Learning Curve

Unknown Miles - Biking around town

When riding a horse, you have to fall off 100 times before you are a "good rider."

If riding a road bike is anything like riding a horse, I only have 96 more times to go.

Today, ladies and gentlemen, was my first road ride. It was nerve wracking, fun, a definite adrenaline rush, a learning experience, and a literal crash course.

Now before anyone (mom) starts freaking out, let me first say that only my pride was wounded.

We started out at 9:30 at Cycles d'Oro, one of our lovely and amazing local bike stores in Greensboro, for the Cafe Ride. First stop coffee, second stop 20 or so miles of easy riding.

For the first section, I was so nervous that I panicked when I couldn't shift into a lower gear while going super fast down the hill. Unbeknownst to me, I was trying to shift the wrong way. Also, every time we came to a stop my heart jumped into my throat for fear I would A) fall down due to leaning the wrong way, and B) fall down trying to start due to not getting going.

I managed to keep it together until, inevitably, I zigged when I so clearly should have zagged, and toppled over at a traffic light.

Want to know one of the most awkward positions ever? Being clipped into a road bike that's laying on top of you and not being able to clip out the other foot. Try it sometime. Pretty awkward.

One of the AMAZING gentlemen I was riding with literally had to lift me AND my bike back to a vertical position. On the plus side, my heartrate was way up with little physical exertion. Woohoo!

After coffee at Green Bean(DECAF, but espresso, so still slightly hardcore), I went on a shorter route through town with a wonderful mentor rider so we could get Genisis back to her killer ride at Revolutions. We went up one huge hill, clipped and unclipped various times, meandered down back roads and a few busy ones as well. The more I rode, the more confident I became, though still nervous about tight turns and sudden stops. But! No more falling over! Yay!

As soon as I got home, I thought it would be an excellent idea to take my beater out (my aptly named Huffy Marathon, a 1970s road bike complete with slanted "ladies" top tube, lever shifters, and a Shimano Eagle derailleur) for a pre school commute spin. She performed wonderfully, I must say, and I stayed out maybe bit longer than I should have.

Once back at home, I decided, hey, why not grab some lunch and spin the Masi one more time around the hood? Get some more practice?

Cue falls two AND three. Back to back. Ta and Da. Immediately followed by another lean-wrong-way-slow-motion-"timber"-at-stop-sign. This time worried neighbors called if I was all right. Which I was. My poor Masi was taking more of a beating than my beater. Plus side? I figured out how to get up (LIFT the bike up enough for you to unclip, THEN stand).

Total mileage? I have no idea. But today was more about about experience than miles, and I got plenty of that.

One thing I do know that horseback riding and bike riding have in common? Saddle time is EVERYTHING. The once a week rider makes scant progress, dedicated though she or he may be. The person who comes out and rides 4,5,6, even 8 horses a day? That's the person who feels at home in the saddle.

Giddy up.

Sidelined???

There is an old runners joke.

One day, a runner (let's call him Jim) runs into another runner in the park who he's never met. Being a friendly guy, Jim asks the man to join him, which he does. Jim turns to him and says, "So, do you run here often?" to which the man replies, "Oh yeah, I usually come in the mornings, though, and then do my weight training in the afternoon before my speed work." "Wow," says Jim, "do you do all three every day?" He says, "I try to change it up, but I usually run about 150 miles a week." Jim, extremely impressed, then asks, "What race are you getting ready for?" To which the man says, "Oh, I don't race, it gets in the way of my training."

Believe me, if you're a runner, you get it.

Here I am, coming off of my marathon, and I'm completely sidelined by it. 26.2 miles injures your body. It's a slow, self inflicted wound. Your muscles tear apart, your ligaments and tendons swell, your fluids are drained, and your glycogen is depleted. Like ANY injury, it takes time to bounce back.

The problem? It's not as if you tripped. You didn't fall over or overtrain or pull a muscle. You put your body through a meat grinder, on purpose. And while it was an amazing purpose, you still have to live with the consequences.

So instead of flying down the trail on an eight mile spree, joyous, ebullient, triumphant, I'm shuffling down the road on a 1.5 mile jog and turning my ankle on a piece of gravel because my ligaments are still too weak to stand up to such varied terrain. Death by pebble. While friends are organizing epic 5 hour mountain biking/trail running excursions followed by massive amounts of taco eating, I'm thinking of doing a slow 6 mile run on the greenway. I'm getting left behind.

Of course, I understand that this rest period is actually extremely important if I want to spend the gorgeous upcoming weather injury free. At the same time, any thoughts of running another marathon anytime sooner than October have hightailed the scene. I want to spend my summer in epic proportions without worrying about ruining any race time or distance. I want to run and bike whatever I feel I can do that day rather than what my race schedule calls for. I don't want to carb load, I don't want to taper, and I certainly don't want to recover. Rest? Sure. Days off? Of course.

But I don't want to put myself into another state of self imposed "sidelined" anytime soon.

The Big Picture

Recovery

Marathons bring out the gamut of human emotions. Elation, triumph, fear, boredom, exhaustion, dellerium, happiness, determination, devastation. All are possible, all in the same two to six to sometimes eight hours of time. These very emotions are what separate the marathon from every other race. It's not just physical. In a 5K, 10K, even a half marathon, you can power through with just your muscles and still finish with juice to spare. Not so for the marathon. 20 miles is all we're genetically programmed to sustain. This is race #1. Once you pass that point, you don't know what awaits you, and no matter how many marathons you run, it's always going to be an adventure. This is race #2. This is the mental race.

This is the real race.

For me, this mental race wasn't extremely difficult this time around. PHYSICALLY, yes, EXTREMELY difficult, to the point where my legs shuffled along at a slower pace than simply walking. But mentally? Well, I knew that not finishing wasn't an option. Literally. I was not not going to finish this race. So in a sense, the race was already finished for me. The question came down to time; how long it would TAKE me to finish. Those two questions have drastically different connotations.

Yesterday, as I was rehashing for my blog, I realized this is the exact thought I have when faced with any sort of writing deadline. I know that the date will come, and the paper/story/article will be written. I will never turn in an assignment late, and never have. It's simply who I am. It's not everyone, but it's me.

And wherever I go, there I am.

Running, more so than any other sport, tells you who you are. It holds up a mirror. How you deal with the trials, tribulations, setbacks, style, it's all about your core self. There are no skis, poles, machines, bikes, skateboards, nothing. You, clothes, shoes. Tada.

What about heart rate monitors, gadgets, etc you say? I argue that if you're the type of runner who uses these tools, then you're the type of person who gravitates towards methodical means, and enjoys keeping tracks of facts and figures as a sense of guidance. If you're the type of runner who uses these tools, then you're the type of person who strives to set concrete goals and reach them in a scientific way.

But again, it's all about the type of runner you are. What kind of a runner are you?

Who are you?

I am a runner who likes company and likes to run alone. I am a runner who doesn't always think things through completely before I set out. I am a runner who sometimes bites off more than I can chew. I am a runner who sets lofty goals. I am a runner who doesn't quit once I set my mind to something. I am a runner who ignored my body's requirements until an injury sidelined me.

I am a person who likes company, but needs solo time. I am a person who leaps before I look. I am a person who crams my schedule full of events and commitments. I am a person who takes pride in the follow through. I am a person who often ignores my body's signals.

What I plan on doing, hopefully, is taking runners, and having them first analyze who they are AS A RUNNER. Honestly, 100%, openly, good and bad, who they are. Go running with them. Talk about their goals and setbacks in running and training, their habits and practices and routines. Do they have a problem with the follow through of schedules? Do they want to up their mileage, but can never find the time? Do they run to the exclusion of anything else in their life? Do they run to win? Do they run because they have to, even though they don't really enjoy it? Stage one.

Then, transfer that. How do these qualities inform, shape, inhibit, or help them as a person in the world? Are there patterns in their running habit that mirror career, family, or personal habits? How can reshaping running programs and qualities then effect a positive change in life?

I want to take the marathon foundation into my practice. There's the race: what type of runner you are. Then there's the real race: what being this type of runner says about you.

The physical and the mental.

Race 1 and Race 2.

The Big Day

26.2 miles - Tobacco Road Marathon

Yesterday, I, Sophie Ballo, completed my first marathon.

I am nothing but happy about that accomplishment.

I would like to break this event down into two separate blogs. The first, this one, is a pre, during, post race breakdown, just to capture events while they're still fresh in my mind (my legs are so sore, how could I possibly forget?). The second will be what I've learned about myself, marathons, and where I want to go from here.

4:50 am - Wake up at the Red Roof Inn, immediately start eating the Apple Cinnamon Cheerios left next to my bed. Look at my race clothes all laid out, waiting for me, including the ultra awesome number/gel band that I purchased the day before. I was stocked with 4 Gus in my holster, plus one in my shorts and one in my water bottle pouch. I had my armbands. I was looking fierce (pics will be posted when available).

5:15 am - depart for NettApp, the parking lot where all the racers caught buses to the baseball field/race start.

5:30 am - listen to people who were friends behind me on the bus rehash past marathon stories. Favorite moment: "Maybe this time we won't be in pain tomorrow." "We're always in pain." "Yeah....but maybe this time we won't be."

6:15 am - meander around baseball stadium, stretch, eat a foodbar, say hello to my friend Laura and her lovely dog Gracey (btw, Laura finished in 3:23 - 8th place overall female), check my bag at the table to pick up afterwards, use the port-a-john, and find my pace group (4:30. I'm shooting for the stars.)

7:00 am - We're off!!!!

Change of format -

Miles 1-9: I felt like a total rock star. I knew that a ten minute mile pace was faster than I trained, and faster than we normally run on trails, but I also knew that there wasn't going to be major hills or rocks or roots. I talked to a guy named Jason who had only run 10 miles on his longest training run, but who had done a few half marathons last year. I said that if I was feeling good on mile 21 I may pull away from the group.

Miles 10 - 13: I stopped to go to the ladies room in the woods, and then sprinted to catch back up to the group. When I arrived, my left quad and hamstring started complaining. What? My quads NEVER complain. Mind job #1.

Miles 14 - 15: Argh. Pavement. Also, Jason, while a lovely guy, started to constantly comment on mileage. How far we've gone, how far to go, how he was doing, how was I doing, etc. I felt like a total bitch, but I told him to please stop. Especially since my quad and hamstring still complained, and for some reason, my pace leader seemed to be going faster... We talked about school and jobs instead.

Miles 16-18: My left leg really didn't like what was going on. Neither did my digestive system. And the 4:30 pacer seemed increasingly difficult to keep pace with. My once easy ten minute mile slipped away....

Mile 19 - Change of plan. Bathroom break, no chance to catching back up, kissed my 4:30 marathon goodbye. Said so long to Jason (who finished like a champ with the pacegroup, btw). Walked through the aid station, filled my water bottle, grabbed a Gu, and mentally steeled myself to go it alone the rest of the way.

Miles 20-23.5 - Dark days. Crawling pace. People were passing me, so even though my form still felt ok, I knew that I must be going slowly. Amazingly slowly. This is where the mental game came into play. I was still running, so I don't think it was a wall. Then again, my pace decreased dramatically. So maybe it was a wall. Silver lining? I never walked except for water stations. Mile 22, veered off the trail and onto a horrible, open, paved road wasteland. Since I was so far back in the pack, desolation is the word that comes to mind. Thank god for the port-a-johns and water stations spaced every mile through this section.

Miles 23.5 - 26 - I am once again a rockstar. I am making a comeback. I rallied, got it together, and powered on. Eagle eyed slow person coming through.

Miles 26 - 26.2 - Elation. Joy. I finished under 5 hours. I finished period.

I RAN A MARATHON.

11:50am - 12:00pm - wander around in a haze. Stuff some cin raisin bread with butter down my throat. Wander around some more. Try to feel my legs. Where did my legs go? They were there a minute ago...

12:01pm - oh, there they are, they are in pain. Large amounts of pain.

12:02pm - realize that I have to drive home. Panic as to how in the hell I am going to work the stick.

12:05 - ladies room break, stretch, change into my sweats (thank god I brought my sweats), eat a powerbar. It's yummy, suddenly not hungry, so glad I got it down.

12:10 - 12:30 - call friends and family. Yayayay!! Huzzah! Worry mom with my mention of an icebath (what if I fall asleep in the icebath and get hypothermia?). Assure mom that I will not fall asleep in the icebath and get hypothermia. It's pretty much an impossibility. The amount of willpower needed to not jump out of the icebath after only three minutes is a marathon in and of itself.

12:30 - 1:00 - relive the marathon, the goods and the bads, on the bus that takes us back to the parking lot. Sit across from the 3rd place overall finisher. He is not only amazingly nice, but also looks like he is in amazingly good shape. Well, I mean, of course he's in amazingly good shape, but I'm talking about good shape as in not like me; he doesn't have a hitch in his giddiyup.

1:10pm - realize in horror that I need to manually press my left foot down on the clutch; my left quad has gone on strike.

1:10pm - 2:15pm - I made it! I'm home!

2:15 - 2:35pm - ice bath. O glorious ice bath. O wondrous glorious ice bath. Thank you for freezing my muscles and joints into submission.

2:36pm - call mom to let her know that I did not fall asleep in the ice bath and get hypothermia.

2:45 - sort of hungry again, scarf down half a granola bar in preparation for my amazing frufru brunch.

3:15 5:15 - meet my friend Abran (who comes bearing non negotiable cupcakes from Dewey's) at Green Valley Grill. Regail him with copious play by plays of my marathon. Pick his brain (he's an ultrarunner) about recovery, when I can start to run again, whether or not my next marathon will be any easier (it won't), what ultras are like (friendlier, happier, competitive in a good natured way). Eat. I eat a goat cheese and caramelized onion frittata with hash browns and romesco sauce, he eats a fancy version of eggs benedicts, and we split the french toast with marscapone walnut cheese sauce and nutella drizzle. I try to eat a cupcake afterwards, but just couldn't get any more down. All in all, I am extremely pleased.

6:00 - 9:30 - wallow in a dozed stupor under the pretense of going to bed. Don't really sleep, but enjoy my time in bed nonetheless.

9:30 - 10:00 - wake up, eat a granola bar, go for a little 15 minute walk, text my roommate Elbie to please pick up some Icy Hot (which she does, I love her, it really is both Ice and Hot!), stretch, drink water, and go to bed for real.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a break down of March 21st, 2010.

The day I completed the Tobacco Road Marathon.

Place Bib# Age 13.1 Pace Chiptime Pace Guntime

86

49

28

2:13:54

10:14

4:49:17

11:03

4:50:51.4

Tapering Sucks

Rest

So this title mirrors the not running sucks title because tapering is just that: not running.

I'm used to logging some miles. Nothing that would make an elite or even a serious amateur runner gasp, but I put in about 30-35 miles a week.

For your last week of taper, you run about a third of that. Which equals out to 10-12 miles.

Which means basically not running.

Tomorrow I'll take my spin with the guys for around 6-7, then Friday I'll put in an easy 3.5, and then that's it.

Today, rest. Thursday, rest. Saturday, maybe a light 10 minute jog.

Plus, my muscles are still trained to hold onto that glycogen, which means you hold onto that water, which means you put on pounds no matter how you slice it. And EVEN THOUGH I know it's going to come off on race day, and EVEN THOUGH I know it's not only a normal thing, but also a good thing, it's still a hard thing for a runner to see.

Basically, I cannot WAIT until Sunday. I feel like I'm going stir crazy. I feel like a slug. I feel like an old rubber hot water bottle. I feel like every single ache and pain is a prelude to disaster. I feel like all I want to wear are pants with large drawstrings. I feel like I want the marathon to be TOMORROW.

From a training standpoint, I banged this out. My plans were amazingly ambitious for a first time marathoner. I bounced back from a pretty severe injury and straight into a long run pile up: 10, 14, 17, 20 miles. More, more, more, and moremore. Over trails, hard terrain, hills, snow, mud. I learned about gu and carbs and glycogen. It was hardcore to the max. I felt like a beast.

And the past two weeks have been anything but. They have been softcore. To the max.

I KNOW that this marathon will be an amazing experience. But I'm already looking ahead to my first ultra. In that sense, even this will be a training run. Rule of thumb is if you can cover half of the distance of an ultra, you can run the full distance. This marathon will clear me to have my sights on a 50 miler.

I know that I do this sort of stargazing and downplaying all the time. I'm the Luke Skywalker of the family. Always looking to the future. Never my mind on where I am. What I am doing.

Fortunately, I'm pretty sure at mile 23 my mind will be squarely on where I am and what I'm doing.

Right now, though? It's hard to keep my focus.

Runners are gross

10.6 miles - Bald Eagle + additional loop

They are. They are gross. While running, chances are not bad that you will be hit by spit or snot or both at some point during the race. Runners burp. Sometimes very loudly. Runners fart, as anyone who runs regularly on a treadmill at a gym can attest to. Runners have blisters and callouses, and have toenails that turn black and fall off with regularity. Runners smear vasoline in various crevices to reduce friction and chafing. Competitive runners will eat things like peanut butter with pasta for the combined carb/protein/fat ratio.

And yes, runners will do their business in public.

Yesterday while at work, I kept looking out at the gorgeous weather. Gorgeous. A runner's dream. 60, sunny, a slight cool breeze wafting over your skin.

I knew I had to run 10, even though it's my taper week, just to get some miles on the legs, since I had only run once previously on Wednesday for 6 miles. As soon as the clock hit 2pm, I clocked out, and changed into my running digs (short sleeves! Capri tights!). Walking out the door, I saw some clouds gathering, and yes, they were calling for rain, but my running karma was good. I would be safe.

Or not.

As soon as I exited the car at the trailhead, I felt a few raindrops plop down. I had seen a downpour from the road as I was on route, but again, it must be going some other direction. Surely! So I pulled on my hat and some arm sleeves just in case, grabbed the water bottle, and set forth.

Into the rain.

I tried mental mantras to make time pass faster. The uplifting: "You are superhardcore!" The motherly: "You're not made of sugar" The practical: "You may have to race in the rain, so this is good practice" The feminist: "Just think, 50 years ago, how many women had the freedom to run alone in the rain while training for a marathon?" Denial: "This is actually really fun!" Then it started to hail.

About three miles in, I realized I had to go to the ladies room. The temperature was rapidly dropping, but I was still comfortable enough except for the wet part. I had long ago lost any sense of decorum on the trail in terms of using the woods as my personal lportajohn. It becomes a non issue; you have no other choice sometimes. So I found a tree a bit from the path, and then continued on my way. Pulling up extremely wet tights was difficult, but do-able.

The more I ran the number my hands became. I realized that I was not only wet, but also cold. My hands had zero strength and could barely move. My appendages thought they were sloths. Fortunately, my core was still ok, as were my feet.

At the turnaround point, I didn't even bother with mantras. I knew I had 5 miles back. I was cold. I was wet. I still had to be careful as I didn't want to injure myself on the now flooded trail a week before the big day. I turned around and took out my gu.

Only I couldn't rip the top off, because my fingers couldn't grip it strongly enough. I tried holding it in my hands and going at it with my teeth. No good, it just wound up dangling from my mouth. Finally, I put down my water bottle, smooshed it between my palms, and ripped again with the teeth. This time it came off. Still, though, it was hard to eat because I had a hard time holding it tightly enough to suck on.

Stupid cold hands.

Then, once again, I felt nature calling. Now I had a bigger problem. My tights, once difficult, would now be impossible given the club like nature of my hands. Once down, I knew I couldn't get my pants back up.

What's a soaking wet trail runner caught in a downpour on a completely deserted path to do?

Just go.

So I did.

Which pretty much made this run the worst ever. So far.

But! I did it! 10 miles! Even though towards the end my feet as well as my hands had become icecubes, and I was wet, and once I got to the car I couldn't use my fingers to actually turn the key to get into the car (thank you again strong jaws), and my shoes were destroyed,

and I had been forced to pee in my pants.

Well, after all, I am a runner, right?

Cliptastic

6-7 miles - some trail I don't know yet

When someone learns how to ride a horse, one of the toughest things to master is picking up your stirrups without looking down. No joke. Something about the act of finding the right spot takes time to develop. When they are proficient at a standstill, the next step is doing it at the walk, then the trot, then the canter.

As an instructor, having students drop and pick up their stirrups without looking down was one of my favorite things to incorporate into a lesson. Deceptively simple and infinitely important. It does wonders for your balance and "sense" of being on the horse. It shows an independence as well as a togetherness. And did I mention safety? Since losing your stirrups can happen after a sudden buck, rear, or scoot, getting them back quickly can be the difference between staying on and falling off.

It was also something I found amusing to watch. Not in the sense that I thought my students were dumb or incompetent. They were just beginners doing beginner things. It was amusing in that nostalgic way, the way it's amusing to see kids try to write their names for the first time, or paint a picture, or come up with an insult. Or try to do anything that for them is hard, and for you was once hard, but is now second nature.

Karma is a bitch.

Today, finally, I triumphantly walked out the door with my Masi ready for action. My shoes were in hand, my helmet tucked under my arm, my gloves neatly in the pocket of my jersey, my matching water bottle securely in its cage, and my padded cycle pants giving me the rear I would never possess through genetics.

I drove down to a quiet neighborhood road, exited the car, and wheeled myself into position.

Then I stopped. Somehow, I had to get on the bike. This was a crucial step in riding it. It was also easier said than done. I tipped it over so I could scoot my bootie on the seat. It was very tipped. Then I tried to clip my right foot in at the top so I could push off.

But whenever I pressed down, the shoe didn't click in and the bike started rolling forward. Which made me start to fall over.

So I set it up again. This time, I practiced clicking in and out on MY side, without bothering to swing over.

Only problem was, I had to look down to do it. And even then it was hit or miss.

I tried again. Booty scoot, pedal up, try to click in.

Shoe not clicking in, bike rolling forward, me falling over.

My early confusion started to mount into frustration which then tipped over into overwhelmation. All of my friends ride, and at that moment I felt that I was never going to get it, that I had spent all of this money on a bike that I couldn't even ride, and that I was completely inept at cycling.

Most of all, though, I felt like a beginner, complete with the absolute irritation that comes when you know mentally how to do something, you know the actual logistics, but you can't physically reproduce it. The part that really matters.

After about 15 minutes of trying and failing, from multiple angles and practices, I decided to put it back on the trainer and actually practice clipping in and out. Which is exactly what I did.

The good news? I had a GREAT trainer session. I loved it, 50 minutes went by in a blink, and I exerted myself WAY more than I did on the elliptical. It was fun! I also practiced JUST clipping in and out. Of course, it's way easier when you don't have to worry about balance, when the bike is suspended in midair on the trainer.

And when you look down, as I often did despite knowing it was counterproductive.

karma karma karma...

Fortunately, there are some courses of action to take.

First off, getting someone to teach me what I was doing wrong and why. Turns out I was making several beginner mistakes, all of which are correctable, all of which will make it much easier.

Second off, getting some fricking patience and going out to a big field where I can (and will) fall over repeatedly whilst perfecting my technique.

Third off, going to my LBS (local bike shop, Revolution Cycles for me), and asking about some different pedal/cleat options, something that's a little bigger and easier (right now I have SPDs, and while other people tell me that it doesn't matter, I would like to at least TRY something a bit bigger. It's harder to miss the bullzeye when it's larger, right?).

So yes, while I am a beginner, that is only a stage that I have to progress through. Nobody starts out an expert. And while it's a place I haven't been to in a long time, it's actually not that horrible of a place to be.

For a little bit.

Non Event

20.5 miles - Reedy Fork+Blue Heron out-and-back + Piedmont out-and-back

Today, I broke the 20 mile mark.

And it was easy.

I'm not so sure how I feel about that. 20 miles stands as this milestone in runner mythology. It's the long long run before THE long run: the marathon. After 20 miles, it's down the glycogen rabbit hole. No amount of gu can save you. Somewhere, a wall awaits.

Given how I felt after my run last weekend (triumphant and depleted), I expected today to be like that only more so. MORE triumphant. MORE depleted. MORE ravenous at my well earned post run nosh.

Instead, I felt completely normal at the end, both in terms of fitness and accomplishment. So much so that when my crusher friend Genisis decided to almost sprint the last mile and a half, I was able to follow along with little difficulty. Back at the car, I felt like I could have done another 6 no problem.

This is how you want to feel on the last long run, but I think I'm weighing whether or not it was simply a fluke. I don't completely trust it. Why?

Because I completely understand it. This week, I went a little bit slower over easier terrain. I didn't have any hills. I didn't have to run on concrete. I didn't have to run against a cold, gale force wind.

The question I really want to ask is, if I had tried to do what I did last week today, could I have run three more miles? That to me would be a sign of increased fitness, a true test of a hard thing getting easier. This run today just felt like an easier run in general.

I know that it shouldn't matter. 20 miles is 20 miles. Also, this run was still more technically difficult in terms of hills and terrain than the completely flat, completely smooth dirt track of my marathon. If I can do this, that shouldn't be an issue.

Which, I have to admit, is a little bit of an issue.

Come marathon day, I know I'm going to cross that finish line and feel amazing and proud of myself. But I'm already looking past that. If the marathon goes well, I'm going to establish a time goal for another one over the summer. I want to take a vacation/training trip to Peru to run at an elevation. I want to run a 40 miler in the fall.

Today was lovely in many respects, though. I ran for the first time with my friends who got me running crazy in the first place, something I haven't done since my fall at Uwharrie. I had a lovely and YUMMY brunch with some awesome people where I had bagels and lox for the first time in God knows when. I had my first ice bath (you'll read about that tomorrow).

And I did run 20.5 miles.

Bitch.

And now, I'm entering the world of the taper.... The ellipses refers to exciting new adventures in taper land still to come. Stay tuned!

Confounded by Carbs

7.2 miles - Greenway out and back, trails are still muddy :(

Last night, I mindlessly munched through about half a box of apple cinnamon cheerios. They are just so sweet and sugary and good, and since I'm "carb loading," I let it slide.

Only problem is I'm sure that this is not what the experts have in mind when they talk about carb loading.

I've read articles and books, but I'm still confused about the what/when/why of this mysterious long distance runner ritual. Part of it is probably due to my eating habits in general. I'm a single gal. I don't cook. If it comes in a box, can be microwaved, can be unwrapped, or opened, or unscrewed, then it's up my alley. Otherwise? Well, let's just say that if a lovely red pepper were to enter my fridge, the chances of it coming out alive are slim to none.

Of course, there are also a lot of carbs already in my everyday routine. Many things that come in boxes are loaded with them. No, I'm not including the box itself. Even I have limits.

What I'm trying to do is walk a fine line of eating the right things at the right times without eating simply because "I can." And I don't want to not eat when I actually need to simply because of some previous evening's lapse in judgement.

While all of this sounds wildly complicated and overthought, remember: I am running 26.6 miles in less than a month. I am running 20/21 miles this Saturday. The chances of being physically injured due to improper nutrition are very real. Not impaled on spikes injury, but still, crashing and burning? Not fun. It's not a question anymore of the age old girlie mag treatise of "eating a little lighter then next day if you splurge the day before." You can't eat light when you run 7.5 miles like I did today; I learned that lesson the hard way.

Read back on my old posts. The pre-injury ones. Go ahead. There are only two of them, it shouldn't take long.

OK! What was the common theme? Sloggy. No energy. Not fun. Tired.

And I can assure you that there are many many pre-blog runs where this was also the case. I tripped, I cursed, I nearly fell down on Laural Bluff several times, I thought, "Oh god, how long is this trail again??" I was also running on empty, literally. On my long runs of 10+ miles, all I took along were some Hershey Kisses. As Genisis told me, I was running longer, but not getting any fitter.

Now go post injury. Gus, carbs, loading up. Ta and Da. The connection between proper fueling and running better is not rocket science, nor is it a placebo effect.

Case in point? Today's run. I worked at The Writing Center until noon, and had to go straight to my run in order to fit it in before a 2pm meeting. I had a powerbar at ::gasp!:: 11:30 and then another protein bar post run. The run itself? Fantastic. I felt like I was FLYING, no joke, I was CRUISING down the Greenway, I was TEARING IT UP. I couldn't crush it because the distance wasn't epic, but if I could have? CRUSHED IT.

This run wasn't a victory proving that the cheerios were necessary. By the time I ran, they were probably gone, and they were in addition to my dinner, not in place of them. This run was a victory because I stuck to my pre and post run nutrition plan, cheerios be damned.

So. Carb loading. After all this blogging, where do I stand? Still a little shaky. But, I guess if I have to choose between overdoing it a little or underdoing it a little, I would rather choose the former. I'm only 16.98% body fat at 115 pounds. If I lost any of that, think it would be fat? No way. My body isn't that stupid and I'm not an elite athlete. It would be muscle, the exact thing I need to keep going.

Am I trying to talk myself into this? Maybe, It sure sounds like it. But fortunately, I'm a good salesman. I think I'll take it.