In every marathon training cycle, I reach a point when I question whether I can really pull it off. Usually I hit that wall when fatigue, the weather or a series of unfortunate events conspire to keep me from a scheduled long run.
This happened a couple weeks ago. My mileage already left a bit to be desired, I felt like crap, and I was actually emailing a friend of the friend of the folks organizing the marathon to see if I could, tail between legs, downgrade my registration to the half marathon.
Fortunately, my friend would have none of it, first dismissing my request with a terse "BAH," then telling me to "suck it up" and, finally, critically, offering to do a 30K with me this weekend. She's training for an Ironman in mid-November, so it's not entirely a selfless endeavor on her part, but it was the helping hand I needed to get my training back on track.
No runner training for any race, whether it's a marathon or a 5K, makes it through training without a hiccup. The mind can trick the body into doing stupid things or, in my case, not doing smart things. That's why it pays to have friends, family or colleagues, in real life or online, who are willing to listen and offer words of encouragement, plus the occasional kick in the pants. You may run by yourself, but you're never alone, and you should never forget that.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Not yet feeling the need for speed
Speed workouts and I are not on friendly terms. I view them much as I view hanging out with an annoying colleague after work hours -- it's a necessity that can pay dividends despite the frustration.
For me, tempo workouts are a bit more bearable. I lucked out last weekend when I ran the Tavern to Tavern 5K, which in addition to being a good tempo distance happened to be a point-to-point race, so I was all too happy to jog back down Mass. Ave. to get to my car. Most of the time, though, my decade-old wristwatch and I head out onto the road and I do my best to hit my mile pace target. (I'm not on friendly terms with my phone's GPS [in]capabilities at the moment, either, or else I'd have less to complain about.)
Track workouts, on the other hand, are right out. I haven't stepped on a track since high school. Frankly, I'd like to keep it that way. I have bad outdoor track memories, the least of which was my inability to score a single varsity point in four years. (I managed to get a few points in indoor track, largely because I was one of but a handful of people willing to endure the 23-and-a-half lap two-mile in the godforsaken Lowell High gym.)
As an alternative, I stick to fartlek workouts. In their simplest form, these consist of a one- to two-mile warmup, a set of sprints with a slow jog in between, and a one- to two-mile cool down. The total distance will depend on how many sprints you plan to do and how much rest time you give yourself in between sprints.
The key is to not rest too much. You should feel increasingly drained as each sprint begins. The whole point of the workout, after all, is to prepare your legs for the point in a race when, in a short race, you need to kick it into a higher gear even though you're tired, or, in a longer race, you need to maintain your pace even though you'd much rather pass out on the side of the road.
At the same time, don't kill yourself. You can walk for a few seconds after you finish a sprint, but, if you need to walk for much longer, dial it back. Don't run until you puke, either, as that may mean adding one additional fartlek to your workout to escape the wrath of an irate neighbor.
Ultimately, speed workouts are a necessary evil, but tailoring them to your needs and strengths will make them work.
For me, tempo workouts are a bit more bearable. I lucked out last weekend when I ran the Tavern to Tavern 5K, which in addition to being a good tempo distance happened to be a point-to-point race, so I was all too happy to jog back down Mass. Ave. to get to my car. Most of the time, though, my decade-old wristwatch and I head out onto the road and I do my best to hit my mile pace target. (I'm not on friendly terms with my phone's GPS [in]capabilities at the moment, either, or else I'd have less to complain about.)
Track workouts, on the other hand, are right out. I haven't stepped on a track since high school. Frankly, I'd like to keep it that way. I have bad outdoor track memories, the least of which was my inability to score a single varsity point in four years. (I managed to get a few points in indoor track, largely because I was one of but a handful of people willing to endure the 23-and-a-half lap two-mile in the godforsaken Lowell High gym.)
As an alternative, I stick to fartlek workouts. In their simplest form, these consist of a one- to two-mile warmup, a set of sprints with a slow jog in between, and a one- to two-mile cool down. The total distance will depend on how many sprints you plan to do and how much rest time you give yourself in between sprints.
The key is to not rest too much. You should feel increasingly drained as each sprint begins. The whole point of the workout, after all, is to prepare your legs for the point in a race when, in a short race, you need to kick it into a higher gear even though you're tired, or, in a longer race, you need to maintain your pace even though you'd much rather pass out on the side of the road.
At the same time, don't kill yourself. You can walk for a few seconds after you finish a sprint, but, if you need to walk for much longer, dial it back. Don't run until you puke, either, as that may mean adding one additional fartlek to your workout to escape the wrath of an irate neighbor.
Ultimately, speed workouts are a necessary evil, but tailoring them to your needs and strengths will make them work.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
The night time is the right time
Every few months, one running publication or another conducts a poll asking runners when they like to hit the pavement. The majority prefer running in the morning, usually before work or the kid's day at school.
I, on the other hand, would rather run at night. I need a shower, breakfast and coffee to wake up, and all but the latter (and only in small quantities) don't really make sense before a workout. I finally decided last week, once and for all, that I'm not going to bother trying to psych myself up at night for a run the next morning, since it won't happen. (I can get up early for work, but, well, I'm getting paid.)
Running at night means doing a few things differently. For starters, you're not running on an empty stomach; watch what you eat for lunch, making sure it's not too spicy, heavy or fatty (lest you fall asleep at your desk). You also need to hydrate throughout the day, especially if it's still going to be hot and humid when you hit the road.
You should invest in some safety gear, too. I have a reflective vest, which admittedly makes me look like the construction worker from the Village People, and a head lamp. Neither are terribly expensive (and if you get the head lamp from a hardware store instead of a running store, it's a lot cheaper). Though I don't have any, the little blinking lights that smart bicyclists have are a good idea if you're in an area with few streetlights or terrible drivers. If you don't have any, wear a white shirt, run against traffic and stay on the sidewalk.
Finally, don't run too late. Your body needs a couple hours to recover after any workout. If nothing else, you need a little bit of time to eat, rehydrate and stretch before you go to bed.
There's nothing wrong with running at night when the majority of runners, not to mention the most devout, are out at the crack of dawn. Just make sure you don't put yourself in harm's way, intentionally or otherwise.
I, on the other hand, would rather run at night. I need a shower, breakfast and coffee to wake up, and all but the latter (and only in small quantities) don't really make sense before a workout. I finally decided last week, once and for all, that I'm not going to bother trying to psych myself up at night for a run the next morning, since it won't happen. (I can get up early for work, but, well, I'm getting paid.)
Running at night means doing a few things differently. For starters, you're not running on an empty stomach; watch what you eat for lunch, making sure it's not too spicy, heavy or fatty (lest you fall asleep at your desk). You also need to hydrate throughout the day, especially if it's still going to be hot and humid when you hit the road.
You should invest in some safety gear, too. I have a reflective vest, which admittedly makes me look like the construction worker from the Village People, and a head lamp. Neither are terribly expensive (and if you get the head lamp from a hardware store instead of a running store, it's a lot cheaper). Though I don't have any, the little blinking lights that smart bicyclists have are a good idea if you're in an area with few streetlights or terrible drivers. If you don't have any, wear a white shirt, run against traffic and stay on the sidewalk.
Finally, don't run too late. Your body needs a couple hours to recover after any workout. If nothing else, you need a little bit of time to eat, rehydrate and stretch before you go to bed.
There's nothing wrong with running at night when the majority of runners, not to mention the most devout, are out at the crack of dawn. Just make sure you don't put yourself in harm's way, intentionally or otherwise.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Dialing it back
During the June heat wave, I complained about running when it's hot out. During the summer, I sweat just by sitting on the couch (as I am right now), so physical activity makes me miserable.
Of course, other people enjoy the heat and relish the opportunity to run in the sun. Now, I'm not going to discourage anyone from going for a run, but, as TheBoringRunner put it on Twitter a couple days ago, "There is a fine line between being awesome/bad ass and just plain stupid. The dude running in 110 degree heat at lunch is treading that line."
It's not going to get that hot in the Boston area this summer, but it's still worth taking a few precautions. (These come from personal experience as well as articles I've read one time or another in Runner's World or Active.com.)
Drink up. Have some water before you leave. It's a fine line between getting hydrated and having to pee, and everyone's different, so I can't recommend a set amount to drink. Drink during your run. If you don't want to wear one of those fuel belts, you can always crush a plastic water bottle so it's easier to carry.
Avoid the sun. Go out early or late. If it's a short run, and you don't detest the treadmill, you can hit the gym if you only have time in the middle of the day.
Dial it back. Don't kill yourself. The warmer and more humid it gets, the sooner you start to sweat, dehydrate and, let's face it, feel like crap. Slow down, especially if you didn't heed the previous point and went running when the sun's at its highest.
Fuel up when you're done. This, of course, is important after any run, but when you've sweat off several pounds (as you very well may after a summer long run), you need to put back lean protein, carbs and healthy fat.
Do the laundry. Don't make your roommates, significant other or pet(s) summer. Wash your clothes right away. If you can't, leave them outside to air out.
Ultimately, summer running precautions pretty much boil down to common sense. If you're like me, though, you lack common sense, so it pays to be reminded of these things. Take it easy out there.
Of course, other people enjoy the heat and relish the opportunity to run in the sun. Now, I'm not going to discourage anyone from going for a run, but, as TheBoringRunner put it on Twitter a couple days ago, "There is a fine line between being awesome/bad ass and just plain stupid. The dude running in 110 degree heat at lunch is treading that line."
It's not going to get that hot in the Boston area this summer, but it's still worth taking a few precautions. (These come from personal experience as well as articles I've read one time or another in Runner's World or Active.com.)
Drink up. Have some water before you leave. It's a fine line between getting hydrated and having to pee, and everyone's different, so I can't recommend a set amount to drink. Drink during your run. If you don't want to wear one of those fuel belts, you can always crush a plastic water bottle so it's easier to carry.
Avoid the sun. Go out early or late. If it's a short run, and you don't detest the treadmill, you can hit the gym if you only have time in the middle of the day.
Dial it back. Don't kill yourself. The warmer and more humid it gets, the sooner you start to sweat, dehydrate and, let's face it, feel like crap. Slow down, especially if you didn't heed the previous point and went running when the sun's at its highest.
Fuel up when you're done. This, of course, is important after any run, but when you've sweat off several pounds (as you very well may after a summer long run), you need to put back lean protein, carbs and healthy fat.
Do the laundry. Don't make your roommates, significant other or pet(s) summer. Wash your clothes right away. If you can't, leave them outside to air out.
Ultimately, summer running precautions pretty much boil down to common sense. If you're like me, though, you lack common sense, so it pays to be reminded of these things. Take it easy out there.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Running without a partner
My wife says she only runs when she's really, really mad. I'm happy to report that she has never been running in the time that we have been together. I'm also happy to be running alone.
In high school, I always thought I'd prefer to date a runner. (It had nothing to do with the girls on the track team being the only girls who talked to me, I swear.) She'd understand my need to run, my ridiculous appetite and my funky-smelling clothes in a way that other girls wouldn't, I reckoned.
Turns out I was wrong. I'm perfectly happy that my wife does in fact understand my aforementioned needs without feeling compelled to lace 'em up herself. We do occasionally exercise together -- she's taught me some very helpful dance stretches -- but when it's time for me to run, she leaves me be. I let her stay home when I race, too, since, well, it's pretty damn boring to stand there, often in the less-than-pleasant weather in which I prefer to run, and try to find your husband amid a sea of thousands of other skinny white guys in little shorts.
The way I see it, running is my alone time, just as dance is my wife's alone time. I rarely talk about running with my wife, saving it for my running friends and this little blogging experiment, and she rarely talks about dance with me, unless we're chatting about someone dancing remarkably well (or poorly).
Given how much else my wife and I have in common, it's nice for us to have our own hobbies. Sure, I sometimes wish I had a partner for my early-morning runs -- but if I did, then there'd be no one to surprise me with breakfast.
In high school, I always thought I'd prefer to date a runner. (It had nothing to do with the girls on the track team being the only girls who talked to me, I swear.) She'd understand my need to run, my ridiculous appetite and my funky-smelling clothes in a way that other girls wouldn't, I reckoned.
Turns out I was wrong. I'm perfectly happy that my wife does in fact understand my aforementioned needs without feeling compelled to lace 'em up herself. We do occasionally exercise together -- she's taught me some very helpful dance stretches -- but when it's time for me to run, she leaves me be. I let her stay home when I race, too, since, well, it's pretty damn boring to stand there, often in the less-than-pleasant weather in which I prefer to run, and try to find your husband amid a sea of thousands of other skinny white guys in little shorts.
The way I see it, running is my alone time, just as dance is my wife's alone time. I rarely talk about running with my wife, saving it for my running friends and this little blogging experiment, and she rarely talks about dance with me, unless we're chatting about someone dancing remarkably well (or poorly).
Given how much else my wife and I have in common, it's nice for us to have our own hobbies. Sure, I sometimes wish I had a partner for my early-morning runs -- but if I did, then there'd be no one to surprise me with breakfast.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Knowing when to say when
It's been a bit slow going since I pledged to try and beat my first marathon time in my upcoming race. Years ago, this would have me disheartened, if not outright questioning whether I should even bother. Here a benefit of age (and, I'd like to think, wisdom) emerges amid a pitfall.
The hindrance, of course, is that a body that's almost 32 doesn't act the same way that a 21-year-old body does. Lately, it hasn't been anything major, just, well, feeling like crap. But now, when I feel like crap, I feel like crap quite a bit longer.
Fortunately, I, like the astute guy at the bar who has to drive home, know when to say when. I've learned, over time, that there's no way I can do my scheduled evening long run if I spend most of the morning using one hand to keep my head from hitting my desk and the other to sip coffee (as was the case yesterday).
Back in the day, such a setback would frustrate me mercilessly. I hated missing a workout -- especially a long run, since the tail end of the marathon was always what did me in -- and (figuratively) kicked myself when it happened.
I now know that my skipped workout is merely a misstep, that it's better to take a day off than to push it, and that life is too damn short to really worry about these things. I'll rest up tonight, squeeze in my 11ish miles tomorrow evening and roll with the punches. I'll adjust the training schedule, too -- which time has also taught me I need to plan with a pencil.
The hindrance, of course, is that a body that's almost 32 doesn't act the same way that a 21-year-old body does. Lately, it hasn't been anything major, just, well, feeling like crap. But now, when I feel like crap, I feel like crap quite a bit longer.
Fortunately, I, like the astute guy at the bar who has to drive home, know when to say when. I've learned, over time, that there's no way I can do my scheduled evening long run if I spend most of the morning using one hand to keep my head from hitting my desk and the other to sip coffee (as was the case yesterday).
Back in the day, such a setback would frustrate me mercilessly. I hated missing a workout -- especially a long run, since the tail end of the marathon was always what did me in -- and (figuratively) kicked myself when it happened.
I now know that my skipped workout is merely a misstep, that it's better to take a day off than to push it, and that life is too damn short to really worry about these things. I'll rest up tonight, squeeze in my 11ish miles tomorrow evening and roll with the punches. I'll adjust the training schedule, too -- which time has also taught me I need to plan with a pencil.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Can I leave my younger self in the dust?
I've been silent for the lat couple weeks, which is in direct conflict with my pledge to write more often. Part of it has been the heat, which in addition to stifling my running happened to stifle my willingness to do just about anything productive. Part of it, too, has been a case of writer's block, which I'd love to blame on the heat but which really stemmed from a place of frustration.
If you're among the dozen people who reads this blog, you'll remember that I boldly proclaimed I'd be running a marathon later this year. Shortly after doing so, life intervened, training was derailed a bit, and I began to regret being so bold. I feared writing anything that might further embarrass me.
Last week, though, I came up with a goal for my upcoming marathon, which will be my eighth. I'm aiming to beat the 3:22:45 that I ran in my first, the 2001 BayState Marathon.
That race was a trip. I was a junior in college and had just turned 21. My longest training run had been 18 miles, and that was only because I got lost in Jamaica Plain, or Allston, or somewhere nowhere near my apartment. When race day came, I actually maintained a Boston Marathon qualifying pace -- that is, 7:15 per mile -- for about 16 miles. Then my legs stopped working. I leaned against a telephone pole in North Chelmsford for a minute or so, then commenced a 10-mile walk-jog of shame to the finish line. For several days, it hurt to move.
So, yeah, my goal is to run faster at 32 than I did at 21. I benefit from experience these days -- in my last race, the 2011 Hyannis Marathon, I started slowly, kept myself hydrated and ran something close to negative splits en route to a 3:26:22. I felt good enough to hop in my car, drive home and work the next day. (Oh, and it snowed at the beginning and the end of the race. Then again, as you can probably guess, I enjoyed that.)
This time around, I have a training plan -- Run Less, Run Faster, a tough but manageable three-day-a-week schedule -- and a much better sense of my limits. My schedule is just as hectic, I can't run quite as well if I'm hungover or overtired, I need to stretch my legs even on the days that I don't run, and my training is already a bit behind, but my soon-to-be-32-year-old self is fairly confident that he'll be able to pass his 21-year-old self in the last few miles of the race and not look back.
And if I don't? Well, I'll just make fun of the terrible haircut and fashion sense of my 21-year-old self that much more.
If you're among the dozen people who reads this blog, you'll remember that I boldly proclaimed I'd be running a marathon later this year. Shortly after doing so, life intervened, training was derailed a bit, and I began to regret being so bold. I feared writing anything that might further embarrass me.
Last week, though, I came up with a goal for my upcoming marathon, which will be my eighth. I'm aiming to beat the 3:22:45 that I ran in my first, the 2001 BayState Marathon.
That race was a trip. I was a junior in college and had just turned 21. My longest training run had been 18 miles, and that was only because I got lost in Jamaica Plain, or Allston, or somewhere nowhere near my apartment. When race day came, I actually maintained a Boston Marathon qualifying pace -- that is, 7:15 per mile -- for about 16 miles. Then my legs stopped working. I leaned against a telephone pole in North Chelmsford for a minute or so, then commenced a 10-mile walk-jog of shame to the finish line. For several days, it hurt to move.
So, yeah, my goal is to run faster at 32 than I did at 21. I benefit from experience these days -- in my last race, the 2011 Hyannis Marathon, I started slowly, kept myself hydrated and ran something close to negative splits en route to a 3:26:22. I felt good enough to hop in my car, drive home and work the next day. (Oh, and it snowed at the beginning and the end of the race. Then again, as you can probably guess, I enjoyed that.)
This time around, I have a training plan -- Run Less, Run Faster, a tough but manageable three-day-a-week schedule -- and a much better sense of my limits. My schedule is just as hectic, I can't run quite as well if I'm hungover or overtired, I need to stretch my legs even on the days that I don't run, and my training is already a bit behind, but my soon-to-be-32-year-old self is fairly confident that he'll be able to pass his 21-year-old self in the last few miles of the race and not look back.
And if I don't? Well, I'll just make fun of the terrible haircut and fashion sense of my 21-year-old self that much more.
Friday, June 29, 2012
It's getting hot out there
A while back I complained about running in the rain. I tried to tell myself that it was the only weather that made it hard for me to run.
Turns out I was kidding myself. I hate running in the heat, mostly because I hate the heat. When the temperature's between, say, 75 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit, it's merely a source of amusement among family and friends, as I start to get uncomfortable. Beyond that, though, I get miserable and usually plant myself in front of the nearest fan.
Needless to say, running in the heat is right out, especially since I increasingly struggle to drag my ass out of bed early enough in the morning to run before work. In my younger days (read: 20s) I would grab a few miles at lunchtime, then wonder why I felt like crap the rest of the day. Now I know better.
It sucks, because I, like any runner, would rather be running than sitting on my ass. (It doesn't help that I really don't have one, so sitting on it for prolonged period of time makes it sore.) But it's the sort of thing that I've accepted. Instead, I try to cross train -- as I did on a recent trip to Florida, when I hit the pool instead of trying to run in 90-degree heat -- or do some core work while watching TV (with the ceiling fan on, of course), all the while reminding myself that, in six months, I'll be much happier.
Turns out I was kidding myself. I hate running in the heat, mostly because I hate the heat. When the temperature's between, say, 75 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit, it's merely a source of amusement among family and friends, as I start to get uncomfortable. Beyond that, though, I get miserable and usually plant myself in front of the nearest fan.
Needless to say, running in the heat is right out, especially since I increasingly struggle to drag my ass out of bed early enough in the morning to run before work. In my younger days (read: 20s) I would grab a few miles at lunchtime, then wonder why I felt like crap the rest of the day. Now I know better.
It sucks, because I, like any runner, would rather be running than sitting on my ass. (It doesn't help that I really don't have one, so sitting on it for prolonged period of time makes it sore.) But it's the sort of thing that I've accepted. Instead, I try to cross train -- as I did on a recent trip to Florida, when I hit the pool instead of trying to run in 90-degree heat -- or do some core work while watching TV (with the ceiling fan on, of course), all the while reminding myself that, in six months, I'll be much happier.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Life is waiting for you
Last week I got on my high horse, who happened to be perilously perched atop a soap box, and made the incredibly surprising revelation that running is hard. This remains true. It has been balls hot this week, and I abhor the heat, so I haven't been running much.
No matter. It's been a good week. My wife's birthday was yesterday. I woke up early to make her breakfast (note: the house did not burn down), and after work we went out for dinner and then met a friend who' in town for the weekend.
Was a small part of me feeling guilty that I didn't squeeze in a few miles? Mercury notwithstanding, yes. However, as one of my favorite bands says, life is waiting for you. Taking an unplanned off day here and there is no big deal.
Some runners and coaches will tell you it is, but, in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter? I'm not gonna qualify for the Olympics. Hell, I'll be happy with a top-3 finish in my age group someday. Falling asleep at the table for my wife's birthday dinner would not have been worth a quick run through the neighborhood as the sun was rising.
Obviously, things will be different in about a month, when training does officially kick off and I can't really afford to skip a speed workout (as much as I'm sure I'll want to). Even then, though, I won't be afraid to juggle the schedule to accommodate a dinner date, a family gathering, or a Sunday morning 5K with friends when my training schedule calls for 18 or so miles. Life is waiting, and I sure as hell don't want to miss it.
No matter. It's been a good week. My wife's birthday was yesterday. I woke up early to make her breakfast (note: the house did not burn down), and after work we went out for dinner and then met a friend who' in town for the weekend.
Was a small part of me feeling guilty that I didn't squeeze in a few miles? Mercury notwithstanding, yes. However, as one of my favorite bands says, life is waiting for you. Taking an unplanned off day here and there is no big deal.
Some runners and coaches will tell you it is, but, in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter? I'm not gonna qualify for the Olympics. Hell, I'll be happy with a top-3 finish in my age group someday. Falling asleep at the table for my wife's birthday dinner would not have been worth a quick run through the neighborhood as the sun was rising.
Obviously, things will be different in about a month, when training does officially kick off and I can't really afford to skip a speed workout (as much as I'm sure I'll want to). Even then, though, I won't be afraid to juggle the schedule to accommodate a dinner date, a family gathering, or a Sunday morning 5K with friends when my training schedule calls for 18 or so miles. Life is waiting, and I sure as hell don't want to miss it.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Running is hard, as it should be
Running is hard.
Admittedly, it's a matter of priorities and, perhaps, maturity. At 21, with no real responsibilities, not to mention bills, it was easy to crank out a few miles after a long day at work while mom and dad made dinner. A decade later, I'm lucky to run three times a week. Working two jobs, getting married and ripping and replacing your entire backyard will do that. Rain certainly doesn't help either.
Motivation -- specifically, a lack thereof -- has played a role in my recent doldrums. With no race on the horizon, it's easy to pick up the shovel and spread some mulch instead of pounding the pavement. I did make it to the James Joyce Ramble earlier this spring, but, at the risk of sounding like a running snob, a 10K isn't enough to push me all that hard.
More than once, though, I have tried to commit to a marathon, only to back out after a few weeks of training. (That's why I don't register too soon.) It's usually a combination of life intervening -- why I thought I could conceivably run 26.2 miles two weeks before my wedding I'll never know -- and my brain somehow convincing my body that it's better to quit while I'm ahead than go through months of training only to run what most everyone else in the free world would consider a kickass time (say, 3:30) but what, when I cross the finish line, is only bound to disappoint me
A couple weeks ago, though, my wife told me something in passing. "You should run more," she said. "It makes you happy." It got me thinking. (Hence the first blog post in almost a year.)
Running does make me happy, in part because it is hard. Running is supposed to be hard. Squeezing in three-and-a-half miles on your lunch break, as I did today, is hard. Waking up at the asscrack of dawn for a weekend long run so you don't miss work, a family event or an afternoon of pulling weeds is hard. Driving halfway across the state by yourself for a road race that serves as a marathon tune-up is hard (or an indication that you need more friends).
It's time, then, to kick myself in the pants. This fall, I am going to run the Manchester City Marathon, come hell, high water or a couple dozen raspberry bushes that need to be trimmed. This time around, I'm setting aside the notion that I can qualify for Boston -- after all, at this point I am 0-for-7 -- and simply giving myself a reason to run. That, it turns out, is pretty easy.
Admittedly, it's a matter of priorities and, perhaps, maturity. At 21, with no real responsibilities, not to mention bills, it was easy to crank out a few miles after a long day at work while mom and dad made dinner. A decade later, I'm lucky to run three times a week. Working two jobs, getting married and ripping and replacing your entire backyard will do that. Rain certainly doesn't help either.
Motivation -- specifically, a lack thereof -- has played a role in my recent doldrums. With no race on the horizon, it's easy to pick up the shovel and spread some mulch instead of pounding the pavement. I did make it to the James Joyce Ramble earlier this spring, but, at the risk of sounding like a running snob, a 10K isn't enough to push me all that hard.
More than once, though, I have tried to commit to a marathon, only to back out after a few weeks of training. (That's why I don't register too soon.) It's usually a combination of life intervening -- why I thought I could conceivably run 26.2 miles two weeks before my wedding I'll never know -- and my brain somehow convincing my body that it's better to quit while I'm ahead than go through months of training only to run what most everyone else in the free world would consider a kickass time (say, 3:30) but what, when I cross the finish line, is only bound to disappoint me
A couple weeks ago, though, my wife told me something in passing. "You should run more," she said. "It makes you happy." It got me thinking. (Hence the first blog post in almost a year.)
Running does make me happy, in part because it is hard. Running is supposed to be hard. Squeezing in three-and-a-half miles on your lunch break, as I did today, is hard. Waking up at the asscrack of dawn for a weekend long run so you don't miss work, a family event or an afternoon of pulling weeds is hard. Driving halfway across the state by yourself for a road race that serves as a marathon tune-up is hard (or an indication that you need more friends).
It's time, then, to kick myself in the pants. This fall, I am going to run the Manchester City Marathon, come hell, high water or a couple dozen raspberry bushes that need to be trimmed. This time around, I'm setting aside the notion that I can qualify for Boston -- after all, at this point I am 0-for-7 -- and simply giving myself a reason to run. That, it turns out, is pretty easy.
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