Revision

Originally, I planned this week to be recovery with 52 miles. How I thought that many miles would be recovery is pure madness, especially since it is less than 10 miles shorter than the previous week. Although it doesn't look that bad based on my splits, it was horrible. I'm beginning to think I either crossed the line into over-train or I do indeed have slight asthma brought on by the severe allergies I've been suffering. Likely, it is both.

The first four miles were with the wind and very moist.  I sweat profusely.  I repeatedly told myself to slow down to MRP, I just couldn't find the pace.  Then I turned around and was cooled off, that felt good, but by then I was dehydrated enough that I struggled to get anywhere near the right pace.  It rivaled the mile repeats I did in Santa Fe in September.  I just couldn't breathe.  It felt like my chest was in a vice.

Regardless of why it happened, I take this as a sign I need a little extra recovery this week.  I will keep the miles to about 30-35 and do a lot of stretching.  I promise.

I'll write more about it this weekend.  The brother-in-law, Craig, will be up for a visit so I'll be internet-free for a few days.

Then next week it is the big one.  Sixty six miles.  and then TAPER!!!!  Woo hoo!

Saturday 22

Connected all of our short routes into one long one.

Ran past Victorian houses and some Redwoods.

Drank some water.

Stretched some, sprinted some.

Ran in the sunshine and in the darkness.

Ate some GU.

Fought with a pack that was trying to strangle me.

Had trouble breathing.

Saw some fun Halloween decorations.

Random guy in a truck slowed to our pace, rolled down his window, yelled, “Wooooohooo!” and then drove away.

Ran through two towns.

Raced against dying headlamp.

Lost race, caught foot in hole, and caused a whole lot of soreness.
Ran some little hills.

Finished 22 miles.

Ate some pizza.

Map said 22.65 mi.

How was your Saturday night?

What Halloween Means to Me

This time of year always brings special meaning to me.  I was given a second chance at life.  I still remember that day seven years ago.  The fresh air, a crisp chill with a hint of decaying leaves.  The bright autumn hues jumped from every leaf.  Sunlight dipped behind the hillside as we drove to the west.  After an eleven month battle for my life, my doctors finally cut me loose.  A chocolate cake, presents, and a very sincere “Thank you” and I was ushered out the door to restart my life.  October 15, 2005 was the end of my final chemotherapy treatment; I hoped that #13 would be lucky for me (I refused the final 14^th treatment, my body and spirit had nothing left to fight with).

Halloween 2005.

At my five year checkup, I said goodbye to my doctors in Wisconsin.  I was released from their care.  As one of their few adult pediatric patients, they let me take charge of my own health and left all decisions up to me.  They will never know how much that meant to me at a time where I felt I had no control over my life.  

With each passing checkup, my nervousness faded… I still go for yearly checkups, now consisting of no more than a couple blood tests.  I celebrate my own official survivorship day on the anniversary of my final scans, Nov. 11.

A couple of months ago, I mentioned that my toddler cousin had a growth on her arm.  A diagnosis was made: cancer.  They did surgery to remove it, but healthy tissue margins weren’t obtained because of the location in her tiny arm.  A long snake-like scar now runs the entire length of her forearm.  In fact, Little D and I have matching left arms.  

 Her parents, my cousin and her husband, consulted for hours with the doctors.  Considering her age and the rarity of this particular cancer, there was no clear way to proceed.  All carried severe, life-changing risks.  Ultimately, they decided to amputate. The hope is that Little D will have a normal childhood and is too young to remember her arm as she gets older.  Just a few days before Thanksgiving, she will join me in the survivor club.  Everybody pray that surgery goes well and she stays a survivor.

Poop Treadmill

Today, everything felt perfect on the run.  Even though I felt sluggish and tired all day, I went out for the track workout as planned.  By the end of a calm and collected first 800m repeat, my body awoke as it usually does.

Corsairs Stadium, with no football team in sight! Woohoo!

I feel like I'm finally able to pace myself on 800m distance, instead of running the first 400m too fast and running in on fumes at the end of the second lap.  I dare say they felt comfortable.  When I trained for Green Bay and did repeats, I found myself struggling horribly on each and every one.  These were great.

I hit recoveries while Matt was on his repeats, so I caught some action shots.

Here's what happened:
1 mi warm-up and 1 mi cool-down (and 400m recovery between each repeat).
7 x 800m (goal 3:30):
3:29, 3:24 (forgot to lap after repeat), 3:31, 3:28, 3:29, 3:31, 3:27

Kind of a mess, but here's the Garmin readout:

While Matt and I did our cool down laps together, we discussed what makes a track session successful or not.  To us, it is more about being able to be consistent, not having one or two really fast ones and the rest fall off on the slow side.  It is about finishing fast on the last one, to still possess the power to do that.  He also said that running the cool down mile on a track is like running on a treadmill: boring.  Only a treadmill doesn't have little piles of deer poop like this track does.

Blurry deer cheerleader

With each repeat, I watched the various hues of the sunset change.  Each lap gave me a different sky, one more vibrant than the last.

Shot on one of my recoveries

I think this was my cool down

Deer came to spectate and munch on the football field.  By the end of the run, the sky turned completely dark and we walked back to the car.  Perfect timing. 

It's that time again....

... where I think to myself, the taper can't come soon enough.  I'm just three weeks from kicking back and suddenly having more free time to do something other than running.  Won't that be cool?

Just two days after the half, I found myself out running fast again: MRP 5 mi.  My sore legs protested the movement at first.  They quickly remembered the pace I went out at the half and were eager to return to that.  My legs have a good memory sometimes.  When I reached the halfway point, I found myself slowing down to keep it slow enough for MRP.  This week is going to be a tough one, beginning with a half marathon and then ending with about 60 miles, not a good time to pound myself more than necessary.  "I couldn't believe how easy it was to get you out today," Matt commented when we neared the end, "Usually when you're tired, it takes awhile."  It also stretched my legs out enough that I was finally rid of race day soreness.



We later went out for Matt's MRP run.  He also struggled with running slow enough.  I struggled on the bike.  He enjoys running in a place that I physically have to get off the bike, carry it 100 ft. and then get back on.  They still haven't finished the trail, so a bridge stands alone in a sandy area next to train tracks.  It does come in contact with fewer cars than my route, so I can't complain much other than wow, he is hard to catch sometimes!

Today, I went out for a solo easy run of 5 miles.  It doesn't happen often, but when I go easy by myself, I take music.  It is slow, meditative.  I can sort through my thoughts, my goals, my life.  Runs like that bring me back to the reason I've stuck with running all these years: decompression.  Some people watch TV or have a beer to unwind, I go for really slow runs.  I began running in college, unwinding after long days of classes.  I ran in the mornings only on days I had exams.  Thoughts in my head swirled with the endorphins and always provided me with great clarity.  Of all the runs I do throughout hard training, the ones I need the most are these easy days.  I've also found that running is the only thing that breaks up my sinus congestion and gets rid of the headaches, so five days a week (two easy) is perfect!

Technically, I've got 12 more runs until the taper.  Right on schedule with the fatigue, I'd say.

Most people struggle with the taper itself, but I find that the last few weeks before the taper are worst.  How about you???

L'hiver arrive

Monday, 10/22

Just like that, the wind shifted from the constant north wind of summer, to one from the south.  The first rain of winter arrived.  Matt and I found a short window in the afternoon that would hopefully be dry.  Our first run, one day after a hard race was slow.  We marveled at the clouds.  Normally we have fog or dense stratus clouds.  No definition whatsoever.   

source

Today there was a little bit of everything: cumulus, cirrus, just a little bit of blue sky, and the most interesting ones of all: mammatus.  Matt jumped around like a small child in a toy store.  He even made us turn around to get the camera.  I wasn’t sure if it was the weatherman inside or his fascination with a cloud named after boobs, but I just laughed a little to myself as we ran back home to get the camera.  

mammatus clouds

By mile two, we found ourselves beneath a rain cloud.  In all directions, the clouds were lighter and dry, only rain directly overhead.  Perfect.  With the 48F temperature and light rain, my legs chilled quickly.  The cool, moist air soothed my aching muscles as I ran along.  It felt nice.  Matt had no trouble convincing me of a post-run soak in the hot tub.  

Redwood State and National Parks captured a waterspout this morning on one of the beaches.

I hope you enjoyed that easy run, legs.  Back to marathon training now.

Winter Adventure

Last week , I asked for input on where we should go for our mid-winter trip.

The more we thought about the possibilities, we weren't too excited about seeing more coastline, even if it were in Hawaii or Malibu.

No, for us, it really came down to where we wanted to get our winter fix: Idaho or Fairbanks. The Idaho 50K mentioned is the same day as our running club's yearly award banquet. I'm really really close to winning my division in the circuit, so I want to attend. Since I'm not fast enough to regularly win anything, I feel like I have to be available if that happens.

Without the lure of a race, Idaho quickly lost her appeal. A similar trip, including cabin adventures and a hot springs stop could be built in Fairbanks. With all the people we had to leave behind when we moved away. It didn't take much to sell us on that idea. And at the end of February, it won't be -40F and dark all the time either. Sounds good.

This was also the suggestion that got the most replies from this blog and the other blog version.


This book was my hiking BFF then, time to rekindle our friendship over a nice cup of tea. :)

Humboldt Redwoods Half Marathon Race Report 2012

I tossed. I turned.  Matt smacked me in the face.  He stole my pillow.  Visions of the morning’s race swirled through my head.  My heart raced.  Okay, only some of those things are true, but it is pretty safe to say that I got no more than three hours of sleep the night leading up to the Humboldt Redwoods Half, but I was determined to PR or collapse trying.  To sum the entire night up, I’d say I was this: jazzed.

The gun went off and we moved downhill.  Since satellite signal is spotty under the Redwood canopy, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rely on the watch’s pacing, only my mile splits.  But when a few mile markers were in the wrong place, it became even more challenging.  I listened to my own internal cues and just ran comfortably hard.  

The morning fog that settled above the Eel River began to dissipate.  Sunshine broke through the canopy sending great streaks of light across runners ahead of me.  As it felt we were running mostly downhill on the way out, I remembered the run Matt and I did here a few weeks ago: it feels downhill both ways.  Something about those tall trees creating the illusion of downhill, I think.  Two ladies behind me discussed the course, “it is uphill on the way out,” one said.  “No I looked at the course profile, it is definitely uphill on the way back,” the other countered.  

I trailed a local runner that made running tangents look like an art form.  When I did eventually catch up to him at an aid station, he accidentally threw a full cup of water over his shoulder onto me.  I was not amused.  His only apology was, “well, that might make you run a little faster!”  If that was a joke, I wasn’t laughing.  I was just happy it was water.

I decided to keep the first half to a slightly easy feel.  With the excitement of race day, it equated to something much faster than I was accustomed.  After passing Matt on his return trip, I made my own turn-around at about 51:20, well within the target I set for myself.

By mile 8, fatigue was setting in and the same effort predictably yielded slower splits.  With every third mile marker being off, I really had no idea what my pace was, except it was somewhere near the 7:50 range.

Flashes of light danced on the asphalt as the trees swayed in the wind.  I remembered what this race felt like last year.  I didn’t enjoy any of the scenery because I was in such misery.  Proper pacing, something I need to stick with, I think.  Until this point, I was being trailed by a middle-aged man that would moan on the slightest uphill.  The moans were dramatic and sounded like he was having an orgasm.  I almost wished for headphones.  Thankfully, I lost him eventually.

At mile 12, I hit the only hill on the course that everyone can agree is indeed a hill.  More than a hill, it is a bridge over Hwy 101.  From here, I thought to myself, it is practically downhill the rest of the way.  On my training run two weeks ago, it was a final kick here.  I imagined myself running tall and relaxed.  The area that speed training has helped me the most is undoubtedly my form when fatigued.  I felt like a beat up action figure: strong on the outside, abused on the inside.

The last incline came just before mile 13.  From almost a mile away, one can see the final mile marker.  It stands alone in the sunshine through the dark tunnel of shade trees.  I found myself crossing the bridge with another runner.  A friend of hers appeared, M.J. a familiar face to both of us.  “Sprint it!!” she shouted.  Although the support wasn’t for me personally, it gave a little boost to make it through the final stretch to the finish line.  If anyone ever wants to encourage me at the end of a tough race, park yourself at the bottom of the last incline of the race.  I will love you for it.

Sun now poured down over me.  My eyes adjusted to the brightness and fixed on the timing clock as the crowd cheered. I saw Matt snap a photo.  And with one final push, my new PR became real.  After so many races not working out this year, I was pleased on the outcome with this one.

Look!! I'm floating!!  Y. Kim photo, SRRC.

1:43.07.

7:53/mi.

About 700 ft. of elevation gain.

The second half of the race was 29 seconds slower than the first.

An improvement of almost nine minutes over last year’s finish time!!

I’m sure I could have pushed harder at the end to wipe that smile away, but this photo accurately illustrates what I felt today.

Matt had a pretty fantastic day too, despite him trying to murder me (drama alert!) in my sleep last night.  He dropped almost five minutes from his PR by finishing in 1:24.40, a 6:29/mi pace.

Y. Kim photo, SRRC.

The way this race fell in our training plan was perfect.  It was at the end of a recovery week, so it was a little bit of rest, but not anything resembling a taper.  With a proper marathon taper, a slightly slower pace, and a good night’s sleep, we both believe that our CIM goals are within reach. 

Humboldt Redwoods Half Goals

With this week's shortened MRP run complete, I can't help think of my next run: Humboldt Redwoods Half Marathon on Sunday. The MRP run felt hard, but the pace was better than expected since Garmin shorted me by almost a quarter mile (and Matt's run done an hr before mine, same spot where signal cut out). Garmin is a great tool to show I'm hitting at least the pace I need. Here are Garmy's stats anyways:
 

Actual stats from map: 5.20 miles, 7:40/mi....oops.

Until Matt complained that the watch was more off than usual today, I was reconsidering my goals based on how fatigued that run felt. Now, it's cool.

My goals for the Humboldt Redwoods Half Marathon are......

Goal A (Tarzan swoops down and carries me partway): 1:41.00. 7:42/mi.

Goal B (most likely outcome): 1:43.00 7:53/mi. I've been hitting this well in training, so unless I'm really off, this should be doable.

Goal C (crash and burn style): 1:44.47, 8:00/mi. and MRP.

My current PR is from the 2011 Hammond Trail Half and is 1:45.46. I did it halfway wrecked and on a pretty hilly course. We shall see what happens.

 PS- Period better hold off for a couple days too or I'll be sooooo angry. Uterus, don't you remember how fun Bidwell was this spring?

Patience

The day ends abruptly here on the foggy coast.  It is light out and then suddenly it is not.  With stratus clouds forever lurking just above the horizon, sunsets are, more often than not, uneventful.  The sun disappears behind that opaque bank of cloud and light is extinguished.

Tonight at the mailbox, I noticed the clouds.  They were different.  And with the sunshine all day, maybe the stratus wasn't there.  I rode my bike to the edge of the bay, camera in tow.  Many other locals noticed the difference in the clouds and I was one of a dozen photographers watching the sun dip below the sea's edge.

As I've seen with many sunsets, the actual setting part isn't the best. I sat alone as the others left my side.  They drove home without a single glance back to the west.  For twenty minutes I waited.  As the sun pulled further away from the area, it cast a skyward glow upon the clouds.  I watched as the sky painted itself a faint pink at first, then red, and then a golden yellow hue that was so bright it almost appeared fake.

I pedaled my bike halfway up the hill home and turned back again.  Even more magnificent than before.  I waited until the sky turned dark.  With the lower sun angle of winter, sunsets seem to move in slow motion.  Almost 45 minutes of action and a spectacular finale for those of us that stayed. 

Cross Training and Photography

For the last couple of months, I’ve training with Matt on his faster runs between 6:00/mi and 6:40/mi paces.  I’ve seen my fitness and confidence improve.  I’ve seen the tight spots in my hips and glutes fade away.  You see, I’ve been riding my bike.  

As he gets more fatigued during his speed sessions, his surroundings blur and suddenly focus shifts from the outside world to things happening internally.  We look after each other.  Seamlessly without even breaking stride, he crosses the street at a diagonal, all the while I nearly fall off my bike looking over my shoulder.  Graceful cyclist, I am not.

Last week, I decided to try something new.  I had just finished a race pace run and Matt was headed out for his tempo.  The sun was falling.  It was one of those rare sunny days.  Sunshine blasted like a horizontal spotlight over the path.  It seemed like the perfect time to bring the camera and work on a little bit of action shooting on the traffic-free part of our route.  This is probably one of my weakest areas.  But through the blurry photos, I caught one that actually worked as a super-blurry shot.  

I think this one is my favorite.