theSmudge.com

After growing up in the mountains and then spending more than 13 years in a valley, it’s been pretty amazing to be back among some hills. However, though I now live just a 15-minute drive away from Mt. Diablo, I’ve only been there once — and that was by car a couple years ago before I moved.

On Sunday, I crossed that off my imaginary list of things to do. Along the way, I learned a good lesson that I need to remember during my next marathon: My head can play games with me and make me think I’m physically tired, when I’m not.

My dad came to visit this weekend, so I figured it was about time to explore Mt. Diablo on foot. On a clear day, it offers some of the most amazing views you can imagine, ranging from the Golden Gate bridge to the waters of the Delta to more mountains and valleys. It’s been very hot lately, but the weather cooled significantly on Sunday. The forecast called for rain until mid-day, so we took our time getting there (read: went to lunch, and to both REI and Sports Basement for the full nerdy fix). We drove partway up the mountain to the overlook where we were treated to this oh-so-spectacular view:

Oh well. I’d found a website that outlined a 6.6-mile hike. My knee recently went nuts for no apparent reason, so I didn’t want to overdo it. (The knee had fully recovered a couple days earlier, but only after I took more than two weeks off from running.) This seemed like a good distance, and would include the summit, which has a building with some history.

We set off down a trail, where a bunny scampered ahead of us and the pine cones were as big as my shoe.

The clouds were lifting, and it was rapidly becoming ideal hiking weather. We went up and down some rolling hills, and then I came across this creature in the middle of the path:

Yes, that is a tarantula. I held one when I was 10 years old, and the thing covered both of my hands then. This creature was no smaller. I couldn’t make actual words of warning come out of my mouth — it was more like, “Aaahh aaahhh aaahhhhmmmkkkkggg.” But I actually got closer to it and was about to bend down for a close photo when I had a thought: “Do tarantulas jump?!” Last summer I battled black widow spiders, and in the process I encountered a spider that Google informed me was a “jumping” spider. I hate and dread all spiders except daddy-long-legs, and the idea of a JUMPING spider gives me the shivers. So, yeah, I backed up from the tarantula. But I really wanted some perspective, so I quickly got this shot:

We went on our way, with me texting that picture while walking up a rather steep trail. (Yes, I had full internet/phone signal on the mountain, except the brief time when I actually needed it.) Then we turned onto a single-track trail that got even steeper. At a clearing, we were treated to this:

At some point, though, the trail began leading away from the summit. I’d followed the directions, I’d looked at the map on my phone, and I’d seen the summit as we circled around toward it. But I never saw a place to turn toward the Summit Trail leading to the top. That wasn’t necessarily bad, though, because the top looked pretty foggy and I think the clouds would have obstructed the view.

But then, as we took a couple pictures at that gorgeous spot, I looked at the time and realized it was 6:40 p.m. We figured the sun sets around 7:15 or 7:30. The park entrance had a sign that read, “Gates locked from sunset to 8 a.m.” At that point, I looked at my GPS watch and my phone and calculated that we had about 1.5 miles of hiking to go. Including the drive back to the gate, we’d be OK but cutting it close.

However, the 6.6-mile hike on that website hadn’t included the trail we were now hiking. And the clouds started to return, which meant things were getting darker. We hurried. At one point we ran, partly for fun and because it was downhill.

I hadn’t run on trails for a while and was just “jogging,” but then my running gait kicked in. It was such a feeling of magic — I still vividly recall the exact moment when everything suddenly became smooth and I began flying down the trail. THAT is why I run, to find that feeling of smooth euphoria where everything else slips away.

My last trail run became a death march that left a bad taste in my mouth, so this was a bit of a reminder that I do still love running trails.

But the trail seemed to go on forever, and the sky was getting darker. I looked at my phone and began counting down the tenths of a mile. And then, with 0.1 miles to go, I remembered I’d typed in an intersection that was not our endpoint. Our final destination didn’t have a good intersection that I could locate on my phone’s mapping program while I walked quickly. We actually had at least another mile left.

That realization came at the top of a hill that we’d powered up, knowing the hike was almost done. My lungs were dying, and I became completely depressed at the discovery that this hike was definitely not finished. Now I was really worrying that the park gates would be locked. I was defeated. I bent down for a minute to catch my breath and try to find my bearings. The only thing to do was to keep going and hope the rangers didn’t actually close the gates at sunset. We had water, food, a phone charger, a car and a blanket in the trunk, but no way could I handle being locked in a park until 8 a.m. I was not happy. This was definitely “the wall” of a marathon, when you want to stop and quit and call for a taxi.

I began thinking. If the gate was locked, what could I do to get out? I could jump over the gate and go look for a hacksaw, though lord knows where I’d find one. Who could I call? On a Sunday night, the park service would only be an answering machine. My first legitimate idea soon came: Earlier, when taking in the gorgeous views, I’d looked down on a town that my phone told me was Clayton. I could find their police department’s dispatch number, and they’d have a contact for the park rangers. Then my second idea came: We were in Contra Costa County; I could call a friend who works for the Contra Costa Times. He covers crime and county matters, so he’d have some phone numbers.

My spirits lifted. I had an action plan. It’s amazing how much better I suddenly felt. My lungs weren’t dying, and my legs had so much more pep in them. I even said something like, “This is what I need to do at mile 23 of my next marathon — occupy my mind by coming up with ideas of who to call to bail me out.” After 8 miles of hiking, we finally got back to the very welcome sight of my car, leaped in, and I careened gently down the winding road into the rather dark sky. (Yes, you can careen gently. It helps if you’re the only vehicle on a mountain: You can take 15 mph curves at 30 mph.)

We finally arrived at the gate. It was open. The feeling of relief that flooded through me was so strong and so sweet.

I soon realized that I’d had a couple other options, too. There are a few homes inside the park gates, and I really doubt they’d turn away a desparate, charming, slightly frazzled redheaded female. And an old friend of mine lives in Danville, another town at the foot of the mountain. I might not have his current phone number, but we’ve been emailing on facebook lately, so I could probably get hold of him.

And so my adventure on Mt. Diablo came to an end. It was a good hike and a fun time made up of gorgeous views, interesting creatures and a valuable lesson: I am usually stronger than I realize. When I came 22 seconds short of breaking four hours in a marathon this summer, that was because of my head, not my body. I still have no regrets about that amazing day, but I do know that my body could have performed a bit better if my head hadn’t said, “I’m tired; let’s give up.”

There are 14,359 seconds in a 3:59:59 marathon. The Alaska marathon took me 14,421 seconds. Rather than thinking about how tired I feel, next time the going gets tough, I need to focus on an action plan.

One-word summary: Bummer.

Three-word summary: Started too fast.

One-sentence summary: My legs are in better shape than I’d realized, but the rest of me needs to catch up so I don’t crash and burn like I did Sunday.

Sunday morning, I woke up well before the sun and drove north-west for about 75 miles. I was supposed to run the Santa Rosa Half Marathon last year; I was running well and even doing some speed work. Then, three weeks before the race, I got a stress fracture in my leg. It was confirmed with a bone scan 10 days before the race. So, no race. No pricey marathons that were already paid for, either. Cue life melt-down.

This year, they let me in the race so I decided to exorcise some demons and once again try to run Santa Rosa. The past few weeks have been pretty “blah” in the running arena for me. I’ve actually had a long enough time of being injury-free that it got normal, so then little aches seemed bigger and being lazy seemed more appealing. I’ve slacked off on stretching and on cross-training, and I haven’t followed my own orders to lose weight. It’s no wonder that the running has been less than stellar, and I really didn’t know what what would happen Sunday, though of course I hoped for a PR (personal record), which would be anything under 1:49:59. To do that, I’d need a pace faster than 8:23, so about 8:20.

I had a bit of mix-up finding packet pickup, but I finally got my bib. By the time I took the (reusable!) bag of stuff back to my car and returned to the race, the port-a-potty lines were quite long. The gun went off before I got to the starting line, but I wasn’t worried because the race was chip-timed, so my clock wouldn’t start until I crossed the starting mat. I was right: I even took the time to recoil my earbud cord before starting, and I was still able to jump in with no problem. Dodging people was effortless.

Mile 1: 8:16.
Mile 2: 8:09. First “oops, I’m going too fast” realization.
Mile 3: 8:10. Didn’t learn.
Mile 4: 8:08. No comment.

My average pace in here was showing 8:12. I knew that was a bit fast, but my legs felt fantastic. I was occasionally looking at my heart rate (a new training thing for me), and I’ve noticed that if I think a bit more about my breathing, that helps keep the heart rate down a bit.

Mile 5: 8:17. (Ate a gel.)
Mile 6: 8:22.

Those two miles were on hardpack trail, which always makes my legs happier and wards off calf cramps. This actually slowed me down for once, but I think that was a good thing. I thought I hit the 10k point at 49:50, which would be a 2-second PR. Looking at it now, I see that wasn’t quite right. Still, I was going way too fast.

Mile 7: 8:37
Mile 8: 8:24

At this point I knew things were going bad. In March, I hit the halfway point and had the opposite realization — and proceded to run the second half faster than the first. Sunday, I knew I was about to lose it. That’s a bummer of a feeling, and I had that happen in May 2010 during a marathon.

Mile 9: 10:04.

Yep, that’s a 10 there. I couldn’t breathe and everything was getting fuzzy and blurry, so I actually stopped. I bent over to get the blood back to my head and to calm my breathing and heart rate. I was right near a volunteer, who asked if I was OK, and I assured him I was fine. This was a good place to stop, because other runners didn’t get distracted wondering if I was all right. I’d hate to be the one to slow them down.

Mile 10: 9:25. (Gel.)

I think this is the point where I began thinking, “I need a new sport. Like golf. Or curling. Or badminton.” Seriously, if we hadn’t been running in a huge park/trail area (which was gorgeous, by the way), I would have gone in search of a taxi.

Mile 11: 8:59.

These two miles were also on hardpack trail. Around this point a guy I’d seen earlier came along cheering for everyone he passed. He could see I was struggling and told me I was looking good and had a steady pace. I thanked him and he asked if I had a goal. “Well, it was sub-1:50, but my lungs decided otherwise,” I told him. I think he knew I was right, because he actually didn’t have anything to say. At that point I knew I would have to run sub-7:30 miles to reach 1:50. It was not going to happen.

Mile 12: 8:43.
Mile 13: 9:35. Walked through a water stop, kept walking.
Last 0.19 miles: 8:31 pace.

I finished in 1:54:44, for an average pace of 8:42 per mile. Of the seven half-marathons I’ve run, this was my fourth slowest. I know that also means it’s my fourth fastest, and that having a median half-marathon time of 1:54 is actually pretty good. But I also know that I ran the first half in 54 minutes and the second half in an hour, which for me is appallingly bad.

BUT I crossed the finish line and was promptely given the coolest medal I’ve ever seen. Not only is it big and shiny, but it spins! In fact, it is a DOUBLE SPINNER! The race organizers out-did themselves; the shirts are also really, really nice.

They had plenty of room in the finish area, so it wasn’t a big cluster. They also had bagels, bananas, oranges, water and sports drink right at the finish. (I actually only ate one bagel bite because I wasn’t hungry at all.) Volunteers were very nice, just as they had been throughout the race course — the ones at the aid stations were more organized than many, and they did everything right. Just outside the finishing area, vendors were giving away more recovery drinks — Zico chocolate coconut water made my life better again. Then I found Ryan Hall, the country’s fastest marathoner and half-marathoner.

Then I got a free $15 Macy’s gift card. Then I found free Cold Stone ice cream. By this point I was chilled, but I ate some anyway. The race also providing a free pancake breakfast, but I really wanted to change clothes and get warm more than I wanted to eat anything.

So, after somehow getting lost despite being in a small town and having GPS, I found a McDonalds to change in. (Another girl was changing there, too, but she was off to meet her husband for their first wedding anniversary. She was the cutest thing ever.) Then I went to explore the Charles Schulz museum and adjacent shop, which will have to be another blog post. Then I got stuck in miles of slow traffic, which is always fun with a clutch post-race.

A friend texted and asked how my race went, then extended condolences when I said not well. She asked how my body felt and I said it was fine, and she said that was good to hear that I hadn’t been injured. Suddenly I realized she was right. I am very injury-prone, and I started that race much faster than I should have, given my training. But this morning, one day later, I walked down my stairs without problems and am wearing three-inch heels. And I finished a race I never thought possible five years ago.

(Edited to add official race times.) It turns out that I came in 6th in my age group, out of 43, which puts me in the top 14%. I was a mere 14 seconds off 5th place, which is annoying. And I was 125th overall, out of 473, in the top 26%. My placement in my age group is actually surprising, though, because the top three women were in my notoriously hard age group.

Running is often my outlet, and I go on what I call “sanity runs.” Until I took up running, I never understood the concept of being able to clear my mind. I love racing and trying to beat my own times, and it’s good to have goals to keep me motivated. Lately I’ve been dreading the day when I’ll realize I peaked and won’t get any faster. Maybe I’ve had that dread because I’m subconsciously reminding myself that racing is fun and fine, but it isn’t everything.

This time last year, I was injured and I wouldn’t be back to running for four months. One year later, life is much better. And I am running.

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.

(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.)

So I’m running the Eugene Marathon in less than six weeks. And another one seven weeks later. Do you think I should have a training plan?

Actually, I do have one, and the slogan is, “I think I’ll run some miles, go to the gym and enjoy myself.” Rather than poring over previous running schedules and spending hours online researching various experts’ training plans as I have in the past, this time I’m mostly flying free.

I don’t have a spreadsheet printed out with 16+ weeks of running planned out. If I oversleep and miss a run, I’m not busily rearranging the spreadsheet in order to get the right number of miles for the week. I’m not driving myself nuts looking at paces and distances I should be doing for speedwork, like all the “real” runners seem to do. I’m just relieved to be able to run, after waiting months for my most recent injury to heal.

And you know what? So far this non-plan is working out just fine.  Unlike the past, my body isn’t grumbling when I surpass 30 miles in a week. When I looked back at last year’s training log, I discovered that I’m back to running as fast as I have before. I haven’t tested a 5K, so I don’t know if I’m at my fastest ever, but I suspect I am.

I haven’t really analyzed it in great depth, but this is all tied to the revamp of my life. Last summer I closed the doors on most of the biggest parts of my life. Now I’m wandering down a new corridor, pondering various other doors (a couple of which scare the heck out of me). If that’s how my life is going, why should running — which is often my outlet and escape mechanism — be any different?

However, I might rename my marathon training slogan to, “I think I’ll run some miles, go to the gym and do nothing in moderation.” Here are some examples:

1. This morning I figured I’d go run 5 miles if I woke up in time. Instead, I ran 8 miles of hills (in the dark), including some spur-of-the-moment ones at the end because I am apparently a glutton for punishment.
2. Today I had consumed 24 ounces of water and 28 ounces of (decaf) coffee by 9 a.m. I also ate way too much trail mix because I didn’t want to eat the lunch I’d brought.
3. I didn’t actually decide to run the Eugene Marathon until last week, also known as seven weeks before the race. I knew I was going to Eugene, but I was secretly thinking of only running the half-marathon.
4. Last weekend I said I’d run “15ish” miles in Lodi with my former running club. 15 miles ended up being 16, but that was nothing compared to the way I prepped for the run: The night before, I was at a dinner party and had 2.5 glasses of wine, several shots, and my second night of five or less hours of sleep. That morning I didn’t eat breakfast or drink anything until a little water at mile 6. Then I had a little more water at mile 12 and took one 150-calorie gel. But I made it through the 16 miles with no problem and the last two miles were the fastest of the day — actually too fast but I didn’t notice at the time.
5. I am experimenting with intervals on the stationary bike at the gym. That setting is extreme all on its own.
6. I’ve been having runs where I plan on going for a mellow 9:30 pace, but then it ends up at 8:50 overall pace. Oops.
7. There was the matter of my nice little PR (personal record) at the Shamrock’n half-marathon, which I’d planned to just run to see where I was on the injury recovery road.
8. Sleep is another matter of not following recommended training: I now find myself waking up at some point most nights, though I’m getting better at being able to go back to sleep, and it’s not happening every night anymore. The other night, though, I awoke at 12:30, 3:36 and 4:40. Not cool.

In the interest of full disclosure, I still log all my miles to the nearest hundredth in multiple programs, but I only do that because it’s fun and because I am a nutcase. I did look at a calendar and at my previous running schedules just long enough to loosely plan some longer runs so I don’t die in Eugene. I’m leaving those plans at “20ish” and “20 or 22 if I feel like it,” and I don’t care which weekend day the runs happen.

Oh, and that marathon seven weeks after Eugene? Yeah, I have NO training plan for it yet.