Fueled by a constant fondness for indulging in flowing fits of nostalgia whenever possible, I feel compelled to post this particular song, on this particular day, because this particular blog began with a reference to the Ramones. Not that I really need to search hard for a reason to validate placing the Ramones in a post (because the Ramones are great!), but the added bit of relevance is all the more comforting.
It's been a year since it all began, and though I didn't intentionally plan things to happen this way, it's as if I'm commemorating our humble beginnings as vegan marathon runners (in training) by running the Osaka marathon this Sunday.
If any of you folks out there care to shout a "hey ho, let's go!" from your corner of the world for me come Sunday morning 9am JST, I'll be listening on the streets of Osaka, and appreciating the support.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Hindsight of 20/20
Two weeks ago I ran the first 20 miler of the intermediate schedule—the longest I've gone since completing the Tokyo marathon, which seems like a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away—and I was surprised, just how easy it was to do. Now, unless you're a seasoned ultra-marathoner, getting to the other end of 20 miles is surely an intimidating feat. I had apprehensions all morning prior to running the first one, even though I knew It could be done. In essence, somewhere subconsciously, I was aware that it was well within my realm of potential to complete, but that innate knowledge didn't prevent the neurosis attached to such a daunting task to arise regardless of past successes. Though doubt, becomes inconsequential once doing takes charge. So I broke the run into quarters, as if I was heading to the arcade to play some pinball, and prepped myself a hearty proton snack pack of goodies, which included:
1) a container containing cut-up slices of apple (Ginger Gold), banana, and dates.
2) a vegan cliff bar & GU energy gel
3) raw almonds
4) a whole heck of a lot of water, and a few other liquid themed variations on it (i.e. coconut water with chia seeds).
This was a fine assortment of fuels for any LSD well over an hour (this particular 20 miler took me 3 hours at a comfortable pace). I was happy at the conclusion of the run, and even briefly considered embracing Galloway's method of a 26 mile pre-marathon training run, which was acknowledged, then quickly dismissed as probably a bad idea to burst into spontaneously. The last time I ran an 18 miler left my legs feeling as if the distance had gnawed my muscle to the bone, leaving me with nothing more than 2 spindly nubs of ivory, and what little equilibrium there was left to wobble around on my own accord.
A brief, yet well appreciated, taper week later, and I was back on the starting line, staring down the spine of another 20 mile beast that I was pretty confident would sail right by without so much as sending a sneer in my direction. I'm going to speculate that this overconfidence, so early in the run, was what eventually hindered me the most later on.
Now, about that second 20 miles...
Saturday, October 1, 2011
The 18th Amendment
As has been the case for every second week of increased mileage I've ever done on a Hal Higdon schedule, the second bump in distance is almost always easier than the first. Last week's 17 mile LSD run felt 2x harder than this week's 18 miles*. I suppose this makes sense, because once the body adjusts to the initial increase in distance, what's one more mile? It certainly seems to vouch for the validity of the program itself.
Take a quick glance at Higdon's methods and you'll see, the 1st week tunes the strings, the 2nd week subtly amps up the volume, and then the 3rd week drops back to an acoustic rendition of your favorite Quiet Riot song** (repeat for 18 weeks). What starts to happen, especially in the latter weeks, is that the invisible miles—the Silent Running, if you will—hit you harder on that first week Back in Black. Then, come the second week, you ante up, and find it's not as big a bet as you once thought it was.
I won't lie to you. Running 18 miles is no easy feat by any stretch of the imagination. But, running 18 miles subsequent to charging through a 17 mile LSD the previous week makes it a whole hell of a lot easier to handle. The route I ran was a mixture of new and old. The way that the peak hills were laid out reminded me of a half pipe. I'd start out in one direction slowly heading uphill, just to roll back around to the flat center, before heading up and out in the opposite direction. Something about the mental simplicity of this image made the whole thing more easily digestible than a chewable Flinstones vitamin. If I have any advice worth giving at this point in my running career, it would be to break things down into the simplest accomplishments possible along the way. You will do yourself far better to see small victories in your runs, than to be consumed by a horde of ravenous zombies set to feast on your doubting mind while focusing on the enormity of the entire task ahead.
In other words, if you've never run a mile, then you focus on the stop sign at the end of the block, and high five yourself as you pass by it on your way to the next block. If you want to run a 5-K, then you focus on the half miles that get you there. If you want to run a marathon, you break it apart and put it back together like a 26.2 piece jigsaw puzzle depicting yourself crossing the finish line, because once you group the miles into nice little blocks, the long runs just become that much more fun to play with.
At times, your mind will tell you to stop. This is basic self-preservation. If there's pain, you have to quickly decide if the consequences are worth the risk. If it is fatigue, you just have to push through it. I know everyone is different, but I have found, time & time again, that when I hit a slump, as long as I persevere, I'll make it to another comfort zone that I never knew existed before. If I had to boil down long distance running to a single word, it would be perseverance. If you persevere then you will eventually get there. I believe that is a mantra you could do well with even outside of the context of running.
Footnotes:
Take a quick glance at Higdon's methods and you'll see, the 1st week tunes the strings, the 2nd week subtly amps up the volume, and then the 3rd week drops back to an acoustic rendition of your favorite Quiet Riot song** (repeat for 18 weeks). What starts to happen, especially in the latter weeks, is that the invisible miles—the Silent Running, if you will—hit you harder on that first week Back in Black. Then, come the second week, you ante up, and find it's not as big a bet as you once thought it was.
I won't lie to you. Running 18 miles is no easy feat by any stretch of the imagination. But, running 18 miles subsequent to charging through a 17 mile LSD the previous week makes it a whole hell of a lot easier to handle. The route I ran was a mixture of new and old. The way that the peak hills were laid out reminded me of a half pipe. I'd start out in one direction slowly heading uphill, just to roll back around to the flat center, before heading up and out in the opposite direction. Something about the mental simplicity of this image made the whole thing more easily digestible than a chewable Flinstones vitamin. If I have any advice worth giving at this point in my running career, it would be to break things down into the simplest accomplishments possible along the way. You will do yourself far better to see small victories in your runs, than to be consumed by a horde of ravenous zombies set to feast on your doubting mind while focusing on the enormity of the entire task ahead.
In other words, if you've never run a mile, then you focus on the stop sign at the end of the block, and high five yourself as you pass by it on your way to the next block. If you want to run a 5-K, then you focus on the half miles that get you there. If you want to run a marathon, you break it apart and put it back together like a 26.2 piece jigsaw puzzle depicting yourself crossing the finish line, because once you group the miles into nice little blocks, the long runs just become that much more fun to play with.
At times, your mind will tell you to stop. This is basic self-preservation. If there's pain, you have to quickly decide if the consequences are worth the risk. If it is fatigue, you just have to push through it. I know everyone is different, but I have found, time & time again, that when I hit a slump, as long as I persevere, I'll make it to another comfort zone that I never knew existed before. If I had to boil down long distance running to a single word, it would be perseverance. If you persevere then you will eventually get there. I believe that is a mantra you could do well with even outside of the context of running.
Footnotes:
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