Just fuck it. I just finished a 9.5 miler in 65 minutes. 65??? That's 6:5x pace. I ran that for 20 miles a few weeks ago and now my heart rate was pushing 190 finishing this stupid excuse of a run.
I was dying out there. I was landing on my forefoot like I was in a god damn 800m race. I didn't even know that was possible running fucking 6:50s.
I'm training like I'm aiming to run a 4:35 mile, not a 3:50 1500. I'm sitting here, 5 months away from my first race feeling like I haven't gotten anywhere running 70+ weeks. My legs felt fine, even though I ran 200s yesterday. My chest was destroyed. It felt like a hard tempo run and it was slow as shit.
I stumbled into my house, downed a gatorade, grabbed 3 Fat Tire's and sat in a cold shower, drinking. For half an hour. I looked like something out of Black Swan or some shit.
Fuck this. I wish I were 60 and unable to run so I could watch Olympians and remember those days when you just feel like nothing can stop you, and forget about these fucking days.
After Sunday I'm taking next week at 20 miles MAYBE.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Upper Bound
The first week of August, my team has what it calls the 'long weekend,' in which we all are supposed to run the longest run of our lives to date.
For me the longest run was during the previous summer's long weekend, a distance of 17 miles. But thinking about it this week, I got the idea in my head to go for 20. My long runs this summer have been getting longer and longer, and I've handled them rather well, so I took my favorite 10miler, and simply turned it into an out-and-back 20miler.
I strolled out of my house and through the first 5 miles. Long Slow Distance runs (LSDs) are pretty easy for most of the way, it's just the time you are physically running that kills you in the long run (PUN).
The first 10miles peeled away with minimal effort. I lazily checked my watch every couple of miles, unconcerned with pace, just rolling along the long, soft hills of the northwest.
You know what, I don't usually like these runs but it's a perfect 75 degree day, I'm along the lake, the Blue Angels are out, this is fun
I reach the end of the first 10 miles without discomfort. 1:09:30. Not a bad pace. After a few minutes of stretching and buying bottled water, I turn and start plodding back the way I came, a plastic water bottle in each hand.
The second part of my run covered 10-16. These 6 miles I was growing anxious. I took in water every 10 minutes or so, and by 14.5 the first bottle was gone, a not-insignificant part ON me rather than IN me.
10-16miles was a completely separate part of the run because I was slowly getting Jello legged. I wasn't really that tired, but I felt it coming.
16-20 is its own part, because these 4 miles were absolute hell.
Mile 16-17 was entirely uphill. As I crested the bike-path on-ramp back onto Mercer Island, my hamstrings were on fire. They did NOT like the distance. On a dime I went from Jello legged to extremely sore and tired, and I still had to get through this last half hour.
The winding road from 17-20 which I usually know so well seemed like foreign soil. My pace didn't falter, but that was simply out of habit over the last 2 hours rather than willpower. If my pace changed, my stride changed, and if my stride changed.....it hurt.
17-18 felt long.
18-19 felt like an eternity. 19-20 was a desperate attempt to outrun my pain.
Fumbling inside my door, I tried to consume all I could that would benefit my recovery. Sweet potatoes, Gatorade, avocado, etc.
There is nothing worse than knowing you HAVE to eat when your body just doesn't want it. I spent 5 minutes chewing avocado, and that shit is just mush to begin with.
I sit here now, 4 hours removed from finishing that run, staring at my calves twitching like they're having some sort of seizure.
Tomorrow is going to be a rough day.
For me the longest run was during the previous summer's long weekend, a distance of 17 miles. But thinking about it this week, I got the idea in my head to go for 20. My long runs this summer have been getting longer and longer, and I've handled them rather well, so I took my favorite 10miler, and simply turned it into an out-and-back 20miler.
I strolled out of my house and through the first 5 miles. Long Slow Distance runs (LSDs) are pretty easy for most of the way, it's just the time you are physically running that kills you in the long run (PUN).
The first 10miles peeled away with minimal effort. I lazily checked my watch every couple of miles, unconcerned with pace, just rolling along the long, soft hills of the northwest.
You know what, I don't usually like these runs but it's a perfect 75 degree day, I'm along the lake, the Blue Angels are out, this is fun
I reach the end of the first 10 miles without discomfort. 1:09:30. Not a bad pace. After a few minutes of stretching and buying bottled water, I turn and start plodding back the way I came, a plastic water bottle in each hand.
The second part of my run covered 10-16. These 6 miles I was growing anxious. I took in water every 10 minutes or so, and by 14.5 the first bottle was gone, a not-insignificant part ON me rather than IN me.
10-16miles was a completely separate part of the run because I was slowly getting Jello legged. I wasn't really that tired, but I felt it coming.
16-20 is its own part, because these 4 miles were absolute hell.
Mile 16-17 was entirely uphill. As I crested the bike-path on-ramp back onto Mercer Island, my hamstrings were on fire. They did NOT like the distance. On a dime I went from Jello legged to extremely sore and tired, and I still had to get through this last half hour.
The winding road from 17-20 which I usually know so well seemed like foreign soil. My pace didn't falter, but that was simply out of habit over the last 2 hours rather than willpower. If my pace changed, my stride changed, and if my stride changed.....it hurt.
17-18 felt long.
18-19 felt like an eternity. 19-20 was a desperate attempt to outrun my pain.
Fumbling inside my door, I tried to consume all I could that would benefit my recovery. Sweet potatoes, Gatorade, avocado, etc.
There is nothing worse than knowing you HAVE to eat when your body just doesn't want it. I spent 5 minutes chewing avocado, and that shit is just mush to begin with.
I sit here now, 4 hours removed from finishing that run, staring at my calves twitching like they're having some sort of seizure.
Tomorrow is going to be a rough day.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
A Story of 2nd Place
It's an interesting thing when people from other schools know your name. It validates what you're doing when you're getting into it. As a sophomore in high school, I ran a 4:38 first meet of the season and all of the sudden my name was on the district-wide performance list, and I was put into conversations with people whose names I knew.
I ended my sophomore year as a 4:28 miler, but as 'only' the 3rd fastest miler of my class in my district.
Throughout the rest of my high school experience, I was the Chris Brown, the Nate Brannen, the Kevin Sullivan, the Chris Lukezic of the 800/Mile.
In short - I was the guy who always made the final, but was never in the conversation to win.
Oh sure, I'd pick up an upset 3rd or even 2nd here and there, and I'd always be in the conversation as someone's Dark Horse or potential spoiler, but not as the popular pick to win.
I guess this has fueled me as much as anything. As I've worked harder, I've caught up to and surpassed some of these rivals of old, which turns around to make me push harder.
MY DIIIRunner's Experience is a personal story of a 5th ranked guy that shouldn't have gotten 3rd, the personal struggle of the almost-but-not-quite-talented-enough guy doing everything he can to reach that next level, to run those times he shouldn't have been able to run, and more than anything to beat those guys who simply just don't lose.
I ended my sophomore year as a 4:28 miler, but as 'only' the 3rd fastest miler of my class in my district.
Throughout the rest of my high school experience, I was the Chris Brown, the Nate Brannen, the Kevin Sullivan, the Chris Lukezic of the 800/Mile.
In short - I was the guy who always made the final, but was never in the conversation to win.
Oh sure, I'd pick up an upset 3rd or even 2nd here and there, and I'd always be in the conversation as someone's Dark Horse or potential spoiler, but not as the popular pick to win.
I guess this has fueled me as much as anything. As I've worked harder, I've caught up to and surpassed some of these rivals of old, which turns around to make me push harder.
MY DIIIRunner's Experience is a personal story of a 5th ranked guy that shouldn't have gotten 3rd, the personal struggle of the almost-but-not-quite-talented-enough guy doing everything he can to reach that next level, to run those times he shouldn't have been able to run, and more than anything to beat those guys who simply just don't lose.
400m Escapes
Before I ended my internship in DC and headed home for a month, I jogged to the track to break up the monotony of the miles. 12x400, without looking at the watch until the lap was done. I just wanted something resembling speed.
On semi-tired legs I head to the track at 10:30 at night. Why so late? It's 10:30, and it's 95 degrees outside. Each night I choose between sleep and an awkwardly comfortable run. I have yet to choose the former.
3 sets of 4, 2min between reps, lap jog between sets plus a minute stretching.
66 65 64 65
My legs seem to creak in protest. I haven't done reps these short in months. I jog around the inside of the track, wiping pounds of sweat away in the torrential humidity.
65 66 66 66
Hip flexors are feeling the repeats.
67
God dammit these are fucking 400s not 800s. Run them like you're not alone
63 64 62
That's better
On semi-tired legs I head to the track at 10:30 at night. Why so late? It's 10:30, and it's 95 degrees outside. Each night I choose between sleep and an awkwardly comfortable run. I have yet to choose the former.
3 sets of 4, 2min between reps, lap jog between sets plus a minute stretching.
66 65 64 65
My legs seem to creak in protest. I haven't done reps these short in months. I jog around the inside of the track, wiping pounds of sweat away in the torrential humidity.
65 66 66 66
Hip flexors are feeling the repeats.
67
God dammit these are fucking 400s not 800s. Run them like you're not alone
63 64 62
That's better
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
What am I doing, and Why am I not better at it?
I caught all the lights tonight. I stopped once, and that was voluntary to go to the bathroom for 30 seconds on a tree.
I ran late, starting my run at 9:15pm. DC is humid, and my runs have been getting later and later as the summer drags onward. Each mile peeled away like magnetic strips, revealing the run as a whole. Each mile was between 6:22 and 6:27, a 5 second gap for 7.75 miles.
My pace hardly faltered at any time. I glided, and got intentionally lost in my own head.
I didn't want to run today. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I had to work later than most people at my office. I was buzzing on coffee all day and when I got home and made and ate dinner, it was 8:30. I wanted to crash, to sleep, to pass out for 12 hours and wake up ready to go tomorrow.
And I almost did. I laid in my bed, and I knew I couldn't fall asleep unless I got my run in. It wasn't guilt, it wasn't anxiousness, it was the feeling of an uncompleted task that simply had to be taken care of before bed. Like washing dishes, or making lunch for the next day.
Or homework. It was homework. It simply had to be done.
If I had to describe to you why I've come to feel like that, I couldn't tell you. There's something I'm running for, running towards, and I think that deep down I know what it is, but it's too frightening to say out loud. Too surreal to think about in my current state of fitness.
I listen to soft music that acts as white noise, blocking out the inner city sounds. It doesn't pump me up & it doesn't calm me down, it simply changes what I am experiencing. Recently, it's been folk music. Before that, it was classic orchestral pieces. Before that, Indie rock. It changes as I change.
I think I do it to mute the sound of my own breathing.
I don't like to know how tired I am, and the sound of my labored breath bothers me in the fleeting moments between songs. I'm not supposed to be tired at a silly pace like this. I'm fine.
I keep my pace as I climb, climb, climb back home. As I slow to a stop at the end of my run, I check my heart rate. It's just north of 170 bpm.
I probably checked it wrong, I'm fitter than that. Ya. I'm fitter than that.
If I were to measure myself against what I want to do, what I know I'm running for, what makes running another task rather than a chore or a burden or even something I view as necessary exercise - would stop me. It's too intangible, too hard, too few success stories and millions of failures of people just like me.
I don't have a closing motivational thought. These thoughts just bounce around my head to the sound of White Blank Page as I skim through the humid night, physically knowing that I can when all evidence says I cannot.
I ran late, starting my run at 9:15pm. DC is humid, and my runs have been getting later and later as the summer drags onward. Each mile peeled away like magnetic strips, revealing the run as a whole. Each mile was between 6:22 and 6:27, a 5 second gap for 7.75 miles.
My pace hardly faltered at any time. I glided, and got intentionally lost in my own head.
I didn't want to run today. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I had to work later than most people at my office. I was buzzing on coffee all day and when I got home and made and ate dinner, it was 8:30. I wanted to crash, to sleep, to pass out for 12 hours and wake up ready to go tomorrow.
And I almost did. I laid in my bed, and I knew I couldn't fall asleep unless I got my run in. It wasn't guilt, it wasn't anxiousness, it was the feeling of an uncompleted task that simply had to be taken care of before bed. Like washing dishes, or making lunch for the next day.
Or homework. It was homework. It simply had to be done.
If I had to describe to you why I've come to feel like that, I couldn't tell you. There's something I'm running for, running towards, and I think that deep down I know what it is, but it's too frightening to say out loud. Too surreal to think about in my current state of fitness.
I listen to soft music that acts as white noise, blocking out the inner city sounds. It doesn't pump me up & it doesn't calm me down, it simply changes what I am experiencing. Recently, it's been folk music. Before that, it was classic orchestral pieces. Before that, Indie rock. It changes as I change.
I think I do it to mute the sound of my own breathing.
I don't like to know how tired I am, and the sound of my labored breath bothers me in the fleeting moments between songs. I'm not supposed to be tired at a silly pace like this. I'm fine.
I keep my pace as I climb, climb, climb back home. As I slow to a stop at the end of my run, I check my heart rate. It's just north of 170 bpm.
I probably checked it wrong, I'm fitter than that. Ya. I'm fitter than that.
If I were to measure myself against what I want to do, what I know I'm running for, what makes running another task rather than a chore or a burden or even something I view as necessary exercise - would stop me. It's too intangible, too hard, too few success stories and millions of failures of people just like me.
I don't have a closing motivational thought. These thoughts just bounce around my head to the sound of White Blank Page as I skim through the humid night, physically knowing that I can when all evidence says I cannot.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Glances and Glazed Eyes
I've been noticing something while I'm in Washington DC over the summer, and it was probably true before this I just never realized what was going on.
So, back story/explanation:
I live about a mile north of the Capital building, and my typical base run has been to make a B-line straight for it, loop around the back and run along the hard-packed dirt path around the Federal Triangle/National Mall. Depending on how I come back, it's between 7 and 8.5 miles, and I usually do it around 9pm. Great.
Now, I don't do this specific run over and over and over because I want to see all of the sights. Don't get me wrong - the Smithsonian buildings and Federal monuments are beautiful at night, and with the fireflies along my path it really is gorgeous at times - it's just that the loop has an extended period of non-pavement, it's relatively flat, and there aren't many times I have to stop for cars/traffic lights like I would have to do literally anywhere else I ran in this city.
But there's always one constant thing I can count on when I do that loop - throngs of tourists. Plethoras of cameras, accents, languages, and bewildered expressions. I'm not being degrading, I've only lived here a month so I identify more with the tourists than with the DC residents, it's just something I've noticed.
And with the masses of people on the Mall at all hours of the day and night, the number of people who look at me changes drastically when I run vs when I do not (in the same areas).
Now, I don't mean take a nonchalant glance my way then continue on. This is deer in the headlights, OMG-that-guy-has-a-gun, Do-I-know-him blank empty stares. Shit that could make Sauron twitch. LOTR reference? Check.
I thought this was simply because I was running, and most of the time with very little clothing, moving at a pace around 10mph as I don't even glance at the monuments. Odd right? BUT YOU'RE WRONG.
See, I bike everywhere. DC is small, and the metro is expensive. When I'm biking furiously around the Mall, I get the EXACT same stares.
BUT (and this is the super interesting part), when I'm biking very slow, i.e. walking pace, NOBODY gives me more than a glance.
Thus, in summation my hypothesis is:
Velocity of movement is directly correlated with how long people stare at you, or at least how long tourists do.
I'll be testing this in the weeks and months to come. Stay tuned. This is important stuff.
For science! *bow
So, back story/explanation:
I live about a mile north of the Capital building, and my typical base run has been to make a B-line straight for it, loop around the back and run along the hard-packed dirt path around the Federal Triangle/National Mall. Depending on how I come back, it's between 7 and 8.5 miles, and I usually do it around 9pm. Great.
Now, I don't do this specific run over and over and over because I want to see all of the sights. Don't get me wrong - the Smithsonian buildings and Federal monuments are beautiful at night, and with the fireflies along my path it really is gorgeous at times - it's just that the loop has an extended period of non-pavement, it's relatively flat, and there aren't many times I have to stop for cars/traffic lights like I would have to do literally anywhere else I ran in this city.
But there's always one constant thing I can count on when I do that loop - throngs of tourists. Plethoras of cameras, accents, languages, and bewildered expressions. I'm not being degrading, I've only lived here a month so I identify more with the tourists than with the DC residents, it's just something I've noticed.
And with the masses of people on the Mall at all hours of the day and night, the number of people who look at me changes drastically when I run vs when I do not (in the same areas).
Now, I don't mean take a nonchalant glance my way then continue on. This is deer in the headlights, OMG-that-guy-has-a-gun, Do-I-know-him blank empty stares. Shit that could make Sauron twitch. LOTR reference? Check.
I thought this was simply because I was running, and most of the time with very little clothing, moving at a pace around 10mph as I don't even glance at the monuments. Odd right? BUT YOU'RE WRONG.
See, I bike everywhere. DC is small, and the metro is expensive. When I'm biking furiously around the Mall, I get the EXACT same stares.
BUT (and this is the super interesting part), when I'm biking very slow, i.e. walking pace, NOBODY gives me more than a glance.
Thus, in summation my hypothesis is:
Velocity of movement is directly correlated with how long people stare at you, or at least how long tourists do.
I'll be testing this in the weeks and months to come. Stay tuned. This is important stuff.
For science! *bow
Friday, June 3, 2011
DIII Difference
The thing you always hear with DIII Runners is "You know, I really enjoy running, I just didn't want to go to a DI school and have it consume my life."
Well, I'm sort of living that for the next 8 months. I'm in shiny, fast paced, and abhorrently humid Washington D.C. until December 15th-ish, back home in August for a brief stint before heading to Hawaii for family vacation, then back to D.C.
Essentially, my life is humid (<-new website?). This is new. I don't like it.
I'm missing Cross Country in the Fall, but I justify it to myself by saying that I need the extended period of base because I lack true strength. This may actually be true. We'll see.
The Fall will be far less humid (I'm told), simply just cold, but I can deal with cold.
But I digress.
The point is, neither running nor schooling is the prime focus until deep winter, which hasn't happened for a number of years. If I have to work through my run, or go to an event that goes through a planned running time, its....its okay. It hurts to say, but it's true.
I have months and months and months and months....a day or two here and there won't hurt, as long as I keep it at a day or two and don't spiral downward into the also-abroad faction that comes back to track season completely out of shape and overweight.
Though I'm putting running aside in terms of immediate importance, it still carries a large weight. My run WILL get done. I WILL race. It just won't be with a team, and it'll be just that - running.
The grueling workouts, the 530am wake-up call, the stretching California hills, the sound of 20 other pairs of feet next to mine, that will all be put on hiatus as I jump start my professional life.
And that hiatus, to me, is the DIII Difference.
DI waits for nothing, DIII waits for me. It just depends on how much I want it when I come back.
Well, I'm sort of living that for the next 8 months. I'm in shiny, fast paced, and abhorrently humid Washington D.C. until December 15th-ish, back home in August for a brief stint before heading to Hawaii for family vacation, then back to D.C.
Essentially, my life is humid (<-new website?). This is new. I don't like it.
I'm missing Cross Country in the Fall, but I justify it to myself by saying that I need the extended period of base because I lack true strength. This may actually be true. We'll see.
The Fall will be far less humid (I'm told), simply just cold, but I can deal with cold.
But I digress.
The point is, neither running nor schooling is the prime focus until deep winter, which hasn't happened for a number of years. If I have to work through my run, or go to an event that goes through a planned running time, its....its okay. It hurts to say, but it's true.
I have months and months and months and months....a day or two here and there won't hurt, as long as I keep it at a day or two and don't spiral downward into the also-abroad faction that comes back to track season completely out of shape and overweight.
Though I'm putting running aside in terms of immediate importance, it still carries a large weight. My run WILL get done. I WILL race. It just won't be with a team, and it'll be just that - running.
The grueling workouts, the 530am wake-up call, the stretching California hills, the sound of 20 other pairs of feet next to mine, that will all be put on hiatus as I jump start my professional life.
And that hiatus, to me, is the DIII Difference.
DI waits for nothing, DIII waits for me. It just depends on how much I want it when I come back.
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