Cowboy Hazel

The moral of today's story is "Don't count your chickens before they've hatched." I just thought I'd throw that right out there at the start instead of building up to it. So, how does it apply? Well, here's the story: I (foolishly) went into today's long run without giving it the proper respect that it deserved. Overly confident from how well the last few long runs have gone, I was almost cocky at the start of this morning. 22 miles, you don't scare me. I could run you in my sleep. Mr. 22 Miles didn't like that and he decided to remind me who's boss.

Things were going well until about an hour into the run when my stomach started rumbling and my chest started to get tight. We made a quick stop for Gatorade and a Power Bar at the runner's station at 1:15. I had to get band-aids there too because my nipples had started chafing really bad. Starting up from there (after a 4 or 5 minute pause), I was suddenly super cold and my stomach got significantly more unsettled. I wondered whether I hadn't made a mistake with the Gatorade. Things kept getting worse and, by the time we had turned through Battery Park and were heading up the East River, I was really struggling. Both band-aids had fallen off too, but that pain (excruciating pain normally) was hardly even registering because everything else hurt so much at the same time. My knees started in on it too, especially the left one. We stopped at a gas station right before two hours for more Gatorade and an emergency bathroom visit on my part. I won't go into details beyond the fact that it was the most disgusting moment of my life... This second stop was about 4 minutes long. When we started again, I literally had nothing left. It was such a struggle just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Thank God I was running with Antonio – if I had been on my own, I really don't know if I would have found it in me to keep going at this point. As we reached the Upper East Side, I wasn't feeling anything anymore. It was like it wasn't even me running. A very strange experience, I can't quite put it into words. I was really having trouble keeping a steady pace here. I'd fall behind a couple steps and then surge forward and then fall behind again. This kept up until about mile 21, when I suddenly got this big surge and felt like I could start sprinting if I wanted to. I don't know if this was because the end was in sight (literally) or because I had just gone delusional, but it was somewhat reassuring in the sense that I now have hope a similar second wind will come in the late miles during the marathon.

After the run, stopped for more Gatorade (which I only was able to take a couple sips of), walked a few blocks to cool down the legs, then headed back home. I was still having severe digestive issues (to put it politely) and was having difficulty just going through the process of showering, stretching, etc. I knew I should eat, but nothing sounded appetizing. I forced down a piece of toast and a couple glasses of water then retired to my recliner, where I vegged out for the next three hours, talking on the phone and watching t.v. I was finally able to eat some fruit and crackers a little bit ago, but I'm still not really hungry at all and, in general, feel like hell.

Why do we runners do this to ourselves? Well, first off, because most days aren't like this. If they were, you'd really have to be crazy to continue. This was just a tough run (and not just because it was 22 miles instead of 20 – the problems started way before I got to 20) and they, unfortunately, roll around every so often to keep your ego in check. Also, I think we also do this to ourselves to prove that we can – that we're hardcore enough about this to push ourselves to the very limits of what we're capable of, even if that means making ourselves sick. But, I think the biggest reason is because these training runs, this pain, these weekends were we don't go out with friends because we're preparing for or recovering from a long run, all of it is just means to an end. There's that big shiny goal at the end of the road that's waiting for us.

And so, I'll end this post with a little positive news about my big goal. Today's run of 22.11 miles took us 2 hours, 39 minutes, and 53 seconds. That's a 7:13 pace which is (barely) good enough to qualify for Boston. True, we stopped the watches twice for refreshment breaks which you can't do in the race, of course, but I think (hope) that the extra energy from a race day environment might be enough to offset that. Of course, nothing is in the bag yet. If today's run taught me anything, it's that you can never be sure of what to expect. But, it does make my goal look a little more achievable.

Three more weeks... I'm officially tapering now!

Oh, and here's links in case you're curious (or really bored): my running log entry, the map, and speed chart.