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:
*It is worth mentioning that, while running the 18 miles seemed easier at the time, afterwards, I was hobbling around like a hinken for the first time on the intermediate schedule. It wasn't so much that I was in pain—though people around me kept asking if I was okay—the shuffles were due to the fact my leg muscles just didn't have anything left for me to use that day, as if James Doohan was down in my engine room yelling in a sweet Scottish accent over the intercom "Aye Cap'n, I've given her all she's got!".
**It's OK if you don't have a favorite Quiet Riot song. Not many people do.
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