place in our division. Yes, after 14 brutal miles in which I thought I was all alone and the slowest person on earth, I was actually holding my own.

The first-place woman in our division actually won the whole women’s race in 2:41 (8:38 pace; absurdly fast), so she was far out of our league. But the second and third place women in my age group finished seconds apart from each other in 3:53. I was only five minutes behind. What if I hadn’t loitered at that last aid station for so long? What if I hadn’t stood at a concert and on a train for five hours the night before (yes, five hours; yes, it was so worth it; yes, it will be a separate blog post)?

But, two days later, I have realized that the real question is: What if I hadn’t let myself get so mentally defeated? I was completely exhausted when I finally reached the finish line, and I couldn’t have run another step. BUT I think I could have run smarter a couple hours earlier, and pushed a little bit harder. I honestly think that’s what separated my fourth-place finish from second place. Granted, there were only seven finishers in my division, but I still would have gotten a medal and I still would have been in the top half.

So, even though my legs are still mad and I’m definitely rethinking whether I want to tackle anything like that ever again, I have learned something. I’ve learned that, though I whole-heartedly believe I do my best running when I have no hardcore expectations, my head can still defeat me.

And I’ve also come face-to-face with the fact that, while I’ve succeeded in my decade-long quest to not be co-dependent, the result is not what I’d hoped. I like people. And I need them.

I’ve received a lot of questions and comments from runners regarding my unconventional training that is resulting in faster and happier races, so I’m going to write a bit about what I’m doing. Disclaimer: I make no claims that it will work for you, so please don’t sue me if you do try it!

Quick summary about me: I have flat feet, I pronate (feet point out, duck-like), and I think I’m the most injury-prone person I know. I’m also just hard-headed enough to keep running. It’s something that both calms and excites me, and I can no longer imagine my life without running. I’ll never be one of those crazy fast runners, but I do love trying to get faster and break my own records.

Quick summary of how this plan is going: In March, I came back from injury and broke 1:50 in a half-marathon — something truly unexpected and unplanned. In June, after stressing out my Achilles tendons and having to take some time off, I ran a 4-hour marathon, shockingly beating my previous best time by eight minutes. Also, in March I ran the Oakland half-marathon solely for fun and to see if I could hit a specific time of 1:58 (9-minute miles); I ran it in 1:57:13. I had an absolute blast through that whole race:

Along the way, I wrote about the carefree marathon training plan, and how I wasn’t sticking religiously to a training plan. Instead, I was doing things like drinking a lot of alcohol and then running a great 16-miler mere hours later. I was running what I wanted, when I wanted. No stress.

Quick full disclosure: After that post, I DID subsequently stress out a tendon near my Achilles, resulting in very little running for three weeks. Then I had a Blister Incident, resulting in nearly another whole week off running. The tendon thing actually taught me a lesson and resulted in some very good changes, which I’ll include below.

So now, after that absurdly long preamble, we come to Basic Rules of Layla’s Unconventional Training:

1. This only works if you don’t need the motivation of an actual “plan.” If you have trouble getting out the door for a run, or you find yourself cutting runs short, an actual plan is probably best for you.
2. If you’re new to running, it’s better to follow a plan. Pre-made plans will help you learn some good general rules for staying healthy, such as not doing too much speed work or increasing the distance too quickly. (The Runner’s World and Hal Higdon plans are good places to start.)
3. If you’re still interested after reading numbers 1 and 2, you also have to be willing to ditch the idea of checking off runs every day. You won’t be printing out a complex color-coded 16-week schedule to post on the refrigerator and scrutinize 20 times a day. If that sounds impossible, believe me; I’ve done the same thing. I’ve spent hours in Excel, perfecting a plan that spells out each run leading up to a targeted race. Then I’ve gleefully crossed off the runs as I’ve finished them. Well, until real life gets in the way. Which leads to…
4. You will not beat yourself up if life happens and you don’t nail each run. You won’t have a gaping hole in that sparkly training plan — because it wasn’t there to start. I know you’re thinking I’m nuts, but here’s the next key:
5. You can still log all your runs, but instead of looking ahead at the yet-to-be-conquered runs, you’re going to look back at what you’ve accomplished and how you’ve improved. It’s OK to stare at and analyze those numbers a little bit, because they are the truth. If you want to improve, those are the numbers to work on, not some numbers plugged into a training plan by some stranger.
6. Look at your goal race and mark a couple key dates on your calendar. If you’re training for a marathon, you’re going to need some long runs before the race. Pencil those into your calendar, but leave the rest open. For instance, I’m running the New York Marathon on Nov. 6. I want to run 20ish miles two weeks before the marathon, so sometime on Oct. 22 or 23 I’ll run “20 or so” miles. Two weeks before that, I’ll aim for something similar. I should be in shape to run those properly, but I’m not putting specific numbers of miles on the calendar.
7. Run by feel and instinct. Four weeks before last month’s marathon, I set out to run 16 miles. I was dying and couldn’t even breathe by mile 8, and barely made it 14.5 miles. So that was it. If you have to cut it short, do so. If you want to run an extra mile, go for it. If your legs are feeling good, pick up the pace for some speed work. If they’re unhappy (but not actually hurt), slow down the pace and run to conquer the mind games so you know you can keep going.
8. Run consistently and regularly. This goes back to the concept of being motivated to run without a detailed schedule, and it’s not going to work for everyone. The bottom line is that, the more naturally running is, the simpler a race will seem. You should be able to get to the starting line of a race and know that you can do it.
9. Cross train. I need to take my own advice about this one, but I am making an effort. Get yourself to the gym. Use your bike. Lift weights. Stretch. Walk. Dance. Swim. Find ways to work other muscles so that your running muscles aren’t the only ones doing the work. Your muscles, tendons, joints and ligaments need to be team players.
10. Live life. Do not let running take over your life. Don’t sacrifice a fun adventure with friends just for one run. That 16-miler that I ran after consuming too much alcohol the night before? Of course the alcohol consumption wasn’t planned — in fact, it was a very last-minute invitation that resulted in all sorts of scrambling and sleep loss. If I’d had “must run 16 miles; this is crucial, according to my plan” on my brain, I might have skipped it. And I would have missed out on insane amounts of laughter and fun times. Instead, I said yes and got the best of both worlds. My lesson: “Just say yes.” If you’re doing things right, you will always have running. But other experiences won’t always be there; don’t miss out on them.

I don’t profess to know everything about running. In fact, I’m constantly reminded of how little I know. What I do know, though, is that we’re all different. This is why no training plan will work for everyone. This is also why my loose, low-maintenance training plan won’t work for many people. Who knows, maybe it won’t always work for me, either.

(Part one of this saga is here. It was just too wordy for one post.)

One-word summary: Wow. (Yep, that sounds familiar from my half-marathon in March.)

Two-word summary: Just wow.

One-sentence summary: I thought that having to take time off and then going into a marathon seriously undertrained would result in my slowest time yet, but the opposite happened.

So if you read my last post, you know about the less-than-stellar running I did before the marathon. I truly believed this might very well be my slowest marathon ever, though I began to be a bit more optimistic in the week before the race. I figured 4:20ish was realistic. A couple days before the race, I said that if I had a good day I might hit 4:15. I honestly, completely believed that.

In fact, I kept believing it until around mile 3 of the actual marathon. I was perfectly content with just getting to the start line and knowing I’d “finish a marathon in freaking Alaska!” as I phrased it more than once. Waiting at the start in perfect 52-degree temperatures, I didn’t have a hint of nerves. (I don’t really get nervous before a race, anyway, but sometimes it manifests itself in excitement.) I hung out with Twitter friend Brandon at the start, and told him to go ahead because he was aiming for a faster pace.

The race swas congested for a while. The marathon field is small, but the first few miles were on a bike trail that didn’t leave a lot of room for passing. I’d lined up at the start in a fairly good place, and I found myself running a little faster than the 9:30 pace I’d planned. It was better to stick with the crowd’s pace, though.

Mile 1: 9:16
Mile 2: 9:14
Mile 3: 9:02
Mile 4: 9:02

I caught up to Brandon and we chatted a bit. I told him, “I’m really scared. My legs feel so good and this feels so easy!” I was running faster now, and I didn’t even notice.

Mile 5: 8:55
Mile 6: 9:13
Mile 7: 9:14

At mile 7, we hit a wide trail that was a mix of dirt and gravel. It was as if I kicked it into a different gear. My legs took off, and the rest of me kept up. Trails make my legs happy, and they were in heaven. I was even able to chat with some other runners. (Hi, Julia from New York!).

Mile 8: 8:09 (yikes!)
Mile 9: 8:19
Mile 10: 8:44

Subconsciously, I began chasing a faster finishing goal. I began hitting more uphills, though, so I slowed and focused on not exerting too much energy on them.

Mile 11: 9:18
Mile 12: 9:07
Mile 13: 9:42

I reached the halfway point in 1:58, nowhere near what I’d expected. I was feeling good, but I knew I stood a very high chance of crashing and burning in spectacular fashion — in fact, that’s what I did a year earlier.

The last and steepest hill was at mile 14.5, which I’d committed to memory when I looked at the course elevation profile a couple days earlier (no joke — I really didn’t look at the course before then except for months ago). I’d told myself that if I reached that point and wasn’t feeling like death, the last 12 miles were completely doable. So, after passing through an aid station, I pulled out my earbuds, turned on the music, and took off.

Mile 14: 10:22
Mile 15: 8:50
Mile 16: 9:00
Mile 17: 8:28 (!)

We returned to pavement at mile 16, and I was having a blast. Case in point:

Mile 18: 8:51
Mile 19: 8:57
Mile 20: 9:32

We were on city streets for a little while, and around mile 19 I passed a thermometer that said 61 degrees. The weather had cooperated wonderfully. Things didn’t start to feel hard until around mile 21. I’ve battled calf cramps in higher mileage runs, and I could feel that they were unhappy. However, this is something I’ve really tried to conquer for over a year now. My Achilles issue was probably a blessing in disguise, because that seemed to be connected to the calf problems. Once I started stretching regularly and focusing on my gait, both improved drastically. So, as the marathon got harder, I kept reminding myself to lift my legs rather than pushing off, and to keep my stride in check so I didn’t over-reach.

Mile 21: 8:43
Mile 22: 9:18

Somewhere in here, I got very distracted by people running the opposite direction, shouting for medics. One girl was specifically shouting at each of us, yelling, “We need a medic! Runner down and he’s BAD!” I know she was just panicked, but it felt like she was accusing me of not helping. I got to the runner, who was lying on the ground with several people around him. There was absolutely nothing I could do, since I have no medical training, so I kept moving. I passed an Internet friend (Chris, who I’d finally gotten to meet at the race expo); he was there coaching and was sprinting toward the runner. I was so distracted and worried — a 22-year-old runner had died two weeks earlier at a race in Chicago that I’d wanted to run — that I took an unplanned walk break just to calm my breathing. (The next day I would learn that the runner was fine.)

Meanwhile, my legs were getting more and more tired. We were running on a path through pretty woods, and what saved me was being able to run on the dirt beside the pavement. Every time I returned to the pavement, my calves complained. The last four miles were a mental battle. I was doing the math and knew I was on my way to an amazing finish if I could just hold on a little longer. I also knew I had a shot at breaking four hours, something I hadn’t planned on attempting until January 2012. I was leap-frogging with a guy who also ran on the dirt. I took a couple short walking breaks but I’d always catch up to him.

Mile 23: 9:22
Mile 24: 9:26
Mile 25: 8:58
Mile 26: 9:40

Some twisted person decided to have the race go straight up the world’s biggest hill at the end of the race. I’d seen it on the course map, and I’d heard that it was every bit as hard as it looked. I was now racing my own clock, but I simply could not run that thing. I walked, knowing it was better to save the last of my energy for the top. That hill finally ended, and Mr. Leapfrog and I were now side-by-side. As we picked up the pace, we chatted briefly about how close we’d be to four hours.

Now that the hill was done, I gave every last bit of energy to the finish. We seemed to take turn after turn after turn; I saw the flags at the finish, but the end kept eluding me, and then I had to dodge half-marathoners who were walking two and three across! The final push was on a track, where I took the shortest possible path to the finish and sprinted for all I was worth, vaguely hearing cheers and someone say, “Look at her go!”

Last 0.44 miles (measured by my watch): 3:30/8:01 pace.

Official chip finish time: 4:00:21, 26.2 miles, 9:11 pace.
My watch time (since I didn’t run the tangents perfectly and did a little weaving): 4:00:26, 26.44 miles, 9:05 pace.
Age division: 9th out of 96 (top 9.3 percent).
Women: 45th out of 526 (top 8.5 percent).

Take that, you doctors who said I’d never do much running! After four marathons, I am still proving you wrong!

It took me about 10 seconds to be able to see anything after the finish, and then I walked in a daze for a little while. Somewhere along the way someone handed me the biggest medal I’ve ever gotten. I pulled out my phone and saw some good luck texts from earlier (I’d put my phone on silent so it wouldn’t distract me). I tried texting but my fingers were shaking and also getting the touch screen all sweaty.

After I called Staci, the friend I was staying with and who was also running, a couple people were priority calls. One was Janine, the woman who three years ago got me through my first half-marathon and then convinced me I could run a marathon. “I just ran a 4-hour marathon!” I gasped into the phone. I was so exhausted and so exhilarated all at once. Then Staci found me and gave me a cookie, which was quite possibly the best thing on the planet at that point.

Days later, I’m still beyond thrilled. Do I wish I had run 22 seconds faster to reach 3:59:59? Of course, but I also have no regrets and I’m not kicking myself. I ran a smart race, I warded off the calf cramps that struck me in the last two marathons, my Achilles felt fine, and except for the worst toenail blisters ever, I have no lingering pains. I can say with pride that I am a four-hour marathoner.

But of course that leads me to the future. What’s next? Well, I had planned to run New York in November as a fun run, and to attempt to break four hours in Texas on Jan. 1. Now my goal is to break four hours in New York. It’s known for hills (lots of bridges) and crowds. But I now live where I run hills, and I’ve paced myself very well in large races (Chicago, for instance, with 45,000 runners). Who doesn’t like a challenge?

On Saturday, June 18, I set out to run the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage. For some reason that still escapes me, I crossed the finish line 4 hours and 21 seconds later. Not only did I beat my best time by more than 8 minutes, I am now a “four-hour marathoner.” I decided to write about it, but then I got so long-winded that I’m subjecting all 0.5 of you readers to two posts about it. Without further ado, here’s the lead-up to the actual marathon. (Normal running bloggers would call this their training plan recap. I didn’t have a training plan…)

I’d planned the vacation months ago, before having a stellar spring of running and before my Achilles went out in early April. I had to take several weeks off, and every day my tendons hurt. I almost ran the half-marathon instead, but on May 21, hours before the race fees increased, I signed up for the full marathon. “I’m going to Alaska, so I’m going to run a marathon there, dammit,” I told myself.

To say I was undertrained is putting it mildly. I’d run a very solid 20-miler on April 2, and on April 12 I ran an extremely fast hilly 7-miler — which was apparently what did in my Achilles. I was able to run very little over the next four weeks, though I stretched diligently and tried to do a little cross-training (I’m bad about that). On May 7, I ran a 10K on trails at a 9:02 pace, including stopping a couple times to stretch and take stock of my tendons. Then I got a blister that suddenly got worse, and resulted in raw skin that couldn’t touch a shoe for nearly a week.

The blister healed, and on May 15 I ran the 100th anniversary of Bay To Breakers and had a blast. An added bonus: my tendons didn’t hurt! I now had five weeks to resume training for a marathon. Fortunately I’ve been on the “Layla’s Unconventional Marathon Training Plan” for a while, so I wasn’t stressed.

The key to marathon training is getting some long runs in, so you build up endurance. You can’t do too much, though, or you risk injury. I’m very injury-prone, so that was the main dilemma. I ran 14 miles with the Punk Rock Racing crew on May 22; I was worn out by mile 11 but managed to finish with a decent overall pace. On May 28 I tried to run 16 miles with Katie, Alyssa and Aron, but the hills wiped me out and I suddenly couldn’t breathe at mile 8. I barely eked out 14 miles.

Due to the time I’d taken off for my Achilles to stop screaming, I had only one shot at running a 20-miler, which I knew would be the “make it or break it” point. But that weekend I had family commitments that included a 4.5-hour flight and two 3.5-hour drives. Oh, and I decided to sign my sister and myself up for a 10K race the morning after all that travel. As if that wasn’t enough, I found myself in the midst of an intense midwest heat wave that included humidity of 85 percent. I started the 10K way too fast and was even reduced to walk breaks in the second half, which I figured would be good mental training for the slowest-ever marathon. Then, once I did some more driving and family errands, and the heat had really set in, a few hours later I was finally able to hit the roads again. That run was also broken up, because I dropped my sister off after another 6 miles, and I dawdled a little in the process. But the day did add up to 20 miles.

The next weekend, one week before the marathon, I ran 14 miles. I’ve previously only run about 8 miles the weekend before a marathon, but I’d wanted to run this particular route for more than two years, and that certainly trumped any conventional marathon training plain nonsense. Then I did some more traveling and got to Alaska.

The week leading up to the marathon was great in every way. Gorgeous scenery, fantastic friends, so much fun, and legs that had absolutely no pains. Oh, but then I took a tumble off a mountain bike — three days before the race. Maybe that’s the key to achieving a 4-hour marathon?

Or perhaps it’s the pizza and beer I had the night before the marathon?

(The next post, which will appear here tomorrow and includes photos, is about the race and my future running plans.)