Some Days a 10-Miler comes easy

Today was not some days.  Sore foot, sore legs, bad chest cold, and it rained.

But the view somehow kept me going.

Race Report: 2014 DC Rock & Roll Marathon

Official Time:  3:24:32 (Rank: 188/2722 overall; 24/254 age group)

My pace chart only tells part of the story, and even that story has been cleaned up into a minutes-per-mile average:

 
































The reality of the DC Rock & Roll Marathon was not quite as tidy, but it was good enough for a personal record by ONE MINUTE.  I should be content with the new PR, especially since my previous marathon PR was set back in 2000, but it's hard not to think about the race that could have been (and was, for the first 11 miles).

I had heard plenty of horror stories about the Rock & Roll Marathon in DC.  Yes, it costs nearly twice as much as when it was just the "National Marathon."  But people had warned me that the second half of the Marathon was poorly marked, "bleak," and "spectator unfriendly."  They complained that there was no chocolate milk left at the finish, not enough support at the water tables, and that the "bands every few miles" referred only to the money-making portion of the race, the first 13.1 miles.

For the most part, the R&R people seem to have corrected these problems, if they were problems to begin with.  The start was surprisingly orderly.  I moved myself into corral #2, which was for runners aiming for a 3:20 marathon or 1:40 half.  Corral 1 was released right at 7:30, and Corral 2 was held for about 90 seconds to create a little space.  The effect was that although I still had to navigate around some people who clearly didn't understand how to do math (including a couple of ladies jogging along at about 10 min/mile, exchanging a muffin recipe), I only slowed down a few times during the first mile (7:30/mi pace).

Here I am just before the start, enjoying the sunrise in the nation's capital.

The race started out even better than I had hoped.  I aimed for about a 7:30-7:40 pace, which would have put me on track for a 3 hour, 15 minute marathon.  Instead, I found myself running with the 3 hour 10 minute marathon pacer.  In fact, I maintained contact with him for the first 10 miles.  Of course, every time the Garmin beeped at me, I told myself, "you're probably going out too strong," but I still felt like I was holding something back.  My mile 10 split was 6:45 -- fast for a half-marathon, let alone a marathon -- but it's been so long since I've run the full distance, I just don't have the feel for the race anymore.  (Ironman doesn't count because you don't feel compelled to run the whole marathon.)

So for almost 11 miles, I thought there was a strong possibility of qualifying for Boston (which would have required a 3 hour, 10 minute marathon).  Then at the mile 11 marker, just before a water table, I ran around an uneventful corner and felt a stabbing pain in my right foot.  I didn't roll the foot, didn't step on an uneven surface, or do anything out of the ordinary.  A bone in my foot just decided to send an extremely painful signal all the way up my right leg.  I actually hopped on one foot to the water table, and limped the distance of the table.  I watched the 3:10 pacer group run away from me, but at this point I was concerned about whether I could finish 13 miles, not 26.2.  After a minute of carefully walking on a throbbing right foot, I began limping back into a light jog, hoping that my foot would improve. 

After another mile, I was still running in a very unbalanced manner, but my foot pain leveled off to a manageable level.  At this point, I decided that if the pain got no worse by mile 13, I would continue onto the marathon, and walk it if I had to.  At mile 13, the half-marathoners peeled off to the left, and I turned to the right.  I knew that not many marathoners would be in front of me, but I wasn't really prepared to run almost a full 13 miles without someone next to me.  I suppose it is not the fault of the race organizers that the marathon is so lightly attended, but there was one time when I wasn't sure which way to turn to continue the race.  Between mile 14-18, there really weren't any spectators, bands, or anything.  Just my uneven paces and a lot of empty space before the next water table.  

At mile 19, as I came across the bridge into Anacostia, I could feel a bonk coming on.  Again, I don't have a good feel for the full distance anymore, and I apparently wasn't consuming enough calories.  It took a couple of hard miles of running on empty before my energy levels balanced out again.  By the time I hit mile 23, I figured out that I had to average sub-8 minute miles to the finish, or I wouldn't beat my previous best.  But I turned myself inside out (relatively speaking), and ran up and down the rolling hills in Anacostia until Mile 25, where my family was waiting for me.  

What was the highlight of the race?  It wasn't the finish.  It was seeing little Genevieve's pink coat from a quarter mile away, and running up to give her a hug.  But she said in her little quiet voice: "Mom said I could run with you for a while." 

So off we went, Genevieve and me, for about a half block.  You can see her timid smile as the people around us cheered.

For the remaining 1.2 miles, I had a little extra spark, and made up a little more time than I had hoped.  The finish area was well-designed so that marathoners had a clean chute to run through (rather than fighting through 23,000 half-marathoners who were bottlenecked in a separate lane).  I came across the finish line and howled, "YEEEAAAAHHH!"  Not because I felt great, but because I beat my personal best.  And what's wrong with my sunglasses?  Did my eyes suddenly slide up my forehead?

Note that as the Garmin flies, the race was 26.50 miles, not 26.2.  But that may have been from my zigzagging around with a bum wheel.  The man handing out medals to marathoners was actually another SunRype teammate.  It was fun to swap hellos before I turned into a beaten, limping old man looking for an ice bag.  Again, to the credit of the race organizers, there was plenty of chocolate milk and potato chips at the finish, and the bag check took all of 30 seconds.  Within a few minutes of finishing, I was walking toward the minivan, which was parked a block away. 

The weather couldn't have been nicer that afternoon.  Although I was quite warm by the finish, I took a space blanket anyway, because I knew the kids would have a fun time playing with it.

I was right.



Alisha was so good to me all day.  I had tried to keep the marathon secret from her for months, but eventually she was in on the secret.  And even then, I encouraged her to stay away.  But she showed up, and it meant a lot to me.  Then after the race, while I enjoyed (not really) an ice bath, she brought me a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a super sized Diet Coke.  I'm lucky 100 times over.

Next race is the Cherry Blossom 10-miler in 3 weeks.  If I can recapture the magic from the first half of this marathon, I'll be in good shape.  But first my right foot needs to stop hurting like the dickens.

Marathon training is 20% preparation and 80% superstition

Tomorrow is my first 'A Priority' race, the Rock & Roll Marathon. The week, and especially the day before a marathon, I get unusually superstitious.

Oops--Is it bad luck to wear the race shirt before you run?

I also made a late decision to run in my old shoes. My new shoes are the same model, and already have about 50 miles on them, but really, is that enough? These bad boys have over 700. And they still look brand new.

Hyper-hydrating? Check. Packing glycogen? Check. Carbo-loading? You bet. This isn't my first rodeo, and I'm far better prepared for this than any previous marathon, so the superstitions should all go away.

But just in case, Where are my lucky socks?

Next Race: Rock & Roll Marathon, Washington, DC

When I was in my early 20's, I had terrible training habits.  And eating and dating habits too, but that's for another post.  The margin for error in all of these areas is much larger for a 20-something than for a high 30-something.  I ran 5 marathons in about a two year period, including two marathons in one month, and I don't think I ever ran more than 20 miles in a single training week during that period.  Not every race was a cakewalk -- the Boise Great Potato was a particularly painful race in which I did everything wrong -- but after a week or two of being unable to walk, I was back to my bad habits.

In my "adult" life, I have tried to train for a few marathons, and each time I have come away with an "overuse injury."  Even when I trained for the 2012 Ironman, it was the running miles that eventually caused my pes tendinitis.  I've also had to abandon marathon training because of work travel.  Such is life for a middle-aged weekend warrior.

But with each experience, I have further fine-tuned my training program.  And while I still have a variety of nagging pains that constantly threaten to become larger overuse injuries, I have put in significantly more miles for a longer period than ever before in my life.

Here are the two basic rules that seem to work for me:

1. Longest single run should be no longer than the next two longest runs of the week.  This is a simple rule to follow on paper, but it gets difficult when I have to miss a mid-distance run because of work or family obligations. 

2. Weekly mileage should not increase by about 15% per week or 25% per two-week period.  I typically top out at about 30 miles/week.  Every single marathon training plan I've ever seen recommends far higher mileage than that.  But for those of us who are not built like gazelles, 30 miles is already pushing it.

Of course, there must be exceptions sometimes, but each exception increases the risk of injury substantially.  I also openly acknowledge that I'm undertraining for marathons.  (My longest run this time was only 19 miles.)  But I would rather undertrain a little and allow race-day adrenaline to give me the final boost, than overtrain and sustain an injury.

With a little luck, I should be ready to run the Rock & Roll Marathon on March 15th.  The course is sort of a lazy figure-8.  I've run most of the top (purple) loop in previous National Half-Marathons, as well as half of the red section.  But the Anacostia portion at the end of the Marathon will be new to me.

My 3 goals for this marathon are as follow (and in this order):

1. Don't get injured.
2. Seriously, don't get injured.
3. Run a PR (sub-3:25)

I've toyed with the idea of qualifying for Boston (sub-3:10), but the course is just too hilly and I haven't been training at a fast enough pace.  While it is conceivable that I could really push it, the injury risk is somewhere close to 100%.  And the worst possible outcome is an injury in the first real race of the season. If this race goes well, I may reconsider later this year or next year (when my target increases to sub-3:15).

In my infinite wisdom, I also scheduled a 10-miler three weeks after the Marathon.  I've had to dump most of my hills and speed work because most of my training has been on the treadmill.  But I am hopeful that the baseload of endurance work will translate into stronger running and triathlon performances this year, even if the individual miles won't be as fast.

19 Miles ...

... Is about the distance when I really start to regret signing up for a Marathon.

But I enjoyed running outside, sore knees and all. Two weeks to race day.