Why I Do Long Runs By Myself

Every weekend in the winter and spring, hundreds of runners hit the Boston Marathon course for long runs. Along the way, they receive an inspiring amount of support--signs, impromptu water stops, cheering crowds and even cooperative cars.

I used to envy these runners. No one waited for me with water and a high five. Sometimes, I intentionally steered clear of the packs or waited until the afternoon, when I knew they’d be gone, in order to avoid all the hubbub.

Now, though, I happily coexist with the crowds, nodding and waving as I pass them. (For whatever reason, I often run in the opposite direction that they do.) In time, I’ve learned an important lesson: I like doing long runs by myself.

I think there are two key reasons why. First, for most of my life, running has been a solitary pursuit, a way to clear my head and, sappy as it sounds, figure out what matters. Long runs give me a lot of time to weigh the pros and cons of major decisions or simply sort through whatever may be causing me stress. Casual conversations with running buddies are great, but when push comes to shove, I need Beastwood Alone Time.

Second, I’ve come to realize that training should be tough.

I understand that support gets a lot of runners through the hell of three- or four-hour workouts (especially the folks I see training for Boston run who run for a greater reason than just running, which is certainly more than I can say for myself). I’m not one of them.

I understand that support helps mimic race-day conditions. I don’t want that. I want race-day conditions to be a veritable treat in contrast. Water stops? Awesome. Random strangers cheering and holding witty inspirational signs? Fantastic. Fuel in case I forgot / dropped my own? Outstanding.

Now, I’m not stupid. I fuel up before long runs, bring water on hot runs and track workouts and stick to well-traveled roads so I’m not far from help if anything goes awry. But when it comes time to run, I’m all business. No fuel, no unnecessary water, no human contact--just pushing myself to my limit, then pushing myself even further, all while thinkin’ ‘bout stuff.

Training should be tough because it makes you tough. Training should be tough because a marathon is next to friggin’ impossible, and if your mind, body and soul aren’t as tough as overcooked steak, there’s no way you’re going to finish the damn thing. Training should be tough because your race is a culmination of months of hard work, dedication, sweat, tears, protein shakes, stretching, eating, sleeping, fretting and pain--and if you survive all that, then, by God, you can make it through one race.

Does this make me crazy? (Crazier?) Probably. But I didn’t take my running to the next level by staying in my comfort zone. Odds are you won’t either.

Beating the Blah: 6 Ways to Conquer a Running Rut

There comes a point in every marathon training cycle when I stop, think and ask myself, “What the hell am I doing?” It usually happens when I reschedule key workouts because of weekend plans and/or insufficient sleep and find myself doing a long run on, say, a Tuesday morning two days behind schedule.

This time around, it happened this week. I’ve been doing pretty well, it turns out, hitting my pace goals in track work and exceeding them in my tempo runs. Running itself hadn’t worn me out. Everything else had -- the jobs, the yardwork, the ever-full summer social calendar. On Wednesday, collapsed in a heap on the couch, my wife turned to me and said, “You look half dead.”

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed for a tempo run. I extended the warmup by half a mile, figuring I’d need it. Then, a funny thing happened: I hit my pace goal for the first three miles. When I missed it for the fourth mile, I came back stronger for the fifth and sixth, finishing 10 and 18 seconds faster than my goal. One run undid a week malaise.

Running ruts aren’t uncommon. The constant pounding of the pavement takes a mental, physical and emotional toll. Proper training takes months; anything lasting that long inevitably provides highs and lows, and running is no exception. Plus, no matter how much we hate to admit it, running can be boring.

Conquering a rut -- “breaking the blah,” as I (cleverly) decided to call this post -- can happen in one of several ways. I highlighted having a kickass tempo run because that’s what just happened to me, but five other things will do the trick:

Cross-training. When I travel for business, I leave the running shoes at home and bring my bathing suit instead. I’m a terrible swimmer, mind you, but I enjoy it, so it gives me something to look forward to amid the long days, forced networking events and long nights that turn running into a chore. I return home recharged and ready to get back to running. If you’re in a rut, try biking, swimming or even walking.

Running “naked.” I run without a watch on my first few runs after marathon recovery. By not worrying about distance, pace or time, I enjoy myself more. If all the numbers associated with running leave you feeling overwhelmed, leave the watch at home for an easy run.

Resting. Never underestimate the value of a good nap. My test of whether I’m too tired: If I lie down and start to drift to sleep within 15 minutes, I skip the run. Yes, there’s value in running when you’re tired, as it prepares you for those final miles of the marathon, but there’s a difference between “a little tired” and “passing out on the couch tired.”

Racing. My ruts either fall smack dab in the middle of training or, conversely, when I’m not training for anything. With no goal in sight, I begin to wonder if it’s all worth it. Nothing changes my mind more quickly than signing up for a race. (Hint: To give yourself no choice but to commit, run with a friend or a team. Better yet -- volunteer to organize post-race brunch.)

Pausing. If nothing else works, maybe it is, in fact, time for a break. I’ve never reached this point, so unfortunately I can’t tell you how long your break should be or what you should do to pump yourself up in the meantime. But running pros take breaks, so there can’t be any harm in doing it.

We love running, and the last place we want to be is stuck in a moment that we can’t get out of. If you get yourself together, though, you won’t be able to lace up those shoes again.

Yes, Rest For the Weary

For many runners, “rest” is a four-letter word in more ways than one. Skipping a workout is anathema; taking time off, abject failure.

I understand where these feelings come from and can sympathize. In high school, we ran six days a week -- rain, snow or shine -- and hit the gym four times a week. We ran through coughs, colds, aches and pains. (In hindsight, many of us peaked in midseason but fell apart when conference championships and state meets came around.)

This run every day, balls-to-the-wall mindset remained with me for years, through college and beyond. Getting better, and reaching the lofty goals I set for myself, meant constantly pushing myself, day after day after day. Missing a workout -- just one -- would foul everything up. I was a runner, for cryin’ out loud. I was supposed to run all the time.

That has changed. Within the last year or so, I’ve learned to accept the power of rest. In fact, I’m writing this in the midst of a work week when I may not run at all, even though I have a half marathon tomorrow.

What happened? Well, life happened. When I started training for the Smuttynose Marathon, I had every intention of doing every workout in my Run Less, Run Faster program down to the letter. Then my wife spent the better part of two weeks in the hospital (she’s fine now), weeds took over my backyard and the second job started giving me eight-hour shifts every Saturday. Suffice to say, even running three days a week turned into a struggle. (Luckily, the second job requires enough heavy lifting and remaining on my feet to qualify, unofficially, as cross training.)

I decided to roll with it. My previous marathon had gone so horribly, horribly wrong, I reckoned, that even a half-assed effort would be an improvement. Looking at my training log, I decided to focus primarily on speed work and long runs. I was easily exceeding the pace goals for my tempo runs, so if I had a bad week, and I needed to cut one of my three weekly runs, that was the one. I also modified some speed workouts when pressed for time, since, well, half a speed workout is better than no speed workout. Finally, I slogged through my 20-mile runs, even though all three occurred in typical New England summer humidity.

In the end, it worked. Resting when I needed to helped me get more out of my key workouts. Crucially, I didn’t get sick. I also took it easy when nagging pain came on -- in my hips, once, and then again in my quad -- and didn’t let it derail all the hard work I’d put in up to that point. As a result, I avoided injury, too.

Was it easy? No, but it got better. Strange as it sounds, not being able to run when my wife was in the hospital probably worked to my advantage, training-wise; my thoughts were focused elsewhere, so staring at a gaping hole in my training was the least of my concerns. When my hips and quads ached, yes, I ranked among the downtrodden, but stretching and using a foam roller on my days off actually made my rest a bit more productive. Working as hard as I did made it easy to avoid taper madness, too, since I was ready to wind down and prepare myself for my race.

Like I said, this epiphany didn’t come easily. I’ve been running for 18 years, and it took 17 of them to realize that it’s OK to take an unscheduled rest day when you feel like crap. Yes, it sucks to look at your calendar through weary eyes and realize you’re putting off your Yasso 800s for another day, but if you’ll barely make it to the track, is there really any point in doing your workout at all?

(For the sake of perspective: When I skipped my workouts, I was usually so tired that, instead of getting up to get dressed for my run, I ended up falling asleep on the couch. Or, for runs slated for the morning, I was so tired that I took a sick day and slept until noon. That’s what I mean by “feel like crap,” not “I had a bad day at work” or “Gee, it’s starting to rain, I guess I’d better not run today.”)

Part of running’s beauty is its flexibility. Too damn tired to run today? Give yourself time to rest and do it tomorrow. Feeling a tweak in your hip? Stretch it like hell, foam roll it and take it easy in your first couple workouts. (Note: There is no innuendo-free way to foam roll the inside of your hip.)

The road’s not going anywhere -- and neither are your running shoes. Minor setbacks are an inevitable part of training. The key is to take them seriously, and respond to them accordingly, before they become major setbacks that derail your training altogether.

What the Smuttynose Rockfest Marathon Taught Me

On Sunday I crossed the line at the Smuttynose Rockfest Marathon in 3:13:21. This was good enough for 41st place, out of a field of about 940, and only 19 seconds off my marathon PR. Overall I am pretty darn pleased. Even with a good race, though, there are lessons to be learned.

As usual, I went out too fast. I passed the first mile in roughly 6:55 and the second in roughly 13:55. “(Expletive),” I said both times. (The start was so quick in part because Smuttynose Rockfest, taking advantage of the fact that it’s 2013 and all races are timed electronically, started the race in waves of waves. Folks were first grouped by pace and then send off in smaller waves every minute or so. By the time I reached the mat at the official start, I was already jogging, the group around me was small, and no one was in the way. As far as race starts go, this was one of the most efficient and sensible that I’ve ever seen.)

Then I looked around. It was a cool, cloudy and dreary day, the kind of day only a runner could love. The course was flat. My training hadn’t been perfect, but I’d done three 20 milers, all of them slogs on hot, humid August and September Sundays in New England, and I’d hit my targets in just about all of my speed workouts and tempo runs. “If not now,” I thought, looking back at my watch, “When?”

I maintained that unnecessarily fast 7-minute pace for 12 more miles. I briefly entertained thoughts of breaking 3:05 and qualifying for Boston. By the 15-mile mark, though, I’d regressed to 7:15 pace, and before long it was 7:30 and then 7:45. My last few miles exceeded 8 minutes, in large part due to an uncooperative left quad.

Overall, I ran a 7:22 pace. For months, I’d trained with the intention of running at a 7:15 pace, only to decide less than 14 minutes into my marathon to throw caution (and logic) to the wind and go faster. I didn’t necessarily hit a wall -- I never needed to walk, and even in my last two miles I was moving at a decent clip -- but I still slowed down.

Theoretically, if I’d stuck to the plan, and run 7:15 pace, I’d have finished around the 3:10 mark and PR’d by about three minutes. But I don’t regret starting too fast. Not at all.

Why? I went through the half around 1:32 -- still on pace for an admittedly unrealistic but not impossible BQ. That boosted my confidence. After an occasionally sporadic few months of training, flying through the first 13.1 miles like I did, and feeling good to boot, encouraged me to keep pushing. At a 7:15 pace, I’d have hit the half in 1:35 -- still great, still fast, but, in a way, routine.

Put another way, I took a chance. Yes, you could say it didn’t work. Look at the official results. A few folks who finished ahead of me were behind me at the half. They got stronger as I weakened. To use a phrase, I tried to run with the big boys, and I couldn’t.

You know what? That’s OK. My goal going into the Smuttynose Rockfest Marathon was to beat my marathon time from 2001. I beat that time (3:22:45) handily. A PR was a “stretch” goal, something I only anticipated if the conditions were perfect. (They weren’t; it was cool, yes, but it was also windy and rainy, especially when we ran by the beach.)

Crucially, the experience taught me a few things.

• I need to pace myself better. I knew this already, sure, but this weekend’s race further emphasized the point.
• I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. Back in 2001 -- my first marathon -- I went through the half around 1:32, too, but I fell apart shortly thereafter. This time, I didn’t fall apart as badly. I credit smart, largely successful training.
• I might need new shoes. My hips have hurt on my previous long runs and started to hurt in the second half of this race. I haven’t worried about it, as the pain’s present only when I’m moving and goes away after a couple days, but after a Twitter conversation Sunday night, I’m thinking it might be time for a gait analysis.
• Last year’s bonk, the worst race of my life, is behind me.
• Most of all, I know I can do better. If I maintained 7-minute miles for more than half of a marathon and didn’t collapse in a heap along the course somewhere, surely I can push myself further. If I strengthen my hips, or get shoes that correct my pronation, or both, surely I can push myself further.

Could I have run better? Yes. Could I have run worse? Yes -- much worse. Right now, I’m celebrating the fact that I just ran the second-fastest marathon of my life, but I’m also using the experience to find a way to make my 10th marathon the fastest one yet.

The best thing about running, after all, is that there's always another challenge to face, another goal to set and another race to run.

What It Takes to Beat Marathon Taper Madness

For many runners training for a marathon, the hardest part of training is actually the part that, on paper, should be the easiest: The taper. 

“Tapering” refers to the two- to three-week period between a final long run and race day. It’s a time to let your legs, your mind and your psyche rest after months of abuse. Put another way, it’s a time to heal, and stay healthy. before you hit the starting line. 

Why, then, do so many runners experience taper madness? 

For starters, it just feels weird. After running 40, 50 or 60-plus miles per week, we’re suddenly scaling back. We know, understand and readily accept why we’re doing it, but that doesn’t mean we like it. 

In addition, with less time to focus on training, our minds start to wander. Millions of things could potentially derail a two-mile jog around the neighborhood. Run 26.2 miles and you’re talking trillions of possibilities: Dehydration, pulled muscles, bloody nipples, wrong turns and a shortage of bagels and peanut butter at the finish line. It's even worse if you're running your first big race.

Finally, there’s the anticipation. Months of training, dedication and focus all hinge on an experience that will last anywhere from a little more than five hours to less than three hours. It’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself during the final countdown to race day. 

Conquering taper madness isn’t easy. That said, I’ve actually been pretty blase over the last three weeks. Going to two conferences for the day job, picking up extra shifts at the night job, and attending a wedding and engagement party in one evening have luckily kept my mind well occupied. (Plus, as I’ve noted a few times by now, I bonked horribly in my last marathon and know that I’ve done just about everything I can to make sure I don’t do it again.) 

Maintaining your sanity during a marathon training taper ultimately comes down to a few key steps: 

Keep yourself busy. Go to that movie, museum exhibit or show you’ve been meaning to see. Catch up on your DVR. Call your mother. Do some yardwork. 

Stay healthy. Retain the good eating habits that powered you through marathon training. Sleep. Avoid alcohol. (Unless you have a wedding and engagement party in the same night. In that case, celebrate, but drink lots of water and take some ibuprofen / aspirin before bed.) Don’t do dumb things that could result in bodily harm.

Trust your training. You made it, right? And even if you didn’t, you can’t go back in time. What’s done is done. 

Don’t overthink your outfit. Just pretend you’re packing running clothes for a few days and you’ll be fine. Seriously, though: Pack the clothes you like the most. Don’t worry about getting all matchy-matchy -- your clothes will be so absolutely disgusting by mile 15 that no one will notice if the trim on your shirt matches your shoes. 

Check the weather and, if necessary, adjust your goal. Remember, you’re most likely to achieve your goal when it’s 60 degrees, overcast and calm. Even the slightest hint of inclement weather will adversely affect your time. If you know this going in, you can adjust your pace accordingly and reduce the likelihood of both bonking and disappointing yourself. Aside from my PR race, I’m most proud of the marathon I ran in the snow -- I knew my pace would be off, so I dialed back and ended up coming as close to a negative split as I ever have.

It’s easy to drive yourself crazy during a taper, but it’s also easy to shift a bit of focus away from your marathon and back to the things you had to give up when your training was at its worst. You can’t forget the big race altogether -- nor should you -- but you can make sure it doesn’t take over your life.

Looking Back on My First Marathon

With my ninth marathon, Smuttynose Rockfest, rapidly approaching, and with many preparing to embark on fall marathon adventures, I thought I’d partake in an equally humorous and cathartic exercise and relive the calamity of my first marathon. 

I was a 21-year-old college junior when I toed the line at the BayState Marathon in October 2001. My longest training run had been 18 miles, and that hadn’t been planned -- I managed to get lost in the vicinity of Jamaica Pond and inadvertently add a couple miles to my planned route. (Aside: How the hell did we map out long runs back then? I’m pretty sure I just guessed.) 

My goal, of course, was to finish in 3:10 and qualify for the Boston Marathon. I’d written “3:10 or Bust” on a sticky note that I’d taped to the wall next to class/work schedule. Naturally, I knew nothing about proper marathon training, cross-training, eating or recovery -- though I did have enough sense to write “avoid beer” in my planner in the three weeks leading up to the race. (Yes, I was legal. And no, I didn’t take my own advice.) I was so poorly prepared that I never wore a watch and didn’t think to actually get one until the day before the race, for $7, at my local Walmart. (Hey, I was on a college student budget.) 

I started the race well and maintained a BQ-ready 7:10 pace for at least the first 13.1 miles and, perhaps, longer. (It was 12 years ago, after all. The memory’s foggy) Around the 16-mile mark, though, my legs turned to jelly. I collapsed into a telephone pole, clung to it for dear life, and began the humiliating 10-mile, 90-odd-minute Walk/Jog of Shame to the finish. 

I crossed in 3:22 and change, collapsed on the ground, napped on the futon at my parent’s house and hobbled around campus for a couple days. (I did at least stretch once I’d returned to my Boston apartment that night. Otherwise I very well may still be on the futon at my parent’s house.) 

For a variety of reasons, I didn’t do my second marathon -- also BayState -- until 2006. That one didn’t go as planned, either. I came down with a wonderful bout of runner’s knee the month before, missed my last week of real training and the first week of my taper, and went into the race with no real goal of any kind. Finishing around 3:33 was a blessing as far as I was concerned.

Both races taught me a lot.

• You need a real training plan, and you need to do your damndest to stick to it. 
• You need to set a realistic goal. Especially if, you know, you’ve never run a marathon before. 
• As I was painfully reminded of this in my eighth and, to this date, worst marathon, sometimes it’s better to be smart than fast. Especially if, you know, training hasn’t gone as planned.
• Training for and running a marathon is freakin’ hard. In 2001, my roommates thought I was nuts. (To their credit, they were genuinely concerned about my tardiness on the day of my sojourn to Jamaica Plain.) Today, my wife thinks I’m nuts. (Well, marathon training is only part of it, I suppose. And, in buying compression socks for my birthday, she enabled me.) 
• Most importantly, no matter how badly you bonk, no matter what fluids emanate from your body, no matter what hitherto undiscovered muscles ache, nothing feels more satisfying that running, jogging, stepping, hobbling or crawling across the finish line of a marathon. 

Have fun this fall, everyone. Remember: Even if you miss your time goal, fail to qualify for Boston or get a swanky age group prize, you’re still doing something that the vast majority of the population doesn’t have the intestinal or testicular/ovarian fortitude to even start, let alone finish. 

If nothing else, you will finally get to eat and drink whatever the hell you damn well please, with no fear of consequence, for a few days at least. (Until you start training again, of course.) And a futon in your parent’s basement will suddenly become the most comfortable bed in the world.

For Speed Work to Succeed, You Need the Will to Run Through the Pain

As marathon training has progressed in earnest, I’ve been reintroduced to the funtasticness that is the speed workout. Aside from the occasional fartlek, I hadn’t done legitimate speed work since college and hadn’t set foot on a track since high school. 

I never really liked speed work. Anything shorter than a mile felt like a sprint, and, let’s face it, I wasn’t a sprinter. I spent most of my time toward the back of the pack, simultaneously marveling at the speed that my teammates had and cursing them for it. 

These days, speed work feels much different. It’s a solitary activity, as I’m not on a team, so I am only running against the clock. It’s also specifically targeted to a race goal -- a 3:10 marathon -- not to going balls to the wall and/or impressing the girls’ team as much as possible. 

The targeted times of Run Less, Run Faster help, as they make it easy (in theory, at least) to set a pace, stick with it and maintain it over the course of a workout. But they still make you hurt -- and it’s a different sort of hurt than grinding out the last miles of a long run or hitting the pace goal of a tempo run. 

Track workouts hurts because they beat you up from the first interval and don’t stop. Your legs continue to burn with each rep, and it becomes harder and harder to hit that goal time. 

This leaves you with two choices. One is to stop, to say you did all that you could, scrape what remains of your pride off the track, and stumble home with your tail between your legs. The other choice is to reach down, deep within yourself, and finish the damn workout. 

(Yes, this song is longer than some track workouts. It’s also awesome. So there.) 

I’d be lying if I said this was easy. I’d also be a hypocrite if I neglected to mention that I’ve been guilty of taking my foot off the accelerator this summer. “Who cares if my sixth 800 is a few seconds off,” I told my sweat-covered self, “if my first five 800s were all within one second of my goal pace?” 

Here’s the thing: The pain goes away. If your cooldown is slow enough and long enough -- mine is close to 1.75 miles, or the distance from the track to my house -- you’ll feel fine by the time you get home. Stretch and foam roll later on, and you won’t even be sore when you go to bed. 

But the next time you step onto the track, you’ll remember that you do, in fact, have enough in you to throw the hammer down for the entire workout. And when you step to the line for your next race, you’ll be that much more prepared than the folks in the crowd around you.

Running Through the Dog Days

In New England, the term "dog days of summer" refers to the hot, hazy and humid days we typically have between the Fourth of July and Labor Day. (Yes, it’s hotter, hazier and more humid elsewhere, but we often get all three at once. Plus, let’s face it, we wouldn’t be New Englanders if we weren’t complaining incessantly about the weather.)

For many, these conditions coincide with fall race training plans -- and, not coincidentally, a spike in half-full but fully nasty loads of laundry, electrolyte consumption and smothered hot dogs eaten with absolutely no guilt whatsoever.

That’s the glorified part of summer running. The tough part is getting out there in the first place. But I’m getting better.

I like cold weather running. (When cold weather returns, I’ll explain why. To do so now would just be mean.) I hate hot weather, period, whether I’m running, walking, doing yard work, or sitting two feet in front of a window air conditioner. Once I start to sweat, I can’t stop. It’s so bad that my friends, God bless them, know better than to plan events that involve long hours in the hot sun.

I hate hot weather, but I like running fast. And, as more than one person on Twitter has put it, “Suffer in the summer, fly in the fall.” Work your way through tough conditions in July and August, the saying goes, and your autumn race will seem like a walk in the park.

So I've been taking my own hot weather running advice while, at the same time, slowly overcoming my fear of the sun when it makes sense to do so. (I've found, surprisingly, that track workouts are good candidates for warm weather runs, thanks to the frequent breaks.) Each run, in turn, gets a little bit easier, and the heat affects me a bit less.

You know what? Running in the heat ain't so bad. And if it'll help me fly in the fall, even better.

My (Somewhat Pathetic) Marathon Bucket List

Most runners have a bucket list of races they want -- nay, need -- to do in their lifetime. Some even aspire to run a marathon in all 50 states. 

I have no plans to do so. I’m cheap, for one, plus there are many parts of the United States I have little desire to take one step in, let alone 40,000 or so. I also really, really don’t like to travel, as I’ve pointed out. Finally, I’m not a fan of enormous marathons such as New York and Chicago. They overwhelm me. (Though I do have a very unbiased exception, as you’ll see.) I prefer smaller, local marathons within a reasonable drive. 

However, seeing Big Sur 2014 sell out in like an hour got me thinking about my own marathon bucket list. Admittedly, it’s not very long, nor is it terribly specific, but it gives me something to strive for, even if it's decades away.

Boston. It’s the original, for cryin’ out loud. Plus I live less than half a mile from the course. I’ll endure the huge crowds at the start in Hopkinton to run in what’s arguably the greatest marathon of them all. 

Mount Desert Island. This one’s in Acadia National Park in Maine. It’s a beautiful setting for a tough race full of hills. Definitely not one to run if your primary goal is a BQ. 

Bay of Fundy. This one’s in Lubec, Maine. This tiny town, the easternmost in the 50 U.S. states, is across the bay from Campobello Island in New Brunswick. You run in two countries. (Passport required.) It doesn’t get much cooler that that. 

Big Sur. A few folks I know ran this year, and their pictures were so amazing that I was convinced to run it at some point in my life. 

Disney. My wife has no interest in running, and for that reason I let her stay home and sleep when I get up at the crack of dawn to go run a race. But Disney is her favorite place on earth, and if I run this one I know she will be there, waving some sort of sparkly princess accessory, as I cross the finish line. Then she’ll tell me to go shower. 

Somewhere in Canada. I'd love to embrace my Canadian heritage (my dad was born in Kapuskasing, Ontario and my family is sprinkled throughout the Great White North), so any of a number of marathons in eastern Canada -- Ottawa, Quebec City or either Toronto marathon -- sound great to me. (Montreal is now part of the Rock n Roll Marathon conglomerate, so that's less appealing.)

Bonus: Antarctica. I’ll never be able to afford this, and spending so much time on a boat before I run would be drive me bonkers, but running with penguins might actually be cooler than running a marathon in two countries at the same time. 

Since this list is a little pathetic, help me out. What marathons are on your bucket list? If you’ve done them, did they live up to the hype? If you haven’t, how are you going to make sure you get there?

Morning or Evening Runs: Pick Your Poison

As it begins to get (choose your favorite expletive) hot here in New England, I'm increasingly considering early morning runs. As I've repeated here, I'm not a morning runner. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes I have little choice but to hit the road only slightly after dawn. (Not today, though. Damn cats woke me up twice in the middle of the night, so I just snoozed right through the 6:30 a.m. alarm.)

From my experience, here are the cons of morning vs. evening runs. (Why just the negatives? I'm a smartass.)

Mornings are early. And the warmer the climate, the earlier you need to get up. A friend in Texas is running at 5 a.m. to beat the heat. No thank you.

Evenings are dark. It's cooler after sunset, yes, and running in the heat sucks, but you must wear reflective gear, including a headlamp. And what's attracted to bright lights after dark? Bugs. Yep.

Mornings are sluggish. It takes longer to warm up because you have to wake up. Getting up early, for me, isn't the issue. To wake up, on the other hand, I need to shower, eat and have a cup of coffee (or five). I'm not doing that before a run. That's just silly.

Evenings are unpredictable. Early sun can give way to late thunderstorms. Your boss can schedule a last-minute 5 p.m. meeting. Lunch can disagree with you (or, if you're busy or forgetful, not happen at all). Or 1,234,567,890 other things can happen after you wake up.

Mornings are early. Yes, I said this already, but it bears repeating. You burn the midnight oil? Watch Conan? Own pets who love to wake you up in the middle of the night? Yes? Then you're hitting snooze.

Evenings are busy. Like eating dinner at a normal time? Meeting friends after work? Showering only once a day? Actually relaxing at the end of the day? Yeah, I thought so.

In a perfect world, I'd always run in the morning. It leaves me energized for the rest of the day, due in no small part to having accomplished something great before I even get to the office. I also wouldn't have to spend as much time weighing my water vs. coffee consumption.

Then again, I wouldn't have stiffening legs as the day dragged on, a hankering for lunch at 10 a.m. or a need for a nap in the early afternoon, either.

In the end, it makes sense to stick to what works for your work, school, life and biological schedule. Old habits die hard, after all -- and if you do want them to change, it takes time and effort. 

You can’t, ahem, wake up one morning and decide that you want to run in the morning. You have to make a conscious effort to change -- record Conan instead of watching it live, lay out your running clothes before bed, make a date with someone who actually likes getting up at the crack of dawn to run, and so on. You won’t like it -- and, as I can attest, it may never work -- but you’ll never know if you don’t try.

Whatever you do, though, be safe. Leave the headphones at home and, if it gets too hot, dial it back a bit. Remember, no run is worth an ambulance ride.

One Bad Workout Does Not a Marathon Training Program Make

This week marks the first of my 16-week training program for the Smuttynose Rockfest Marathon. I’m using Run Less Run Faster, which I tried a few years ago but abandoned after a few weeks when it became obvious that I wasn’t going to be ready for a marathon. (I hadn’t registered, so I didn’t lose any money. Otherwise I would have put a lot more thought into my decision.) 

I like Run Less, Run Faster because it only requires three workouts per week -- one speed workout, one tempo run and one long run -- along with one or two days of cross training. It’s tough, but it’s also realistic for those of us who prefer to have a bit of a life. 

Being relatively familiar with the program, but having not really looked at it in a long time, I didn’t glance at the program until last weekend. First workout? Three repeat miles in 6:01. Yikes. 

Due to some not unforeseen circumstances, I ended up doing this Wednesday morning. As I’ve noted, I’m not a morning runner, nor am I a huge fan of speed workouts. And it showed. After clocking 5:57 and 6:05 in my first two miles, my body just stopped working a bit less than midway through the third mile. Just stopped. I’d reached the top of a hill, but, nope. Wasn’t happening. 

I used the unexpectedly long cool down to mull things over. Initially, I was pissed, but the more I thought about it, the more I, well, cooled down. First, this was my first legitimate speed workout in a few years. Yes, I’ve done plenty of fartleks, but no timed intervals. Second, this was my first hard run in the morning in several years. When I run in the morning, it’s always easy. Third, it was my first freakin’ speed workout. I have 15 more.

Fourth, and most important, this isn’t supposed to be easy. It is was, sidewalks would be clogged with water bottles, empty energy gel packets and other signs of folks training for a marathon. It’s hard -- damn hard -- and not every workout is a walk in the park. Yes, this one hurt a little more because it was literally my first workout, but I’ll have plenty of chances to redeem myself -- least of all on race day. One bad workout won’t keep me down.