I Know, I Know

The race report is delayed because I've been out playing! Er, training. Both.

To report on since race day: a good hilly 6-miler, an outstanding 10-mile trail run, and a whiz-fast-fun 20-mile road bike outing. Oh, and a mediocre swim.

In the meantime, official race photos are at:
http://www.asiorders.com/view_user_event.asp?EVENTID=18686&BIB=310&S=230&PWD=

Unofficial ones coming soon.

If you don't already have spring fever, caution. It's going around.

Results

4:31

A personal record! Four minutes better than last year!

Official race results posted at www.LittleRockMarathon.com.

The results posted in the Monday Democrat-Gazette were accurate as far as order of finish (I was 148th out of a field of 480+ women), but my listed time was about three minutes long. The paper posted "gun time" which is when the official race clock starts, but those of us toward the middle and back of the pack take a while to get up to the actual starting line, so we go by "chip time." Every racer gets an electronic chip to wear on his or her shoe and your own personal time starts recording when you cross a sensor mat at the start line. You also have to cross several mats throughout the race, like checkpoints, and then your "chip time" stops when you cross the mat at the finish. I hear that next year we may get GPS chips so we can be tracked online, which would rock.

Photos and race report coming soon. Thanks to everyone for the love and support.

Soothing Thoughts

Things I found calming this week...

The moon rising over our neighborhood.

Having the pool to myself.

The best dog a girl could have.

Gnu Shoes II

With a season's worth of mileage on my shoes, they were due for retirement. On Monday a brand new identical pair of Brooks Adrenaline GTS 6's came out of the box. They got a few miles on them this week and will be excellent for the race. Hurray for gnu shoes.








Also waiting in the closet, sitting in a box ready to be unleashed, is a pair of Brooks trail shoes. I can hardly wait to get back out in the forest and look forward to some off-road and adventure races in the coming year.

Live Finish Line Webcam!

Local news outlet Fox 16 is planning to have a live video webcam on the finish line tomorrow from approximately 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. This is a new feature, so I have no idea if it will be anything of quality worth logging on for, but here's the address just in case:

http://www.fox16.com/content/marathon/default.aspx

I can't predict exactly when I'll get there, in part because I have no idea how long after 8 a.m. it will take the middle of the pack to get up to the starting line. Last year it took about two full minutes. So, if the day goes well, I'm shooting for anything under a 4:30 finish, meaning I'll arrive at the finish around 12:30 p.m.

There are a million variables that could affect my time, most of which I'm trying not to think about. The main worries right now are wind--it is blowing 21 mph today--and also drinking too much and getting a sloshy stomach as I did in my first race. Injury, illness, bathroom issues are also on the list. It will piss me off if I have to wait in line for a portapotty during the race. The clock keeps ticking, you know?

Route Map

Today's Arkansas Democrat-Gazette Sports section features a mile-by-mile description of the race route.

Things You Should’ve Noticed Around Town, Had You Been Paying Attention

(This post could also be called "Things most people don't care about because they're not participating in this race and/or they've never done event management so they have no respect for what it takes to get all this *@#! in place, but I am and I have so I do.")

The following things added to my excitement yesterday:

Barricades dropped off at Capitol and Woodlane.

Starting line area fenced.

A plethora of portapotties arrived.

More barricades at the finish line area.

Finish line fence ready to be built.

The Health & Fitness Expo opened.

Whoever puts this event together along has a huge job to do and I am so glad it's not me. There is an elaborate racer check-in area (that's Hobbit and Tom working the booth in the photos), plus 40 or so vendors, a free massage room, and lots and lots and lots of people who are as freaked out as I am. I volunteered at the Expo yesterday from about 1-6 p.m. It was a lot of fun to see teammates, co-workers, and friends as they checked in. I also got a free shirt. Because I needed more t-shirts.

When I got home and sat down to read the paper, here was just one more thing to increase my excitement.

This is the long, long Saturday wait. One day to go.

Calm Before the Storm

Last week I couldn’t resist these shots of the capitol. All was quiet on the Western front, with little indication that a major event would soon occur in this very place. A complex start and finish line operation will be built and broken down, within just a few days time, right here at the intersection of Captiol and Victory. The community will turn out by the thousands to run, walk, volunteer, and cheer. It'll be a big day in Little Rock.

Preparing

It could seem that running is simple: Put on shoes. Go.

Not so. In today’s world, there are a million ways to complicate this sport. As noted in previous entries, I’ve resisted peer pressure and am not a Garmin GPS slave. I also don’t have to have the latest iPod gadget, rain jacket, or other miscellaneous gear featured in Runners World magazine each month.

That said, I am pretty particular about a few things. I like my Brooks Adrenaline shoes and I know which technical clothing fabrics work for me, meaning they don’t chafe...running should not cause bleeding! I also have my favorite flavors of energy gel, and love my FuelBelt for hauling water all over town.

So last weekend I started to get a little nervous about the coming week, knowing it would be hectic at work and home, and decided to get my act together and gather all the stuff I’ll need for the race. A trip to the Easy Runner store had me remembering a clip from the Sesame Street shows I watched religiously in the 70s: A kid walked through his neighborhood toward the store, trying to remember everything his mom told him to buy. Over and over he said out loud (and why do I remember this?), "A loaf of bread...a carton of milk...and a stick of butter."

Into Easy Runner I walked telling myself, "A pair of insoles...a box of Gu...and a stick of BodyGlide."

I got out with all of the above plus a pair of shorts from the half-price rack. They didn't have the socks I wanted in stock, darn it. I figured I could run in older socks if I had to. New, fluffy socks would be awfully nice, but oh well. From there, a quick swing through Academy loaded me up on vanilla and lemon-lime Gu and strawberry-banana PowerGel.

There’s plenty of other prepwork to do. I made sure to eat three decent meals a day every day this week, including oatmeal and banana the past two days. Hydration is on track.

Today, I checked in at the Expo and picked up my race packet, meaning I can fasten my number and timing chip to my shirt and shoe. I also found the socks I was looking for, Thorlos, at one of the Expo vendor booths. Whew. It seems strange to fret about socks, but I was, just a little.

Tomorrow, I’ll print a pace band, like this one at left, to wear on my wrist or maybe tape on a water bottle. Anyone can customize a band at ClifBar.com. Enter your time and a pop-up window appears for you to print, cut out, laminate, etc, whatever. (For the record, the band says “Clif Shot” on it. I’m not a fan of their shots (gels)--see a previous story about a fast mile and a porta-potty at Two Rivers Park--but I do love Clif and Luna Bars and like what their company is about).

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up with more tingles in my hands and feet than I had today. I’m glad it’s excited nervousness more than nervous nervousness. I'm glad I have a lot of little projects to do around the house.

Tomorrow will be a long, long day of waiting. The race is Sunday, meaning there is just one long day to go.

LSD

It’s true runners are crackheads, but mostly in the figurative sense. It’s also true that running can be an addiction. However, should you find yourself in the company of fleet-feeters and overhear discussion about the benefits of using LSD, don’t be alarmed. They are not referring to the drug.

LSD, or Long Slow Distance, is a training strategy published by Joe Henderson in 1969. Its initial release apparently caused an uproar among elites, and its popularity has waxed and waned over the past four decades. In defense of LSD, Henderson asserted in 2003 that, “Our improvement probably didn't come from any inherent magic in slower running but because it was easier running. It let us freshen up between hard efforts and look forward to races as actual and figurative changes of pace, instead of dreading them as more of the same. In this way LSD was less a training system than a recovery system.”

Today, for mid-pack, slow-twitch muscled runners like me, it’s a strategy that works. Used wisely, LSD is a good periodic insertion in a long-term training schedule. When I do it, I intentionally—and it’s not as easy as you might think—run a minute or minute and a half slower than race pace on a long run, say, 14 miles or more. On top of that, Coaches Tom and Hobbit constantly remind us to alternate hard and easy days of training, and nearly every week we get to hear Tom hound us to remember we’re “training not racing.”

Besides being good for the body, Henderson believed LSD to be good for the soul and offered a favorite song quote as a reminder:

"Slow down, you move too fast. You've gotta make the morning last. Just kicking down the cobblestones. Looking for fun and feeling groovy."
-- Simon & Garfunkel

Soooo, besides regular LSD, I’ve been working on some alternate forms lately that deserve blog time. The first is Long Snow Distance. On February 1, I was incredibly fortunate to snag a run during a heavy snowfall

WOW.

It was late afternoon and I was planning to run anyway, as usual. I was all dressed and standing in the kitchen filling water bottles when I glanced up—out the window—and saw snowflakes. Not little pretend snowflake flurries. Big—no, huge—heavenly, softer than soft flakes.

Excitement soared inside me, making me as giddy as I used to get as a child having seen the same sight out the window. The difference is that as a kid, snow also came with a certain amount of stress, about whether or not we’d get enough snow to go sledding and then whether or not our parents would actually take us sledding.

(I lived in Oklahoma, ok? We had to drive somewhere to find a decent hill. I mean, we could make sliding down the neighbor's semi-steep driveway on old cafeteria trays last hours if we had to, but when we got lucky and our parents were in good moods, we went across town for real sledding at a country club golf course. I’m sure the golf course people loved us heathens for sledding and shredding on their manicured grasses).

So now, the only real stress that comes with snow is that I hope it won’t stay below freezing long enough for our pipes to freeze. Generally, as far as being out in the snow, just being out in it is enough to make me content. No sled stress. If I get to sled, eh. If not, eh. But if I get to RUN in it??? Yesssss.

I can’t even describe how storybook magic it felt to run through my historic neighborhood that day. Just enough snow had already fallen to blanket everything in white. It continued to come down, steadily. It wasn’t windy, so flakes fell straight down…slowly….quietly.

Almost no one was out, but a few others had the same idea as me and were out walking happy happy big dogs. We exchanged knowing grins when we passed, recognizing without speaking that we were sharing a secret winter wonderland.

The run took me out my front door, over to the Governor’s mansion, through downtown to the Clinton Library, through the River Market, down the “Medical Mile” of the Little Rock River Trail, across the Broadway Bridge into North Little Rock, through Riverfront Park, up and over the Main Street Bridge, and back through downtown to home. Total time was 1:38, so I’d guess it was around nine miles.

I sort of wish I’d taken the camera to snap pictures, but I am also sort of glad I didn’t. This memory is probably better preserved in my mind, fault-free. We all have a “happy place” inside us where we can go when we’re down. Actually, I have several, and this is a new one that I’ll treasure for a long, long time.

(I did go take a few photos later, to help remember how pleasant our streets are. Just imagine how nice this was with snow.)

The other type of LSD I’ve been “using” lately is what I’m calling Leisurely Short Distance. For the last three weeks, our team has been tapering our workouts, drastically reducing mileage to the point of ridiculous. This week called for several three- and two-mile runs. Tom said,

“At this point, you’re really not running for the aerobic benefit, but to keep the crazies from taking over your head.”

Right on. I managed to get out for an easy, slow, three-miler yesterday and today. It was quite pleasant to run my usual Hillcrest route a little backwards. Instead of coming up Kavanaugh first from the capitol, I parked at War Memorial gym and headed down Monroe, carefully across Markham, and continuing on Monroe and some other streets up to Kavanaugh. From there I headed down through Hillcrest, to the Mile 15 sign (PING), and then back.

I was dismayed, both days, about how long it took me to get loose. My feet and shins were stiff for almost the whole run. Then I recalled, duh, that it usually takes me about that long to get loose on long outings, and felt better. Both runs were followed by time in the gym’s sauna, which is a fantastic place to stretch warm muscles if it’s not too crowded.

So today was the last run. That’s it. I might work in a light swim tomorrow or Saturday, but nothing heavy at all. Maybe 500 yards to get my core and upper body loose. Tomorrow I’ll work half a day and then volunteer at the Expo / Packet Pickup. Saturday will make me crazy. I already know this. Waiting is hard.

Three days to go.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

Most motorists pass them daily without a thought. Pedestrians may notice them, but not register their meaning. Dogs probably pee on their poles. Me, I can’t not touch them.

Some might say it’s an obsession. A compulsion. Actually, it’s a form of prayer. A sign of respect. A tangible means of channeling hope and goodwill to earth and sky.

They stand like silent sentries, these twenty-six signs, guarding our course and showing the way. On every run that takes us past them, PING! My hand reaches out and tags the bright blue steel. A good tap sounds solid and is followed by a resonant wavering of metal in air. In my imagination it’s as lovely a sound as the centering chime of a monk’s prayer bell.

(pictured above: Mile 1, on the Broadway Bridge over the Arkansas River)

It started about two and a half years ago. One hot summer day, following my first marathon, I was training at Murray Park. During that first race, Murray had been a sore spot. There was vomiting, crying, pain, and enough fatigue to consider laying down on the side of the path and taking a nap. Seriously. Just like your parents always want you to do on the side of the highway should you become drowsy during a long road trip. Murray Park and I were not one. It was not a happy place.

Thinking, “How do I get over this?” I gently reached out and ran my fingers along the 22-mile marathon course marker standing aside the River Trail. Right then, rather than curse the course, I said aloud, “May there be many moons of health and safe journeys here. On this course I wish only good mojo.”

I swear I’m not making this up.

From then on, I touched that little sign every time I passed. Slowly, my anxiety and self-pity waned, leaving room for an attitude of respect and gratitude to grow. As I got stronger, and made the commitment to begin training for a second marathon, I began to look forward to my little moments with that sign. Soon I was looking for the others, and repeating my little mantra at each rendezvous.

Now, as our long training runs lead us to practice on various parts of the whole course, I’ve become familiar with each one and can't pass one without that ping. They are quiet motivators for discipline during my runs. When I see them while driving, I grin. It’s like having a little secret. Each prompts a private moment to reflect on (trying to) stay positive in training and all aspects of life. Fortunately, my teammates understand, and go out of their way to ensure I don't accidentally miss any.

Mile 8.

Mile 10, on Arch Street in Quapaw Quarter.

Mile 13, halfway.

Mile 14, on Markham in front of the School for the Deaf. This one is particularly special, as I passed it almost daily during my many winter weekday outings.

Mile 15, on Kavanaugh in Hillcrest. Another favorite, if familiarity breeds friendship.

Mile 16, on Kavanaugh in front of Mount Saint Mary's.

Mile 25, atop infamous Dillard's Hill on Cantrell Road.

Mile 26, on Capitol Avenue. 0.2 to finish.

To most, these may be nothing more than metal and paint, perhaps even distractions in the city’s scenery. To me, they stand for strength...loyalty...endurance. I can hardly wait to visit them all this Sunday.

Five days to go.

No Stress Six

From Saturday, 2.24.2007 - 6 miles:

Six is among my favorite numbers.

I was born in the sixth month, on the twenty-sixth day, of a sixth year in a decade.

I once knew a freckly redheaded kid named Six. We were on the swim team together. He had a haircut I wanted (and eventually gave myself). His real name was Something Something White, the Sixth. He spelled it VI. Ignorant announcers at big meets would call out, "In lane four........Vy White." VI would grin, our whole team would crack up, and he'd saunter up to the starting block.

Have I mentioned that the "taper" phase of the training schedule makes the mind go weirder places than normal?

So Saturday, we were scheduled for six miles. The route map was titled the "No Stress Six." A nice round number. Hardly worth getting out of bed for, but still, a nice distance. We met at the Art Center for a loop around downtown, including a trip across the river to North Little Rock. The group chattered with energy--rookies out of relief to be back down to six miles, and the rest of us because we're itching to go more.

The forecast called for heavy thunderstorms. We all hoped we'd get our miles in before it started. Most of us did. We were done and back under the overhand of the Art Center when lightning cracked and the sky fell down. A few walkers were still out and got drenched, but no one was harmed. I'm pretty sure it didn't rain on Tom and I because we decided at the last minute to wear our rain jackets for the outing. I was mostly sorry I did, because it was hot.

It was just Tom and I today. He ran fast; I kept up. We cranked out our six in 59:31. It was a great run...easy...fast...smooth.

At the end, while we were stretching and talking with some folks, he suddenly jumped up and touched the ceiling. I just stared at him. We both giggled. "You have wayyy too much energy," I finally said. He jumped around some more. "I know," was his reply, "Six miles is...is...not enough."

"No stress"...riiiight....this waiting around game is tough.

Six days to go.

What Doesn’t Bend Breaks

From Saturday, 2.17.2007 -12 miles:
Yes, I do think about quitting. Mostly I think about it at 5:14 every Saturday morning when the alarm buzzes. I think about it real hard then. The whole "You've come this far, you can't stop now" deal really does it's thing here. The investment is the majority of my motivation when I have to decide between sleep and run.

I also think about it for about the first ten minutes of my drive to wherever we're meeting. Creepies get in my head. Lonely thoughts. Worries about being dressed right, or feeling ok in my stomach, or what if I can't keep up today, or what is my life really about?

Then, I start to see other elves coming out of the woods. Sometimes I notice us at a stop light, our collective headlights brightening the dark morn; other times it's on a long dark road, like out by Two Rivers. Or today, along the road to Murray Park. Today I was driving along, thinking about how dark and quiet it was--moved enough by my solitude to snap a picture.

Only then did I look in the mirror and see...

There's much to be said for solitude in the right times and places, but the value of community, of having others around you who understand, is also strong.

Really, I thought a twelve miler would be easy. Two hours...out and back...no problem. Not so much. First, it was cold. Second, it was windy. Third, the previous week’s twenty-miler had not ebbed from my legs as much as I’d thought.

Tom and Chris were running an out-of-town race, so Jenna and I did this one on our own. Along the way we both admitted that we’d thought about sleeping in, but found out sly Tom had called each of us to let the other know we’d be there. Built-in accountability. Smooth.

It didn’t help that we were starting from Murray Park, right next to the Arkansas River. Wind screamed off the water. Whitecaps churned. We headed left out of the park, stayed on the road, took the new trail loop around the Jr. Deputy baseball fields (just below Cantrell Road), and headed back to Murray. Once there, we continued past our cars to the Big Dam Bridge, where we went up and over and around the detour loop built during the bridge’s construction. And back.

Heavy, heavy legs, for both of us. For a while, I thought it was because we were running fast, but even when we eased up they were stiff and slow. The whipping wind didn’t help. There’s a phenomenon nearly almost present along the River Trail in which the wind will persistently be in your face, no matter your direction of travel. Going out and back? As you head out into the wind, it’s tempting to think, “Gee, this is tough but at least the wind will be at my back on the home.” Untrue.

So apparently, that delightful twenty-miler took more out of us than we thought. It is frustrating to come off that high and then struggle with twelve.

“Was that a fluke?”...

... “Did I do something wrong?”

Am I sick?” ...

“What will happen on race day?”

... “Am I having fun?” ...

...“Is it a problem if I can’t decide on yes or no?”

The big adventure of the outing was getting across the Big Dam Bridge--twice. Wow! Icy wind howled and hammered us. Water streamed from my eyes, which I had to squinch shut to be able to see. I pulled my stocking cap way, way over to one side of my head to cover the wind-facing ear and cheek. With each step, I had to concentrate on balance, to avoid being blown over. It was that fierce! I don’t know how Jenna stayed on her feet, if it was enough to push my 144 pounds around. We made good time on both trips.

In the end, after a poll of several Garmins, it looks like we did about 12.49 miles in 2:08. Meaning, despite the heavy legs and seemingly fast pace, we were actually right on our usual 10:15s. Weird.

The soundtrack in my head pulled up a song I hadn’t thought of in some time:

Buildings and bridges are made to bend in the wind
to
withstand the
world,
that’s what it takes.

Obviously, the literal meaning applies here, but subtly, it was a good reminder to let the day’s struggles go.

Dress Rehearsal

Saturday, 2.10.2007 - 20 miles

I wish it had been race day. Everything was right. Temps in the 30s, no precipitation, wind lacking. A good turnout, meaning plenty of friendly support along the way. I ate breakfast and decent lunches and dinners every day that week, taking special care to have oatmeal with banana, my superfuel foods, two days out. I paid special attention to hydration too, drinking my bottle down at least three times a day at work and about that many at home.


The twenty-miler is a dress rehearsal. It's a marathoner's ultimate test of endurance and skill before going the full 26.2 on race day. We started with a six-mile base in August and safely, slowly built up to this distance. This is it. Research shows that practice distances longer than twenty miles do not provide enough aerobic benefit to outweigh risks of injury. Coaches and other experts say that if you can finish twenty, you can do 26.2.


Methinks the twenty-miler is actually harder than the full race. It has it's own special set of mind games. In the high teens my body is tired and hurting, and thoughts creep in like, "Gee, if I feel this bad at seventeen, how could I stand to go another almost ten miles on race day?" Those wonderings can usually be whittled away with friendly chatter and song lyrics sung on the inside. Thank goodness for my beloved Indigo Girls and myriad other folk musicians whose poetry I memorized years ago during countless drives between Arkansas and Oklahoma.


Worse thoughts manifest near the end of twenty miles when I add up minutes and miles and hours and feelings. "If this were marathon day," a whisper says, "You would still have to go another six miles. On a good day, that's another hour...and likely it'll be longer."


Bleh.


On race day, excitement fills the air, spectators fill front yards and parking lots, and really really nice volunteers give away free stuff and cheers along the way. That extra hour isn't fun, exactly, but it is feasible. On twenty-mile day, I just have to suck it up, get it over with, and prepare for three weeks of wondering how race day will go. That "extra hour" lingers, crowding thoughts at unexpected times. Inside there, in my mind, it has a dark gray color, like a sky heavy with rain on a day when I have big outdoor plans and need, really need, to know if rain will ruin everything.


But that's where I am now. More on that in coming days. As I said earlier, Saturday actually went well.


Before we left, (meaning, before I was awake), Tom got hold of my arm and strapped his Garmin on, so I could track our mileage and pace. We would start in front of the Capitol and run nearly the whole race course, save a mile or so in North Little Rock and the lonely out-and-back miles by Rebsamen and Murray Park near the river.


It was awesome....awesome...to be part of the team that morning. There were over a hundred there, and when Tom held up real race medals to show what they look like, a cheer went up that no one who's not part of this could understand. I thought about where I was three years ago, about to set out for my first twenty-miler, nervous and scared (and sick, but that's a different story), and I felt for the folks who were going on their first long outing today. I've come a long, long way in these three years and gotten stronger than I ever knew I could.




Tom and Chris, who were only scheduled to do nine since they have a 30K race this week, started out with Jenna and I, our little pod weaving in and out of walkers and runners through downtown. SuperCoach Tom is quite popular and we always wait on him to finish answering everyone's questions and end up starting last. It's ok. It's kind of fun to start in the back and reel people in for most of the run. Somewhere near Broadway, Chris and Tom ducked out for a pit stop and we never saw them again until we passed the Capitol around mile ten. We later learned they spent their last two miles chasing us down but never quite caught up.


I quickly learned that the Garmin's pace indicator is wack. Sometimes I'd look down and see 9:15 pace (yeah right) and seconds later it would read 12:30. It didn't really matter; I've pretty much learned what 10: pace feels like and can tell when we're on it or off. Jenna and I were steady, stopping just once in front of Central High for a porta-a-potty stop. Everything in my body got tired, but nothing felt injured. Feet, shins, knees, IT band, hips, back...all good. Like I said, I wish it had been race day, because everything felt right.



We crossed the finish line having gone a little long, 20.5, but staying on pace. 3:30.