Training day: Long run countdown

We (me and my bum legs) are back on the horse. After three weeks of no running, and a slow build up the long run ladder, I am back where I left off: at 16 miles.

Alright, that's padding it.

Let's back up.

A month and a half ago, at the near-peek of my marathon training, I made the mistake of running on a treadmill and injured my calf (insert: fist shaking at treadmill).

I put running on hold to mend this puppy through torture sessions with massage therapists who said helpful things like "it's a necessary evil" and "I'm not sure how long your long distance running career will last." I guess that's why they stick to massaging muscles instead of egos.

Two weeks later I tested out a long run that recalled leisurely Saturdays of yesteryear, like, say, June 2010. I made it through seven miles, heaving and hoeing, but, alas no major muscle eruption (mini hallelujah). Yup seven sad but successful miles, just five weeks before the marathon.

Buck up, buttercup.

The next week I ran 11. Huffing and Puffing, but 11 nonetheless. I returned to the long-distance-really?-therapist for a turn-muscle-into-pulp session and she said I didn't have to come back and maybe I could "run this thing yet." I hobbled out.

Yesterday I continued to up the mileage. I strapped on my sneaks, stretched and dithered about the house avoiding the inevitable, then set out for my planned 15.6 mile run. But the thing is, it was hot. Like, no way this is September hot, and all my waiting around set me up for a long ass run during the hottest part of the day on an empty stomach (woo hoo?). Little suburban streets turned epic and fuzzy as I placed one foot in front of the other. I made small but important deals with myself:

"If you can make it to the end of Pine Tree Drive you can walk up the next hill."

I had to run up the next hill.

"If you run up the next hill you can stop instead of doing that extra little loop."

You better believe I ran up that next hill.

Somehow I pulled one tuckered leg after another to complete a not even-close to marathon distance 14.3 mile run.

But onwards and upwards people. Today, on request of my training torturers, I tried a bikram yoga class, which is supposed to help with deep stretches and all those things.

I've done bikram once before and I did not recall it being so bad. But then again, time heals all wounds. So I limped into the already scorching room with my small, lukewarm bottle of (in hindsight) precious water, lay down my mat and towel and got to sweating.

I learned a few things during this adventure:

1) Bikram classes are 90 minutes
2) I can sweat a lot and the sensation of bending forward while sweat drips down your face and up your nose is a lot like drowning
3) It is best if you eat something before sweating the weight of a small child from your sleep-deprived body
4) Water, more water

I'm sure it was helpful. I'm sure I stretched my body in ways that was not normally possible. I'm sure I swallowed a little bit of bile at the end of that last pose and I'm sure I saw a few black spots while filling up tiny water bottle at the fountain.

So, now that I'm fully stretched, completely exhausted and permanently dehydrated, I am ready to conquer my last two weeks of training.

The week ahead will hold three days of longer runs, which means earlier and darker mornings. I will also try to cram in one more yoga class before my next long run.

Saturday will be my last attempt at a pre-marathon long run. We're talking 18-20 miles, people. But I'll be in the city, I will have my broken-in-but-still-new sneakers and, hopefully, cooler weather on my side.

I hate to admit it, marathon, but I am beyond ready for you to be over.

The good news? I'm not that crazed marathon-addicted person. See? Learning new things about myself at ever turn.
xoL

Monday brings some firsts

Well, one, in particular. Today was my first day of work in the business that I have been elbowing my way into for a few years now. It is my first full time paid position (paid! slave wages, but it counts.) in this biz that is all spark and ingenuity one moment and dead as yesterday's used newspaper the next according to media friends and foes. That's right friends iiiiiiiiits journalism.

But it's also my first day of working in New York after being away from this city that I love. I was nervous, what with the commute, the fabulous ladies of fashion surrounding me at every turn and, well, the commute (listen, it can be pretty bad).

But that latent New York kick-it-and-go attitude sprung up in my like geyser once those subway doors opened and the rest of Greenpoint and I were trying to squeeze in. I strolled into the center of the train and never looked back.

Somehow my blood boiled enough to get me from one subway to another and back again at the end of the day, spits of rain and a sleepless night and all.

Now that I'm slightly more eased into working life and my outfit is already picked out for tomorrow, I'm hoping I can catch some Zzzzs so I can get up for a much-needed run in the morning. Because, oh yes, I'm still training for that marathon. I have four weeks to go from 7 miles to 26.2 so it's now or never.

I can only do things like, get a job, find an apartment, train for some sort of feat-o-strength all at once. Dog pile on L. It's all or nothing people, but it's nice to be doing something even when it's everything.

xoL

Training day: Long run hiatus

I'm behind, I'll admit it. I survived the long run no. 9 (11 miles) and the long run no. 10 (a whopping 16+ miles). I even tripped and fell at the end, alright, it was more of a crumple, but the run was good, really good and I was proud of myself.



And then my calf ripped in half.

Dramatic? OK, yes, a bit. But I'm beyond frustrated. I've made it 10 weeks into my training, was about to jump up to 18 and then 20 miles and then this happened. Whatever it is.

It started off as a soreness. I was scheduled to have a massage and I mentioned it to the masseuse who worked on it. Then a three day down pour arrived and I was stuck running on a treadmill and within a mile it popped. I stopped and finished up some exercise on an elliptical (probably not the best idea) and then took a few days off.

I skipped my next long run (10 miles) and tried jogging at a toddlers pace on Sunday and, again, with in a mile - Pop.

So, here we are: Five weeks out until the marathon. My longest run was 16 miles and I'm losing any sort of fitness with every passing week. Not to sound like a whiner but what the crappity crap?!

I mean, have you SEEN my calves? If nothing else these puppies were made for running, that or Glatiatoring if it were a different era.

Just when I was hitting my stride.

Just when I ran more than I've ever run before.

Just when that magical anti-chafe glide stuff entered my life!

I've obviously wallowed a little bit and I might be continuing down that road.

But today I made an appointment to see a massage therapist, which, according to all the online forums and even the trainer I accosted at the gym suggested, is the first step. I'm hoping this guy can asses the damage, give me some sort of recovery regiment and then tell me I'll be good to go in a week. Wishful thinking? Definitely.

At this point I just want to complete the dumb thing and not be keeling over in some sort of pain afterward. I hope that's not too far fetched of a goal.

Just so I'm not ending on such a sour note, the hiatus hasn't been all bad. For one, it allowed me time to move. For two, it's been hot as balls outside (I think that's a technical term, hopefully I'm using it right) and running in this would have definitely been detrimental to my health. And maybe by the time I can strap back on my running shoes I will be so excited to be able to run that the adrenaline alone will get me through the mileage.

ho hum.