One Goal Down, Many More to Go

Hours after finishing the Smuttynose Rockfest Marathon, a good friend told me in a Facebook message, "It's so amazing that you continue to set new goals."

She's exactly right. After a week and a half of relaxing, catching up on the DVR and yard work, and not doing load after load of laundry, I'm ready to get back at it.

So what is next? In a week and a half I run the Ashland Half Marathon. It's nearby, it's inexpensive and it starts at the original Boston Marathon start (before it moved west a bit to Hopkinton). I wanted to run the inaugural race last year, but it fell one week before my marathon, so I passed. The timing's better this year, and I managed to recruit a couple friends to boot.

Beyond that, I'm not sure. I like running Turkey Trots, but this year, I'm traveling. (This also rules out participating in the Runner's World Run Streak, though I plan to tackle the Runner's World Pun Streak.) I may tackle a couple wintry 5Ks with some friends or maybe do my first New Year's Day race, if I can find one. I'd love to set an "adult" PR in a 5K -- that is, a post college PR, since a sub-18 minute 5K is just about out of the question -- but I don't think I'm going to set a real goal.

Looking further, I think I found my 10th marathon: Maine Coast, on Mother's Day weekend. I needed something early in the season, since I have at least four weddings this spring, and also one nearby, since I have at least four weddings this spring. I'd love to PR in this marathon -- I came within 18-odd seconds of one at Smuttynose, and I know what I need to do differently -- and that sounds like a pretty good goal to me.

I'm also pumped for the Runner's World Heartbreak Hill Half in June. I've trained on Heartbreak Hill many times -- starting with a hill workout as a high school freshman -- and love running in the surrounding area. (Plus, now the Runner's World editors can meet the guy who bugs them on Twitter.) The half is also accompanied by a 5K and 10K. I've never done more than one race in one weekend, so doing three (in this case, the Hat Trick) will be a reward worth the effort. Plus, I like hats.

I've talked about setting running goals before. It's important to have a goal in mind for each run, even if it's simply "Get out the door." Running is awesome, but as its detractors are quick to point out, it's also boring and repetitive. They're not wrong -- and that's why continuing to set goals, especially several months in advance, will keep you running through it all.

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.

13 Tips For Your First Road Race

A colleague recently asked a couple folks on Twitter for some advice about preparing for his first 5K. I suggested that he not think too much about it. 

As it turns out, there is a lot to think about before your first road race. After all, it’s your indoctrination into the Cult of Running, and it’s human nature to not want to be That Guy, whether you’re standing in the wrong spot, wearing the wrong shirt or hitting the wall less than a mile into the race. 

To avoid embarrassment, real or otherwise, here’s a few things you should do. 

Stick to what you know. Now’s not the time to try something new. Wear clothes, including shoes and socks, that are comfortable and familiar to you. If you eat, make it the same light breakfast you usually have. (If you’re a bacon-and-eggs type, save that for post-race brunch.) If you drink anything, make it water or your sports beverage of choice. Coffee is OK in limited quantities. Don’t drink a ton, though, unless, you know, you like waiting in line for Port-a-Pottys. 

Plan, plan and plan some more. Give yourself plenty of time to get to the starting line. Research your parking options and try to find a spot convenient to bib pickup, the starting line and the finish line.(If you’re lucky, all three are in the same spot.) Plug the race address into your phone and review the directions the night before, as you may wake up so early that you're incapable of rational thought. 

Leave early. I like to leave my house such that I’ll arrive an hour before a race, perhaps earlier if it’s a long race, a race I’ve never done before or a race where I expect a lot of traffic. If I’m early, I’ll just sit in the car and kick out the jams for a bit. 

That said, stay loose. You don’t need to jog for half an hour, but you shouldn’t sit in your car until two minutes before the gun goes off. Walk around a bit. Take a swig or two of water. Do some dynamic stretches, such as squats or lunges, to get your blood flowing. (This has the added effect of psyching people out.) Don’t head to the starting line until it’s about 10-15 minutes before gun time. 

On the line, breathe. There will be a lot going on. People pose for pictures. People look for friends. People violate your personal space. People pose for more pictures. Do your best to ignore it all. 

Don't stand up front. Unless you plan to win, you wore the greatest costume ever or you personally know the race director, you can stand back with the hoi polloi. Larger races will use corrals that put faster runners up front and increasingly slower runners further back. Look for signs that mention a specific pace per mile, find the corral that best fits your pace and make some friends. 

Don't take off like a bat outta hell. It's hard to avoid starting too fast. I've been running for 18 years and I still do it myself. About 95 percent of the time, I regret it. You will, too. Keep breathing, stick with the pack around you (you made friends, right?) and remember that the thundering herd will quickly thin out. 

Push yourself, but not too hard. I know, it’s like saying, “Take your time, but hurry up.” Presumably, you signed up for this race in part to see what you’re made of. You should be going faster than you did on your training runs. Don’t hold back, and you’ll surprise yourself. That said, it’s your first race, so be careful. At any sign of non-routine discomfort (that is, anything that’s not the usual soreness or tightness that all runners feel), dial it back a bit. 

Don’t worry about hydration. Unless it’s obscenely hot out, you’re probably not going to need to drink water during the course of a 5K. If you do, one little cup will suffice. (Obviously, this will be different for longer races, but for now you’ll be fine.) Anything more and it’s gonna slosh around in your stomach. 

Enjoy yourself. Odds are you’ve never had people cheering you on. Soak it all in. Use that to push you if you start getting tired, sore or cranky. Once you cross the finish line, make the most of the post-race festivities (especially the food). Rehydrate. Find the friends you made, or the friends you already have, and cheer them on as they cross the line. Make plans to run together again. 

Stretch. You don’t have to do this at the race itself -- though if you’re feeling tight, you probably should. But at some point during the day, take a few minutes to stretch. Remember, you’ve never run this fast, so you owe it to your legs to treat them right. (You’ll probably want to stretch the day after the race as well.) 

Treat yourself, albeit within reason. I usually grab coffee and breakfast on the way home. You should, too. And it’s more fun with friends. If it’s the right time of year, you could always get ice cream. 

Oh, one final thing: The race T-shirt is like the concert T-shirt. Don’t wear the race T-shirt during the race itself. Amateur. But if you need to change after the race, the race T-shirt is acceptable. Plus, it’s a silent way of explaining to the folks in the coffee shop why you smell so bad.

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.

Remembering My Running Anniversary

Generally speaking, August is a stupid month. Sure, some awesome people have birthdays, but August is pretty much a longer, warmer, Monday-holiday-less version of February.

That said, I do look forward to the end of August, as it's my running anniversary. It was at this point 18 years ago, right before my freshman year of high school, that I started running.

I was always an active kid. I played Little League baseball, youth basketball and lots of pickup football. (I failed to hono[u]r my father's Canadian heritage and never tried hockey.) But puberty robbed me of what shred of coordination I possessed.

On top of that, I was starting at a new school. I went to public schools until fourth grade, when I a) discovered sarcasm and b) got bored. My parents thought a Catholic school might help, so I went to one for middle school. (It didn't. I emerged more sarcastic, largely agnostic and still bored.)

A couple weeks before the beginning of school (which in New England is around Labor Day), the local paper ran an ad listing the dates and times of fall sports tryouts. I wanted to do something, but I hated playing soccer, was way too small for real tackle football and had never tried whatever were the other fall sports. (Hey, it was 18 years ago. I don't remember.)

Then I saw cross country. "How hard can that be?" I wondered. I also that no one ever got cut from cross country teams. Done.

I showed up the first day of practice in high-top basketball shoes and knit shirts. It took me at least 45 minutes to cover the 5K course, and I stopped several times. Needless to say, I wasn't really cut out for running.

But I persisted. After all, I'm stubborn and competitive. (Those plus sarcasm are a mighty mix.) Plus, once I finally invested in running gear and stopped finishing dead last, I kinda liked it.

Now, I never imagined I’d still be running 18 years later. After high school, I went to a small, urban liberal arts college that would have been Division IV in athletics if there were such a thing. The urban part, though, made running easier, not to mention fun, and aside from a preventable bout with runner’s knee after my freshman year -- the cause? Insufficient stretching -- I haven’t taking more than a couple weeks off running since I took my first uncomfortable, basketball-shoe-clad strides in August 1995. 

I’ve detailed the stages of my running career before, so I won’t rehash them here. I’ll only add one thing: Despite the soreness, the chafing, the loads of laundry and the smartass kids shouting, “Run, Forrest!” I have no regrets. None. And every year, in the last week of August, I remember why.

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.