Fatigue is Not a Dirty Word

When somebody asks me what it is that I love about racing, I have a dozen and one answers up my sleeve – as well as the ability to tailor which one I pull out based on who, specifically, is behind the question.

  • Athletic friend: Why do you love racing, champ?
  • Me: My competitive side comes out in a way it doesn’t on my meditative morning runs, driving me to push harder, stride wider and end stronger.
  • Fratty friend: Why do you love racing, bro?
  • Me: One 15K race burns 10 Bud Light Lime’s worth of calories.
  • Latino friend: ¿Porqúe te gusta correr?
  • Me: Repítalo más despacio, por favor.

The truth is it’s downright difficult to reduce my feeling about racing into a single answer. I love so many things about race day, from the respectful calm that comes over the previously buzzing crowd during the pre-gun national anthem to that final ditch-effort sprint over the finish line. In a city that generally advises against interactions with strangers, I love high-fiving spectators along the race course, chatting with other runners about their performance as we bundle-up in baggage and forcing sweaty friends to pose in sweaty post-race photos.

Not only did I achieve a new 15K PR on Sunday (1:15.40), but I was reminded once again to try to remember to take photos before the race next time.
Not only did I achieve a new 15K PR on Sunday (1:15.40), but I was reminded – once again – to try to remember to take photos before the race next time. Hello, tantalizing sweat stains.

And let’s not forget the post-race pancakes. I love post-race pancakes.

But while it’s hard to pinpoint a single characteristic about road racing that keeps me coming back event after event, there is one thing in particular that I relish, although it’s something I never even remember until some two hours after I cross the finish line: that indescribable sensation of complete and utter exhaustion that follows a hard race.

Now don’t get me wrong. As a single 27-year-old woman working a full-time editorial job while training for marathons and singlehandedly keeping a half dozen New York burger joints in business,  exhaustion is a sensation with which I am intimately aware.

But the kind of exhaustion that follows a road race is something else entirely – rather than a demoralizing and frazzled kind of exhaustion that postdates pretty much every day of my adult life, this post-race exhaustion is serene and fulfilling and all-encompassing in a way I can only equate with swaddling (back me up here, baby Jesus.) I like napping in general, but falling into a comatose slumber in the hours following a hard effort on the race course is a sensation approaching nirvana (back me up here, Kurt Cobain).

Racing means a lot of things to me – a workout, a challenge, another cotton t-shirt to force into my overflowing dresser drawers – but perhaps most importantly, it means glorious post-race fatigue. And that’s worth a $25 registration fee any day of the week.

Any other runners love that feeling of exhaustion that follows a hard effort? Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something gloriously satisfying about being dog-tired. 

"...and the cop goes: 'I don't know, sir, but the pope is his driver!"
(Back me up here, Keira.)

Back in the Game

As I laced up my racing shoes this past weekend for my first timed trial since the Marine Corps Marathon, all signs were pointing to a terrible performance:

  • My much faster racing partner who was going to pace me to a new PR had to bow out Sunday morning because of a massive hangover to save some orphans from a tree.
  • We were out of bananas, so I subbed my traditional pre-race breakfast of toast, peanut butter and banana slices for toast, peanut butter and butter. Begins with the same letter but arguably less nutritiously dense.
  • Running late, I had to jog to the park, plow through baggage and sprint my way to my corral. Warming up is one thing, but starting a 5-miler panting may not be sound coaching advice.

Heck, even the skyline looked ominous.

photo 1 (11)
I spy with my little eye Gozer the Gozarian.

I don’t usually believe in signs – unless you’re talking the 2002 M. Night Shyamalan evangelical alien thriller, which I totally believe in, hence my decision to keep a full glass of water by my bed at all times – but Sunday morning’s omens seemed suspiciously foreboding.

And why wouldn’t they? After taking more than a month off speed work, proper nutrition and overall decency as a human being following my first 26.2, I assumed I’d arrive at the starting line with sluggish muscles, an unhappy digestive tract and little motivation to push myself to a new PR.  I mean, come on people, I’m tired. I just ran a freaking marathon.

What I failed to remember was that – oh yeah – I just ran a freaking marathon. My recent lack of interval training and carbo-loading aside, I’m still in arguably the best shape of my life, and Sunday’s Join the Voices 5-miler reminded me of that. I felt solid, I felt strong, I felt fast and – more importantly – I felt three full minutes melt off my 5M personal best. Finishing in 38:46 might not have been fast enough to earn me a medal from race MC Tony Danza, but did serve to remind me that 1. I still love racing and 2. Tony Danza hasn’t aged a day.

Hold me close, young Tony Danza.
Hold me close, young Tony Danza.

But I’m not the only one back in the game. Sunday’s race also marked the return of my speedy girl Leigh-Ann, who is significantly faster than me when not recovering from massive foot surgery.  Welcome back, kiddo. Central Park has missed you.

This will probably be our engagement photo. Watch your mailbox for a save the date.
This will probably be our engagement photo. Watch your mailbox for a save the date.

Finally, Sunday’s race allowed me to knock the first goal off my three-pronged year-end resolution list:

  • Achieve a new PR.
  • Eat more homemade food.
  • Steal this dog.

My other two goals are significantly more challenging, especially since “eating less processed food” and “sitting within arm’s length of your co-workers’ Combos” are pretty much mutually exclusive.  Ah well. Puppynapping it is.

Has anyone else who ran a fall marathon returned to racing? How’d it go for you?

Back on Track, Again

As I walked in on my brother’s dog polishing off an entire crockpot of gravy suspiciously left at mutt-level during post-Thanksgiving clean-up, it became immediately clear that she and I are related.

Just call me MaryKate.

Sure, I might not down a gallon of turkey grease in one fell swoop if left unsupervised in the garage,* but without constant monitoring and self-regulation and a little public accountability, I’m just about as disciplined as an eight-month-old goldendoodle when it comes to my nutrition and exercise goals.

*Who am I kidding? I totally would.

Tomorrow, it will have been a full month since I ran the Marine Corps Marathon, and I have a confession to make: in the four weeks since crossing that finish line, I have yet to run a single 15+ mile week.

Also, I ate half a pie for breakfast on Black Friday. Whew. Feels good to get that off my chest. If only getting that off my hips were as easy.

Fortunately, I’ve learned a thing or two about myself these last 27 years, and I know the best way for me to get back on track is to lay out a specific target to work toward achieving. On October 28, I attained my 2012 New Year’s Resolution of running a marathon, but with five weeks left in the waning year, there’s no reason I can’t lay out some small, supplemental goals to sustain me until January 1 rolls around. So here goes:

  • Achieve a new PR. After much metaphorical dragging of feet, I’ve signed on to run NYRR’s Join the Voices 5M this Sunday and NYRR’s Ted Corbitt Classic 15K on December 15. Despite having raced more 10Ks than I can count (because I can apparently only count to five), I’ve only run one timed 5M and one timed 15K since first lacing up my racing shoes in early 2011, meaning a new year-end personal record may actually be in the cards.
  • Eat more homemade food. I love New York, but if I’m not careful, whole weeks go by without my kitchen seeing any action. It’s not only difficult to get five fruits/veggies a day when I’m sourcing all my meals from falafel peddlers and burger shacks; it’s also downright expensive. I just spent all my disposable income on a plane ticket to India (more on that development later), so I’m back to bagged lunches for the time being.
  • Steal this dog.
Come now, readers. You didn’t really think I was going to spend three full days with my niece this holiday season and only include one photo of her, did you? 

How have your 2012 resolutions fared, and what are you targeting for these five final weeks? Let’s all go out with a bang. And possibly a dognapping misdemeanor.

Marathon Weight Gain

There are plenty of good reasons to run a marathon: the sense of personal achievement, raising money for a cause, offending a bear on a 26.1-mile-long chain.

There’s also at least one bad reason to run one: to lose weight.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, signing on to run a four-hour-long road race is not a sure-fire path to watching the pounds melt off. In fact, if my statistically sound survey of one respondent tells me anything, it’s that 100-percent of runners actually gain weight during marathon training and the subsequent recovery process. (Note: I may or may not know the definition of “statistically sound.”)

But you just spent an entire summer running more miles each week than most Americans run in their entire lives! How is marathon weight gain even possible?

A lot of things don’t make sense in this world, dear reader, and marathon weight gain is one of them. Also, cats.

Any coach will tell you some modest weight gain during marathon training is normal, since you’re amping up your muscle density and keeping more hydrated than ever before. And when you really start carbo-loading in the final week of your taper, you can expect to see the scale spike as much as four pounds, this Runner’s World article says, since your body’s retaining three extra grams of water for every gram of carbohydrates stored. As you make your way to the finish line, those extra pounds of water weight will quickly melt away.

Try to spot me! Also, try to find Waldo’s binoculars.

Unfortunately, the other weight gained during marathon training – the real, tangible weight – is a lot harder to get rid of. And how did those extra pounds get added in the first place? Well, let’s do some simple math:

Conservative estimates tell you a runner burns about 100 calories per mile, meaning a would-be marathoner on a 40-mile peak weak is burning an additional 4,000 calories every seven days. Sounds like a get-out-of-vegetables free card to me. But when you break it down, spread over the course of a week, that’s only an additional 571.4 calories a day, or 83% of a basket of ShakeShack cheese fries. Add in your voracious marathon runner’s appetite and you’ll shift from a calorie deficit to a calorie surplus faster than ConEd restored power to the Rockaways.

What’s that, you say? Rockaways homeowners are still without power 15 days after the hurricane? Oh. Awkward. Hey, let’s all take a page from New York Road Runners and donate to the very-much-still-ongoing recovery efforts. Cool? Cool.

But beyond keeping tabs on your fueling during marathon training, it’s even more important to step back and re-evaluate your nutrition and exercise routines after the race comes to a close. Not for the first 72 hours, mind you – those days are unquestionably meant to be spent cramming your face with bacon cheeseburgers – but in the weeks that follow, you’ll need to reteach your suddenly less-active self to once again ignore the caloric cravings your high-intensity marathon training had allowed you to indulge. Once the post-race aches and pains subside, you’ll also need to reintroduce moderate movement into your daily routine. Burning 300 calories on the elliptical doesn’t give you free reign to, say, butter your cheese curls (that’s what she said), but it will help you get back on track now that your 26.2-mile achievement is a thing of the past.

Pysche! I wasn’t even in that first photo! But I’m in this one, I promise.

Of course, if you do find yourself needing to shed a few pounds post-marathon, the most important thing to remember is this: be kind to yourself. You didn’t train your body to run a freaking marathon in a week, so don’t expect to get back to your goal weight in a blink-of-an-eye, either. Drastically cutting down to a 1,400 calorie diet is not going to help you maintain all that lean muscle you built over the course of your training, and there’s no greater crime than skipping the cake(-flavored vodka) at your 27th birthday party this Saturday.

As I always say, moderation in all things. Except crepe cake.

Here’s your damned shout out, Keirnan.

How do you keep your weight under control during or after a big race? 

Life After 26.2

You know that feeling when you’ve been writing a blog about running for almost a year in anticipation of your inaugural marathon and then after running that marathon can no longer think of anything interesting to write about and consider just posting photos of your brother’s goldendoodle on the internet instead?

No, you don’t know that feeling? Uh, me either. Moving on then.

As many of you may be aware, 10 days ago, I ran my very first marathon. It was emotional, it was invigorating and –  apparently – it was proof that I don’t keep my eyes on the road.

Hindsight is 20/20.

As much as I rocked the race itself – coming in a respectable 3,198th place (no, you don’t get a podium slot for that) – I rocked recovery even more. For the first week after the race, I followed Hal Higdon’s “Zero Week” training plan like it was my job. That is, assuming my job is to sit immobile in a chair for 14 hours straight stuffing my face, which – oh yeah – it kind of is. Find an abbreviated version of his recovery recommendations below:

Monday:  No running today! No exercise of any kind! Take it easy. (If you insist.)
Tuesday: No running! (I might have fought this, but – hey look! – a hurricane. Guess I’ll stay indoors.)
Wednesday: No running! And don’t substitute cross-training in a mistaken belief that it will help you maintain fitness. … You earned this period of rest. Take it! (Fine. But I’m taking a walk around the block and you can’t stop me.)
Thursday: Okay, you’re cleared to run again, but don’t overdo it. (I didn’t.) Two miles of gentle jogging … sounds about right for Zero Week. (It was.)
Friday: Now is the time to cross-train. The best cross-training discipline for a recovering marathoner is simple walking. I recommend bringing your neighborhood goldendoodle along for the ride. (Wise words, Coach.)

Cheaper than a mink.

The week after the Marine Corps Marathon, I did exactly what I was told: I relaxed, I re-hydrated, I re-fueled, but now, I’m re-al bored.

I know I knew life before marathon training, but  life after it suddenly seems downright dull. Plus my blogging ideas are suddenly flowing slower than a Manhattan-bound L train. Oh. Too soon?

So, dear readers, help me out here. Assuming I don’t run right out and register for another marathon (odds are 60/40, but I’m not a betting man), what should I start doing to pass the time and maintain this new caliber of fitness I’ve achieved? Swimming? Yoga? Competitive eating? (The latter is something I could totally get behind. 26.2 chicken wings? Count me in.)

Accidental Recovery

After four months of painstakingly disciplined marathon training, I had big plans to throw caution to the wind this week and disregard everything I’d ever read about post-marathon recovery.

Look! I’m stretching! In the middle of Wilson Blvd!

A tad hubristic, sure, but after 16 weeks of scheduled workouts and calculated nutrition and near-religious adherence to a calendar, I wanted nothing more when I crossed that finish line than to go off-book for awhile. Wise or not, I wanted to do recovery my way.

But the world had other plans.

Case in point: every trainer out there, including my cyber-coach Hal, told me to do nothing but rest in the first three days following the marathon. No running, no cross training, no nothin’.

Yeah, right. I laughed to myself. After four months without stepping foot in my gym, I’m going to start getting my money’s worth again this week. See you at kickboxing. And pilates. And in the spectator stands during the under-40 men’s basketball league practice. I mean, what?

Nothing was going to stop me from resuming my normal workout routine after Sunday’s race.  And then, oh yeah, this happened.

“Sandy, Sandy’s his name if you please. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone of the fleas.”

Stranding me in Maryland and forcing me to stay off my legs and inside the house for three days straight? Well played, Sandy. Well played.

Likewise, most marathon recovery guides tell you to continue refueling your glycogen stores in the days following the race with a high-carb diet, but after a couple weeks of taper-induced weight gain, I had other plans.

Celery! Rice cakes! Vodka sodas!

Foiled again.

Safari hat? 10,000 pieces of candy? Don’t mind if I do.

Putting me on the Halloween candy distribution committee was a clever way to force feed processed sugars back into this recovering body. You win this round, world.

How’s your recovery going? And any more tips to pass my way that I can arrogantly attempt to ignore and then end up accidentally following to a T?

 

Oh hey, I Ran a Marathon.

I’ve been planning out my post-marathon blog post for probably longer than I actually trained for the marathon itself.

I figured I’d start by reminding everyone that I ran a marathon, and then tell everyone I didn’t break 4:00 but would get there next time and then post the following video clip to sum up my overall feelings about the whole thing:

Solid game plan, right? Alright, here goes.

Guess what, everyone! Yesterday I ran a marathon. (Ok. We’re off to a good, if predictable, start.)

Check out that back.

And … this is where I have to go off script. You know why? Because I did break four hours! And I’m not pretty tired! And I don’t think I’ll go home now, although that’s really just because Hurricane Sandy has grounded me in Baltimore. Sorry, New York City. Please hold down the fort.

The race yesterday – the 37th Marine Corps Marathon – was everything I’d hoped for and more for my inaugural marathon. The air was crisp, the crowds were rowdy and the marines were extremely good-looking. I felt strong straight up until Crystal City, ran into my favorite NYC blogger, saw nearly every spectator I was looking for and crossed the finish line – perhaps with tears streaming down my face, although I’ll never tell – at a surprise 3:51:51. All in all, the perfect conditions for my first-ever 26.2-mile run.

Maybe Bigfoot really is blurry.

I’m not going to lie – miles 20 through 26 in particular were some challenging s.o.b.s – but I eased down my speed (Whoops. No negative splitting here.), chowed down on some extra calories, double-fisted every water station I passed and started reciting cliché but inspiring mantras over and over in my head:

  • Trust your training.
  • They didn’t say it would be easy. They said it would be worth it.
  • Mom said we could get fast food for lunch if you finish.

Speaking of Mom, she hopped in and joined me during a particularly difficult stretch after the 14th St. bridge, keeping me nicely distracted from the blister forming on my right foot and giving me that extra boost I needed to plow through to the end. Thanks also to my Dad, my cousins Liz and Nate and the slew of friends who made it out to cheer me on. And a special thanks to my marine brother who lent me his Halloween costume/favorite running vest as I tried to warm up after crossing the finish line. Your fashion sense is always avant garde.

No goldendoodles were harmed in the making of this vest.

Also, THANK YOU to the unnamed spectator who handed me a fistful of Vaseline in Crystal City. In most situations, a handful of petroleum jelly from a stranger is cause for alarm, but in this case, it meant immediate relief for my chaffing underarm. So thank you, sir. You are an unlikely hero.

Also, thank you to this post-race spectacle for making me laugh. Although please be warned I’ve called PETA on your backpack’s behalf.

Anyways, if you’ve been following this blog for awhile, you know that I entered 2012 with two New Year’s resolutions: to run my first marathon and to regularly floss. And by regularly floss, I clearly meant floss at least once a month. So, yeah, you could say we’re 2 for 2 here.

But enough about me. How was your race?

A Salute to My Troops

With the starting gun of the Marine Corps Marathon just a few short hours away, I could use this space today to talk about this morning’s two-mile shake-out run (refreshingly brisk), my post-run stretching routine (deplorably inadequate) or my candy corn-filled carb-loading breakfast (scientifically nutritious.)

But for once (ok, for twice), I’d like to take a moment to hail the accomplishments of – brace yourselves – someone other than myself on this blog: in this case, my family and friends serving in the military.

I signed on to run the Marine Corps Marathon, as opposed to some other 26.2-mile event, mostly because it was conveniently located within an hour’s drive of my parents’ house and I could skip the lottery by guaranteeing entry through a St. Patrick’s Day 10K. But something else invariably also attracted me to this specific event – that running it would allow me an avenue to recognize the network of Marines, Naval officers and members of the Army, Air Force and Coast Guard that make up much of my immediate and extended family and many of my closest friends.

When you spend four months training for a marathon, it’s easy to fall into a bit of a narcissistic mindset. MY nutrition strategies, MY race plan, MY (and 30,000 other runners’) special day. After dinner last night (consisting of MY favorite meal of salmon and Brussels sprouts and couscous), I jokingly said I couldn’t help with dishes because I had to rest my legs ahead of the big day. And then I really didn’t help. Ha! Hilarious!

Oh right, and selfish. But you know who wasn’t/isn’t selfish? My two grandfathers, both my parents, my little brother and dozens more cousins, uncles and friends who served or continue to serve our country in the pursuit of safer, increasingly tolerant and – here’s hoping – more peaceful times ahead.

If I were to call them all out by name, this page would become longer than the ‘Annotated List of my Favorite Gramercy Park Dogs’ post I assume I’ll write some day in the very near future. So here is a short selection of some of the uniformed men and women who I’ll be channeling as I make my way tomorrow from the startling line near Arlington National Cemetery to the finish line at the Marine Corps War Memorial to the nearest cheeseburger:

My cousin, Sam, who returned from Afghanistan safe and sound this month to be greeted by his very patient and pregnant wife.

20121027-144804.jpg

My brother, Tom, who was commissioned into the Marines by my Navy captain mother. No big deal.

20121027-145538.jpg

My great uncle Austin, who earned two Purple Hearts and the Bronze Star with the US Army. He passed away on Oct. 6 and asked that in lieu of flowers, contributions be given to the Yankee Golden Retriever Rescue League. Clearly, this great man was a blood relative of mine if ever there was one.

Who are you running for?

Against the Wind

I’ve spent all week preparing for my upcoming marathon in every way I know how.

I’ve been carb-loading. (“Why yes, deli man, I will top my bagel with a slice of French toast.”)

I’ve been staying off my legs. (“Sorry, pregnant lady, I kind of need this subway seat myself.”)

I’ve been memorizing the course route, foam-rolling my IT bands and teaching my 86-going-on-30-year-old grandmother how to sign up for text alerts.

Oh right. And I’ve been puff-painting. Like it’s my job.

Yes, I’m 12.

But despite all my well-intended preparation as Sunday’s event quickly approaches, nothing could have prepared me for this:

(Photo: NOAA National Hurricane Center)

That’s right, folks. As if running 26.2 miles weren’t challenging enough, the storm gods of Washington, D.C., are considering throwing in some heavy rains, coastal flooding and peak sustained winds of between 50 and 70 mph just for kicks.

Or, in the always uplifting words of Storm4 chief meteorologist Doug Kammerer:

“It could be kind of tough for race day.”

But an eternal optimist, I will not be discouraged. Sure, it’s possible flooding of up to 8 inches will make sections of the race course impassable and expected crowds on the sidelines thin to none. But,  it’s also possible these hurricane-force gusts will always be at my – and every other Irish descendant’s – back, upping my race pace and helping all 30,000 of us quality for Boston to boot.

Another bonus to running four hours through a category 2 cloudburst? No one sees you sweat. (And my stock in anti-chaffing Body Glide is sure to go through the roof.)

Hey, other runners – I apologize for the terrible pun that follows – let’s take this race by storm! What’s your contingency plan?

The End of an Era

Everyone warned me this day was coming. The day I’d wake up, lace up my racing shoes, power my way through a course and – despite all my efforts – walk away without a PR.

After managing 19 consecutive personal bests – or a new individual record for every year Miley Cyrus has been alive – I’d almost come to believe I’d get faster forever. But yesterday morning’s Sleepy Hollow Halloween 10K changed all that, single-handedly obliterating both my nativity and my PR running streak and leaving me feeling emotions that can only be summed up with the following descriptor:

Proud.

That’s right, folks. I crossed yesterday’s finish line some 3 minutes behind my previous 10K PR, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. Why, you ask?

Because I didn’t want to PR anyways.

I realize that sounds very middle schoolesque, but it’s true. As I toed the starting line in Sleepy Hollow on Saturday morning, I turned to my friend Ethan and told him my one goal for the race was to not do any damage that would leave my legs smarting come next weekend’s marathon. (My other goal was to figure out how the heck they pulled off this headless horseman illusion. The 5-year-olds in the crowd seemed to figure it out, but I’m still working through it.)

Courtesy of Rivertown Runners and/or Ichabod Crane.

The course was a challenging but breathtaking one that took some 900 runners past the legendary Old Dutch Church, along the leaf-lined Hudson River Valley and over Mt. Kilimanjaro, or so I assume given the ridiculous elevation climb at around mile 3. I aimed to keep my pace at about 8:30 – or some 30 seconds a mile faster than my marathon goal pace – and set out with the simple objective of enjoying a morning outside of the city on a gorgeous fall day.

And you know what? I had the time of my life. So much of my recent training has been focused on race times and splits and hydration and fuel strategy that I’d almost forgotten what it is that I really love about the sport of road racing. I love calling ‘Thank you!’ to every spectator along the race course. I love making eye contact with a volunteer at the end of the water station to tell them I’m coming for their cup. I love making silly faces at all the photographers and full-out sprinting my way up the final 25-meter stretch to the roar of the crowd.

It’s not whether I’m one of the first 50 to cross the finish line that’s important; it’s whether I’ve taken the time to high-five 50 kids along the race course that matters, and believe you me – the children of Sleepy Hollow’s hands have been high-fived like you wouldn’t believe.

You know what else I learned I like this weekend? Running races in costume.

We didn’t hang around for the awards ceremony, but Ethan and I probably both won best costume.

A tried and true dog person, I’m not sure what encouraged me to dress like a cat at Saturday’s event. Probably the fact that I could wear all black running Spandex I already owned and  Target was selling cat ears for $1.

Or maybe it’s hereditary, judging by this recent (and wonderful) photo-booth family portrait taken at a friend’s upstate wedding. Like father, like daughter, I guess.

How do you measure the success of a race? In PRs? In high-fives? In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife? (Name that reference!)