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...
Right away I knew I was going too fast for a 20 mile LSD, and that I should immediately curb my enthusiasm. I knew this, and yet, was helplessly compelled to continue on at an unwavering quick pace. I figured, since 2 weeks ago, I pulled the 20 mile rabbit out of my hat at a 3 hour mark—and felt damn fine afterwards—then hitting the yellow brick road just a bit quicker, should yield better results in getting to the Emerald City that much sooner. This postulate remained a reasonable reality well past the halfway point, as I sped along through the first 10 miles like a bus that couldn't drop below 50mph, or else it would face dire consequences of some kind or another, but, soon after, truly became a horse of a different color as it unraveled the denim fabric of my constitution overalls, and stripped me down to next to nothing.
Fueling, though it was initially my prime suspect, was not the issue. I was plenty stuffed with a plethora of fanciful treats—the same snack pack formula from my previous 20 mile run (see above list)—sloshing around in my belly. What I was experiencing was flat out fatigue. The screws of my biomechanics hinges were coming loose, and there was nothing I could do about it: through hubris, I had found the proverbial wall. I felt like I was moving in slow motion; probably because I was. This is the point where my mind began its quest to convince me to quit. It was baiting me with ideas that 16 miles was far enough for a quality run, and that if I kept up my obstinate pursuit of this 20 mile goal, I would rue the day I first found running agreeable. I think I did what any marathon runner, who wasn't in true pain, per se (mostly just weary), would do: I kept going, ever so slowly, but still...going.
Feelings of embarrassment followed behind my fully unfurled flagging stride like tin cans tied to the bumper of a car whose owner was just stood up at the altar by a common case of cold feet. But in the end, I'm out there running for the sport of it, simply because I enjoy it, so it doesn't really matter how ridiculous I must have looked coasting by suburban curbs on nothing but fumes: I was going to finish the full 20 miles with whatever dignity was left intact.
The final 4 miles were difficult to say the least. A battle of epic proportions played out from the extreme opposing sides of wherever determination and laziness reside inside the mind. In the end, a small band of rebels were able to penetrate a tightly guarded shield generating station on a forrest moon of...wait, that's a different story altogether. The point is, I made it. I was successful simply because I didn't listen to that nagging voice that kept trying to coax me into taking the easy way out, and even though my legs stayed a bit stiff for the following 2 days, I was happy that I held on.
1) Nutrition: the day before my first 20 miler I had whole wheat penne pasta for dinner. I feel that this mild carb loading session kept me going strong long into those double digit miles. The second 20 miler was preceded by a day of very few carbs at all. This right here gives me reason to believe that I depleted energy so rapidly, simply because I didn't have enough stored up in my reserves.
2) Fatigue: The morning of my second 20, I had done a charity 5km walk for the Scleroderma Foundation with my family in support of my aunt. Although it was only walking, I had to be up early for the event, and once there, we moved at a brisk clip along Boathouse Row. Recently, I have also found myself taking my bike out for longer rides, since, now that I actually have a bicycle that keeps itself together, I can worry less about getting hurt while riding around town.
3) Weather: the first 20 miler was run on an overcast day that didn't break out of the mid to high 70's. The second was run on a day with bright sunshine and a thermometer reading in the mid 80's. The 10°F difference in heat really zapped the energy right out of me. My blood is too thick to thrive in such warm condition.
4) Overconfidence: I was pretty darn cocky during the first half of that second 20 miler. I started fast, and held to it, until I burnt every ounce of energy right down to the bone. It's this initial push that only hurt my performance in the later miles. When combined with everything else above, it's not surprising at all that this run didn't go as smoothly as I hoped, but at least I can take these as field notes for mistakes that I will consciously look out for when race day rolls around.
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