new site

Hi friends.

I went ahead and got a big-girl blog.

Check me out: www.seemeggierun.com

See you there!

Slice of crazy pie.

I did something crazy today. I signed up to run the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon on November 6th. That's 3 weeks after I run 26.2 in San Francisco.

Now, when I say crazy....this really isn't that nutty to me. In fact, it's more like I am finally letting everyone else in on my little secret. I have run enough races to know that 2 days after I cross a finish line, I am always looking for my next race. This flat, local marathon has been in my head for awhile. I did it last year, and though I promised I would never run that course again, here I am...back for more.

Yes, I realize that it takes 18-21 days to recover from a marathon. But I am going to rely on my base fitness level to get me through these races. And the best part... I have options. If the hills break me down and I am not happy with my performance in San Fran, I have another chance for redemption. If I dominate 26.2 at sea level, then this Indy race will be for calm, relaxed, pressure-free fun. Either way, I always knew I was going to run this race. I just finally pulled the trigger.

And how many times in my life will I be able to run 3 marathons in one year?

Pacing pacers.

To use a pacer on October 17 or to not use a pacer? That's the question.

In almost every marathon, there are designated pacers for finish times. These are amazing athletes who keep a consistent pace, leading a group of runners to a goal time. Along with carrying a sign to corral their pack, they also carry conversation, answer questions and motivate the group. You'd think that having someone like this in your corner would be an ideal way to complete 26.2 miles, but I have yet to fully take advantage of this benefit.

Marathon 1: I had two goals for my first marathon. One was to simply finish. My BHAG (Big Harry Ass Goal) was to get under 5 hours. I ended up leaving the pace group behind and finished in 4:53:26. I found the 5:00 pacer to be annoying, but mostly I just knew I could run faster and didn't want him to slow me down. Pacer 0. Meggie 1.

Marathon 2: This time, I started with the pace group but left them behind at mile 4. I was feeling good and got arrogant, thinking I could finish under my BHAG. Instead, the pacer led his pack right by me at mile 19...leaving me in the dust. I finished in my goal time at 4:35:45, but just barely. Pacer 1. Meggie 1.

Marathon 3: I didn't like her from the start. Her voice was irritating and I had no interest in being near her. I went ahead of the group and my heart sunk when they caught up with me at mile 15. Up until then, my pace had been great, but I was hurting. My knee and Achilles felt like they were on fire. I rejoined the group for a mile before I had to stop and walk. I finished in 4:41 after limping through a few miles. Pacer 2. Meggie 1.

Marathon 4: What to do? I know they are the professionals and I believe if I could actually force myself to run at their consistent pace the entire time, I would certainly get through the race easier. Not only will I have the support of a team, but I will have the expertise of someone who has run 115 marathons. Yes, you read that right. This homegirl to the right would be my pacer in San Francisco and she's done this 115 times. So I think I am going to do it. I'll have my trusty Garmin to help keep my pace and I think with Kathryn by my side, I just may be able to achieve my goals. (What are my goals, you ask? I'm not ready to say them aloud just yet.)

Pace is a funny thing. When I first started running, I hated how slow I was. No matter how many miles I ran, I could never let myself be proud because I always felt like the slug who was slower than everyone else. There is this older woman on the Monon who is an amazing speed walker. When I first started running, she'd pass me.

But the more I ran, the faster I got. And with every pound I lost, I gained 2 seconds/mile (Fact). It's crucial that I don't compare myself to other runners or I would constantly be discouraged. No matter how fast I get, I'll always be slower than someone. What's important is that I improve. I completed my first half marathon in 2:39. I ran my most recent half marathon in 2:00:11. That's progress I can be proud of. Now I pass that speedwalker with ease. Hell, I even passed a woman on a bike the other day. (Yes, she was going slow but a win is a win).

For those new runners...pacing isn't easy during the race. When the gun goes off and people are lined up on both sides of the course cheering, it's hard not to take off, your feet hitting the pavement in sync with that ringing cowbell. But the last thing you want to do is run out of fuel before the finish line. So as you are prepping for a race, always run with a watch to at least get a barometer check on your speed. If you aren't running on a trail where the miles are marked clearly, a great resource to build your paths or track your miles is through http://www.mapmyrun.com/. Once you know a comfortable pace for your long runs, you can plan to keep a consistent pace on race day. And nothing feels better than powering through those last miles with the adrenaline drive and the surplus energy you have stored up.

So as I start my crazy, stressed-out, over-analyzing phase that always occurs right before a marathon, I think I'll rest easy knowing that Kathryn and I are going to do this together. If I cross the finish line with her by my side, I'll have achieved my goal time.

Hills.

The Nike Women's Marathon is less than 3 weeks away. I have been training for 12 weeks and yet just today decided I would do hills. Now, I have done some incline training on the treadmill, but actual sprint-up-the-hill-sprint-down-repeat training has been neglected. I used the excuse that Indianapolis was too flat for hill training. But it was just that. An excuse. So after work today, I went to Crown Hill Cemetery to take on Indy's highest point.

It's a gorgeous night and the cemetery was deserted. I found a parking spot near an area of the cemetery that resembles an old, miniature Arlington. I turned on the GPS watch and started running. I wasn't sure where the highest point resided, but it was easy to find. And when I did, I started running toward "The Crown." As I escalated up this 842.21 foot hill, my running turned into a jog. My jog turned into a climb. The pace calculator on my watch was dropping rapidly as I made my way to the top. Sweat poured off me. God I hate hills. But if you are going to run a hill, there isn't one much better than this. Not only does The Crown possess an absolutely breathtaking view of the city, but it's also the final resting place for poet James Whitcomb Riley. Becoming king of the hill isn't easy, but the conquest is sweet.

Once at the top, I took a quick breather and turned around. Though running downhill is significantly easier on your lungs, going down a steep decline takes tremendous muscle control, something that's in short supply when running a marathon. Through cycle one, and I hit repeat. Over and over until I could take no more. By the end of my hill workout, you could have just dropped me into one of the available 6-feet holes around. I was dead tired.

Why didn't I do this 12 weeks ago? I can imagine the benefits my body would experience if I incorporated this kind of workout more often. Not only does it help speed (see here), but doing this more consistently would have also better prepared me for San Francisco. The FAQs of the NWM claim that the hills on the course are "a welcome challenge to runners with a scenic view." Though I find every hill a challenge, none of them are welcome in my world. The elevation/course map looks daunting.

I've been a Monon Trail girl through and through for years. But Crown Hill may be my new favorite running spot. You might think running amongst headstones and mausoleums is creepy, but it's actually very serene. In addition to being a great place to do some hill work, they have mapped out both a 3-mile and 5-mile course for convenience. The gravestones are beautiful. The leaves changing. The pavement cathartic.

Chicken wing and man-pris.

I was mentally and physically ready for 23 miles. And then things happened.

At 4:30pm, I started on my run. I broke it down both mentally and in my route so that I would be able to manage it in small chunks. Three miles south of Broadripple. Then 5 out and back on the Canal. Then 5 out and back North of Broadripple. The first three were great. I felt like I was crawling, but was averaging a 9:20 pace. I knew I needed to slow down. Once on the canal, the mile markings aren't as evenly spread out, leaving me to my own devices to figure out pace. The Canal Path is gorgeous this time of year. Shade, shelter and quiet. Just a handful of bikers and runners, a few fisherman and a lot of ducks. It was lovely.

At 13.1, I stopped to use the bathroom in Broadripple, get chapstick from my car and at the last minute, grabbed my phone. I still had 10 miles to go and I thought maybe I could bribe myself to stay focused through the award of an occasional Twitter check (yes, I realize it's a sickness and no, I don't care.) Once I hit pause, I could feel the blisters on my feet - it felt like I was running in sandpaper socks. I also noticed the little black gnats that had met their demise on me. Literally stuck to the sweat on my chest and neck. Gross. Running is really not a glamorous sport.

Back on the Monon and I almost immediately get run off the road by a biker wearing man-pris. Jean man-pris. I don't love aggressive bikers to begin with, but if you are going to run me off the road, don't wear jean man-pris. Because that wardrobe choice may indicate a lot of things about you but it definitely means you aren't a serious enough biker to be running people off the road.

At mile 16, I feel my phone vibrate in my fuel belt (read: fanny pack for runners). I answer it on a whim and it's my husband. He too was running 23 tonight but needed me to come get him. He couldn't finish his run and was 6 miles away from his car. I had a decision to make: let him wait for another 70 minutes and get my 23 miles in, or turn around now and only get in 19. It was also getting dark fast. The Monon has a lot of tree cover and I knew I had a few woodsy areas to run through before I was in the clear. I made the right decision - I turned around.

The last miles, I was flying. Part of me knew I was almost done. But mostly it was because my overactive imagination had me scared. On a Friday night in Broadripple, there are plenty of cute couples holding hands and going to dinner. There are families eating ice cream. And then there are the smelly hoodlums. They dwell on the corner where the Canal meets the Monon and to get in the club, you have to shower minimally and reject deodorant. I ran by them 4 times and held my breath as I passed each time. Maybe these people are harmless but as the only runner on the Monon at this time, I didn't want to take my chances.

I get back to square one and meet JD. He's in a ripe mood. As I have said in previous posts, he really is a fantastic runner. But distance running is a science, and he apparently made some missteps in the equation. Too much food today. Not enough water. Leg cramps and stomach issues. Even the best runners have bad days.

So now we are home. Drinking chocolate milk (it's a great post-run recovery drink - check it out here.) I am thrilled with my run. It was a beautiful night, I felt good and had energy to spare. I know I could have done 23 tonight. And with more sleep, more food, rested legs, I can do 26.2.

I am sore and tired but the most immediate pain is on my bicep. My cheap iPod armband rubbed me raw for first 13 miles before I switched arms. It hurt so badly, I couldn't risk the chaffed part touching anything. Therefore I ran with it outstretched like a chicken wing. For the next 6 miles. As girls are decked out in cute dresses drinking wine in Broadripple, I am running by them with my chicken wing. I would have judged me too.

New blog.

Last week, I wrote about running on my book blog. I received so many comments, emails, FaceBook and Twitter responses, I decided to start a new blog. About running.


Let's get something out of the way here. I am not a great runner. I am not the fastest. I eat processed foods. I don't do the weight training I should. I am not an elite athlete and haven't been running my whole life. I run because it distresses me. Because it changed my body. Because it gives me confidence and strength. Because I love cupcakes. Because it makes me feel like a total bad ass when I complete a long run. I run because I can.


It seems that there are a lot of people out there that are like me. Normal people. Who run. And us runners, we like to talk to other runners. We want to hear stories of people going through what we go through. We like to talk about fuel belts and hydration and stretching. We pour through Runner's World magazine and get excited about a tent sale at the Running Company. I follow people I have never met before on Twitter, just because they run. I love hearing about what they have accomplished and what their challenges are. And so we bond together.


Unbeknownst to me, my running history and dedication has inspired others to start running. And maybe...just maybe...this blog will inspire more people to try running, stick with a training plan, or do the unthinkable. Maybe it's just a way to unite those of us who understand what it's like when you are 2/3 of the way through a 20 mile run and you see a friend. And you cry.


And if not, I have no doubt it will be therapeutic for me to put my thoughts to the virtual paper.

Ice Bath.

Tonight I took an ice bath. I'll start from the beginning.

The Nike Women's Marathon is less than a month away. I haven't been diligent in my training. The reasons sound like excuses so we won't get into them. But this last month is crucial. I am confident that I am in the best running shape of my life. But the same brain that possesses that confidence, also casts doubt on whether I can do 26.2 on October 17th. It's a mental game and in these last few weeks, I need to stick to my plan so that I am ready in both mind and body to complete the race.

This past weekend, my plan was to run a 4 mile tempo run on Friday, 5 miles on Saturday, 16 on Sunday. Normally my long runs are on Saturday, but I had a softball tournament that started at 10am, so I swapped for Sunday. Who knew that the tournament would be my demise.

I have played with this team for 4+ years. We do it for fun and usually aren't very good. But this year, we weren't just good, we were great. We dominated the league and had high hopes to take the tournament trophy. But in game 2, we lost. Given the double elimination format, we had to play all day to make it out of the loser's bracket and into the championship game. Seven games later, we ended up losing to the champion team, taking home the Runner's Up plaque. Now I consider myself an endurance athlete. I have stamina. But 8+ hours of softball, with just a 30 minute break did not do my body well. Swinging the bat, sprinting around the bases, diving and playing catcher (bend down, pick up ball, throw back. Repeat 497 times) left me completely wiped out.

Sunday comes and I wake up, fully ready for 16 miles. And then I try to get out of bed. My hips won't move. My back hurts. My arm isn't strong enough to hold a toothbrush. My quads feel like someone swapped the muscles with cinder blocks. Sixteen miles was out of the question. But there was always Monday. I ran 5 easy miles on Sunday to try to warm up the muscles. I even went and got a massage (dear god I could make that a habit). Monday comes around and I feel no better. Joints hurt and muscles are tight. Did I run a marathon on Saturday or just play softball? What the hell is wrong with me?

After work, I embark on my 16 mile journey, only to stop after 4 miles in pure exhaustion. I come home in tears. I am frustrated. Discouraged. I feel weak and like a failure. These last runs are so important and I let a softball tournament get in the way. After some counseling from the hubby, we rationally determined that the 23 mile run I have this weekend is the most important goal for this week. Sixteen means nothing in comparison. So, it was time to take drastic matters. I had to take an ice bath.

I have heard many long distance runners do this to force blood to the muscles and help them heal. It is supposed to speed up the recovery process. I sure hope it works.

I fill the tub with cold water. I enter the tub, wearing my swimsuit and a towel over my shoulders. Then my husband starts pouring in the ice. I scream. I wiggle. My legs twitch and shiver and shake. I feel the sky tumbling down (tumbling down). I remember hearing stories about sports teams and fraternities that forced people to get in barrels of ice water as part of a hazing routine. I now understand the punishment. Ten minutes was all I needed to endure. Ten long, drawn out, freezing minutes. But I made it through and immediately jumped into a warm robe, my legs numb with chill.


So now I sit. In my favorite tee shirt, socks and under the covers at 9pm trying to warm up. Tomorrow and Wednesday I will do light runs and on Friday, after work, I will run 23 miles. I will complete this run with fresh legs (hopefully) and a clear mind. Somehow I will force the devilish voice that tells me I can't do it, to shut the hell up. I took an ice bath to prep for this run. If I have to crawl home, at 10pm, in the dark...I will clock 23 miles.