The Marathon

Sunday aka Marathon Day
3:30 a.m. The alarm goes off.  I laid out my clothes, shoes, and nutrition the night before so I dressed in a hurry, applied sunscreen, and was out the door.

4:00 a.m.  Met my team in the lobby of a the hotel.

4:45 a.m.  Still trying to figure out why I had to be in the hotel lobby at 4:00 a.m., when we are just now getting on the bus.

5:05 a.m.  Get off the bus.  Realize I left my breakfast (a peanut butter and honey sandwhich on the bus).  Walk to the corrals/start.  Trying to figure out why the bus couldn't drop us a little closer.  Eat a waffle.  Drink some water.  Wait in line for the port-o-potty.

6:00 a.m.  Line up in the corral.  Moooooo.   Realize I need to go to the bathroom again.  Line up for the port-o-potty again.   Note to self:  you are in corral 30, which means you are at the back of the race pack.  Do not use any port-o-potties along the route.    Back to the corral.

7:00 a.m.  Start running.   Feel great.  

8:00 a.m.  Five miles done.  Still feel great.

9:00 a.m.  9+ miles done.   Still feel pretty good. 

9:45 a.m. Still feel pretty good, but decide to slow pace and take some more nutrition.

10:15 a.m.  Feel nausous.  Tear up.  Plan to stop at next medical tent.  Get, there, tell them what's happening.  They ask a bunch of questions about blood sugar and tell me to sit down.  Ask if I want to get on the shuttle they are calling for the girl sitting next to me.  She's shaking. 

10:30 a.m. Throw-up.   Feel better and worse.  I'm somewhere around mile 17.   I am starting to feel cold, so I need to make a decision as to what to do.    Rinse out my mouth and start walking.   Have a sudden flash that I am going to have to do another marathon being I am not going to be able to run the whole thing.  After this point, all times are estimates.  

11:00 a.m.  Finally get around to asking a team in training coach what I should do.   She advised that if I am okay walking, I should take in as much water as I can, and a few sips of gatorade.   But, I don't need to take any more nutrition.  I decide I will definitely walk the rest of the course. 

12:00 p.m.  Still walking.   My pace is good.  If I keep this pace I can still finish in under six hours.

12:30 p.m.  Still walking.   Realize I hate walking.

1:00 p.m.  Still walking. Still hate walking.  Random twenty something starts riding his bicycle next to me telling me I can do it.  I threaten to knock him off his bike and ride the rest of the way to the finish line.  He doesn't believe me.   I would have, but I didn't know if I could pedal.   A woman who is walking the marathon walks with me the next two miles.   She is walking at a 13.75 minute mile pace.   If you have never walked that pace, - it is fast.  I keep up with her for two miles.

1:30 p.m.  Still walking.  Alone now.  This blows.  I am in the final stretch.  At least that's what all the damned coaches, spectators, water stop workers and cheerleaders keep telling me.  Who the hell decided to have cheerleaders come out and cheer marathoners on?   Hated cheerleaders in highschool, still hate them.  Shut the ef up. 

1:45 p.m.  Still walking.  Realize that unless the magic fairies pick me up and carry me to the finish line, I will not make my goal time of finishing in six hours.    The magic fairies, however, appear to be evil.   Oh, wait, that's just more cheerleaders.  I tear up again. 

2:15 p.m.  See Corey and Emily, my Team in Training Coaches.  Do start to cry.  Emily walks me almost to the finish line.   See Justin and Oliver, stop, chat, give kisses, time doesn't matter anymore. 

2:23 p.m.  Finish.  Vow never to do a marathon again.  Ever.  Run or walk this effer is done.  Somehow manage to make it home, it involved a pedi-cab, goldfish crackers and a trolley.  That's all I remember.   Took a bath.  It was hot.  Ef ice baths.  Showered, put on pajamas, slept. 

7:00 p.m.  Wake-up.  Hurt like hell.   Watch Mad Men.   Apparently don't hurt as badly as Lane.  Go to dinner. 

10:00 p.m.  Go to bed. 

Monday aka The Day After
9:00 a.m.  Wake-Up.  Still alarmingly sore.  Still vow never to do another marathon, - ever.   But, ready to reflect on the experience.  

I had an awesome experience.   That's right, despite all of the explitives, my expeirience going from zero to 26.2 was amazing.   What started out as a way to honor my Dad, while doing something I never thought I could do, put my mental and physical strengths to the test.   Along the way, I was thrown constant curve balls, from work, from Oliver, and from my own immune system.   But, I met amazing people, shared stories, learned what the human spirit could accomplish (both my own and others) and raised over $3300 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma foundation (note:  not all donations are yet reflected in my totals on the fundraising page, -- feel free to continue to donate). 

I would be remiss if I didn't give Team in Training an endorsement.   The enthusiasm of the campaign manager, Lauren, the coaches, Emily & Corey, and the mentors, especially Andrea, Kerry, and Christine, provided me with strength to train from week to week.   When I thought that I couldn't do it, there was always someone next to me to tell me that I could.   The other participants were equally inspiring.   Everyone brought their own stories to the training.  Many, like me, had personally been affected by the disease.  Unlike me, many had lost family members, and were running in memory of, instead of in honor of their loved ones.   There were also amazing honored teammates who were running because they themselves were survivors or living with leukemia or lymphoma.  While in San Diego, a marthon sponsored by TNT, people lined the streets to cheer the participants on.   Coaches were everywhere, -- when I needed advice they were there.  When I needed encouragement they were there.  And, when I just needed to make it to the finish line they were there.   The support was amazing.   If you are stupid enough to want to run a marathon, I would without hesitation recommend TNT.   You too now have a personal connection to the foundation.  

On a more personal level, I again, started this to honor my Dad.   As some of you may have noticed, his wasn't the only name on my t-shirt.   I also added my cousin-in-law, Melissa.   She herself survived childhood leukemia and became an inspiration to me along this journey.   I also found out that Justin's great grandmother had died of leukemia and that a close friend of his sister has a Dad that is currently undergoing treatment.  I should also mention my dear friend, Suzanne, who did the same marathon six years ago, in honor of her mother, both of whom continue to inspire me.

I feel very fortunate that my Dad is still hitting the slopes and living life to its fullest and getting to spend time with his grandson (who will also be hitting the slopes next winter).   The type of leukemia he has tends to come back.  It is my sincere hope, that through this fundraising mission, that if it does, there will be new treatments and that one of them will cure it forever. 

Finally, on a purely individual level, I learned what I can do.  I finished an effing marathon.

A Pictoral Account of the Day 

This is what Oliver was doing while I was up at 3:30 a.m.

This is what Luci was doing while I was up at 3:30 a.m.

This is me at 3:30 a.m.   Don't I look excited?

How about now?  A special thanks to Justin for taking these pictures at 3:30 a.m.  He was wise enough not to be photographed at 3:30 a.m.

Note how far I actually am from the starting line.

Running.  This is almost to the end.....

The reward.

I'll take it over a medal any day.

The Final Stretch - with a run through Texas

Last week, I didn't post an entry.   The week before last, I only did one midweek run.  Then I left for Texas.   Saturday morning, I did wake up at 6:00 a.m., but instead of heading out for 12 mile run, I headed out for Austin, and my brother-in-law's college graduation.   After three hours in the car, we arrived at the hotel just in time to change and get to the graduation, then there was dinner and drinks, and fireworks.   The next day was breakfast, and family photos, oh, and packing up said brother-in-law.   (I didn't actually help, but Justin did).   Then dinner and back in the car to Dallas.  Monday, I worked from my in-laws house and finally made it out for a run that afternoon around five o'clock.  I ran about 30 minutes, and vowed never to run in the evening while in Texas again.   The next day flew by, and Wednesday morning I woke at the crack of dawn.   It wasn't intentional, - I had been eaten alive by mosquitos the day before and couldn't sleep due to the itching.     So, I ran about four miles.   It was 8:30 am when I got home and I am pretty sure that I sweated enough to fill actual buckets.   Thursday and Friday went by with no running.  I planned to do 10 miles on Saturday.   The training schedule only said 8, but I missed the 12 mile so I thought I would add an extra two to even it out.  Well, apparently failing to sleep due to my itching finally caught up with me and I overslept and didn't get out on my run until about 9:30.   I had to be at my sister-in-law's graduation from high school at noon, so 10 miles was out of the question.   At 2.3 I thought I was going pass out.  Seriously.   I walked into the house and straight to an ice cold shower.   I hate cold as you may have picked up from previous blog entries.  (If you missed it, check out "8 miles in the Rain" and "The Ice Bath").  I have vowed never to run in Texas again.   

We flew back to California the next day, and on Monday morning I set out to do 8 miles.  With only a week left until the marathon, I didn't want to over-do it, but I was feeling pretty good.  For the first time I ever - I maintained a pace under 11 minutes for the first 7 miles.  The last mile, I went up to 11:11.  I never thought I would see that type of improvement.   I have no intention of matching that pace in the marathon.   In fact, I hope to stay between 12 and 12.5 minute miles.   At the beginning of the season, I said that speed was all about perception, and that remains true here at the end.   I am  excited by the improvement that I have seen.  Even the tortoise has someone behind him.

As I go into this next week, I am getting nervous.   The farthest I have run so far is 19 miles and yet I am facing 26.2.   To make matters worse, the hip pain that has plagued me - but not stopped me - all season, flared up yesterday worse than ever before.   As has been the case for the last few weeks, work continues to be stressful and I am may ultimately end up trying a case next Wednesday.   I am concerned about the weather, I am concerned about what to eat and drink this week.  I am especially concerned about whether or not I will get enough sleep in light of my toddler's recent decision not to sleep in his own bed.  I have a lot of doubts about my ability to accomplish this endeavor.   I play games in my head, - just like I have all season.  Sometimes I calculate the the pace I need to keep in order to finish the race in under six hours, 13.74.   Sometimes I promise not to be hard on myself if I have to walk the last six miles.   Sometimes, I think about how after doing this, I will probably keep running (not right after doing this - more like a couple weeks after this).   I even go so far as to think about doing half marathons in the future or celebrating my 40th birthday with a triathlon (40 is two years away -  that should be enough time to recover, right?).   I wonder about what Justin is going to do with Oliver while I am running.  I wonder if I am going to actually physically collapse at the end.   I have a great deal of uncertainty about whether I will have enough nutrition on me, and whether it is suddenly going to upset my stomach.   I am, well, a little bit of a mess.  

This time next week, I will have run a marathon.   I will have raised over $3200 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.  I will have honored my Dad, my Cousin, the mom of one of my closest friends, Justin's great grandmother, and my sister-in-law's friend's father.  I wish I didn't personally know so many people affected by Leukemia or Lymphoma, and I wish there weren't so many other people, that I don't know, affected by this disease.  But, as this journey from zero to 26.2 comes to a close, I feel thankful.  Thankful to have a body that can make this journey, thankful that so many of those people are still with me and can support me in this endeavor, and thankful to all those who have donated.    So, thank you my dear friends and family, for your generosity of spirit and boundless enthusiasm.   

20 Miles - I am going to die - just like Phidippides

I thought this would be a good week for us to take a brief look at the history of the marathon.   Phidippides was the Athenian runner who ran from the plains of Marathon to the city of Athens, approximately a 26 mile while run, and died shortly thereafter of exhaustion.    It was his job to inform the City of Athens that the Athenians had defeated the Persians at the Battle of Marathon and to warn them that the Persians were on their way.     Now, my immediate thought, is that if someone died running 26 miles, then perhaps it is not the wisest thing for me, or anyone else, to do.  And, yet, since the inception of the modern Olympics, people have run the marathon.    A closer look reveals that Phidippides, was actually a "professional" runner, much like Olympic runners.   That's what this guy did, - run.  This seems to support my earlier hypothesis, that I , a non runner, should not be running a marathon.    

This hypothesis is also supported by my experience running Saturday.    Once again I had to be at the practice at 6:30 a.m., this, in and of itself, is actually a valid reason for me to not run a marathon.   Once we got started running, I felt pretty good.   The first 6 miles, - all good.  The next 6 miles -- not dead yet.   About 15.5, I thought about killing myself I was so miserable.   At 18, my back spasmed.  WHAT?    What the hell was that?   Oh, and it kept doing it.  So, I walked the last two miles, trying to stretch out my back periodically.    I stretched a little when I finished, and then got in my car to go home.   I walked into my house and could barely move!   I contemplated an ice bath, but decided, hells no!  (see previous entry on the ice bath), so I took a hot shower and stretched some more.    Then I proceeded to fall asleep on the sofa for 45 minutes.   I seem to vaguely recall Oliver playing legos, but for all I know, he could have stuffed legos up both our noses and I wouldn't have been the wiser.    I finally got up and went to lunch and shopping.   I was so tired.   And, sore.   My feet, knees, hips, back, shoulders, eyes and head all hurt.     Clearly, my body had decided that this much running was unacceptable.    Again, all supporting the aforementioned hypothesis. 

During my run, the mentor I was running with had mentioned the story of Phidippides, -- she said something, like, just think if he would have died after only 21 miles, then that would have been the marathon.   And, I thought, "damn fool, I wish he would have died after 21 miles."   I was trying to remember the whole story, I remembered that he was in fact a messenger, but I seemed to recall that there was more to it than just the 26 miles.   So, I looked it up.  (Thank you wikipedia).   It turns out, prior to that 26 mile run, Mr. Phidippides had run 140 miles each way back and forth to Sparta, and had fought in the battle of Marathon.  So, he didn't actually die from running the 26.2.   He died from running 306 miles.    The idea of someone running that far makes me laugh.   Or cry.   

So, I thought to myself, how many people have died running a marathon?   I googled that too.  I couldn't find an exact number, but the risk appears to be .8 per 100,000 people.    I tried to figure out how many people would be running the San Diego marathon, and the best estimate I could find was 40,000, -not even 100,000 people.   I figure that means  the odds are ok that I won't actually die (to all you math nerds, I know that is not how probability works, but I'm trying to make a point here).   I am just going to feel like I did.  

Running While Sick

For the second time since I started training for this marathon, I got sick.   Really sick.   

During the week, after working 10-12 hours, all while blowing my nose endlessly, it's tough to motivate to go out for a run.   But, with 18 miles looming before me on Saturday, I didn't want to miss the group run.   And, cold medicine got me through the week, -- so surely it could get me through the run, right?   Answer is no.   Advice for this week is do not run while high on cold medicine.  It is probably good advice to not run while high on anything, but it has been quite a few years since any other sensory altering substances have entered my blood stream, so let's just say cold medicine.  

Friday night I knew I needed to sleep, so Nyquil seemed like the obvious choice.   Saturday morning, I needed to get up and run, and Dayquil was sitting right there on my kitchen counter next to the coffee maker.   Seemed reasonable at 6:30 in the morning, after having taken the Nyquil only 7 hours before, to pop a couple.   I should note, I am not quite coherent at 6:30 in the morning, even on my best days, so in a Nyquil fog, my senses were probably already impaired.   Anyway, I showed up to practice (late), and we got started running.   About 9 miles in, I realized I was lightheaded, at about 10 1/2, it dawned on me that I had taken in a lot of cold medicine in the previous 10 hours.   By 12 miles I thought I was going to faint.   I told the mentor I was running with to go on with out me, and that I would just walk it off.  Fortunately, she didn't, because really, that statement is just more evidence that I was a little loopy.   Seriously?  I feel faint, why don't you leave me alone, three miles from my car.  Anyway, she walked with me the last six miles of the course.   

In addition to the big take away of this week (reminder:  don't do drugs and run), I would also like to give a shout out to the people who walk the marathon.   Because I walk all the time, it never occurred to me what a bitch it is to walk that many miles.  Granted by the time I started walking I had already run 12 miles, but the next day, my legs hurt in totally different places than usual.   My hip is always sore the next day (I am old), but my calves had never hurt before, but they did that day!    Walking a marathon, -- or a half marathon is no joke!   So a serious, you rock to all the walkers out there.  

And, just as a side note, if you do do drugs before running, you can probably walk it off.   But, I recommend having someone walk with you, because otherwise, you could very well end up in a ditch.  

Running Alone

Last Friday night was rough.   I didn’t sleep at all.   6:30 a.m. rolled around and there was simply no way I could make it to my practice.  I needed sleep desperately.   So, I turned the alarm off, rolled over and slept until 10.  

Later that afternoon I emailed my coach to find out if I could run with the Westside team on Sunday.  I was set and ready to go.   But, once again, someone (or something) reared it’s ugly head and I was deprived of sleep.   I did manage to make it out of bed by around 7:30 a.m., laced up my running shoes and took off on my ten mile run by myself.  

I run by myself in the evenings 2-3 times per week.   But the majority of these runs are between 2 ½ and 3 ½ miles.   I follow some variation of the same route every evening.   But, I knew if I was going to do 10 miles I needed to mix it up a bit, so I started running east away from my house.   About 2 miles east I turned north for about a 1/2 mile (did I mention that east is flat and north is a hill?) then it was time to go east again for another half mile.    Finally, at last, west.   About 2 miles west there is a drop, woah!  Oh, no, it’s time to go north again!   Going north, north, north, and, okay, going South.    Relief.   About that time I realize, thanks to my handy dandy iphone app, that I have gone 7 miles, but I am only about 1 mile from my house.   I have to get in another two miles.  I am going to have to go north again!!!!  I know what you are thinking, why does she keep going North when there is the possibility of going South?   Well, for starters I deeply fear the South.   Nothing good ever happens when you go South.   In the case of whether I live, about a mile a Southeast of where I live, I hit gang territory.  North of where I live, are crazy celebrity mansions.   Hills or no hills, I’m going North.   I finally made it to 9 miles – at the top of a gently sloping hill, which meant the last mile home was going to be super easy.   It may have been the fastest I have ever run.  

Running alone is, not surprisingly, a little bit lonely.   When I run with the group, there is conversation and commiseration to keep me going.   But, out there alone, its all me.  And, well, I am just not that interesting to myself.   I’ve been told to expect to run most of the marathon alone.   Sure, I will start with people I know, and I may even make new friends along the way, but the marathon is an individual sport.   The thing about that sentiment is, while I will be running alone, I will be running with all the camaraderie and support that friends, family and the team have given me a long the way.   With all that, I could never really be alone.    So, I suspect that when I finally run the marathon, that will the be the fastest I will have ever run.   

Week 12 Murphy's Law or Irony: You be the Judge

Murphy's law:   Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Irony:  an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.

On Saturday, our team met at Griffith Park for our sixteen mile run.   Now, fourteen had gone really well, twelve had sucked, so sixteen was anyone's guess.  But, the last time we ran at Griffith Park, I felt awesome afterwards.    Griffith Park is shady, it is closer to my home than where we usually run, and I know the area really well.   I like running at Griffith Park. 

I arrived on Saturday ready to run, and feeling confident.   Sixteen was totally doable (in my  head).  I set off on my run.  I knew it was going to be warm, so I wore short sleeves.  I never wear short sleeves.  I felt pretty good.  But, it was hot.  Not like, African Safari hot, but definitely hotter than usual - and we were in Griffith Park, not in the valley!   I realized immediately that I needed more water than usual.  I also started drinking a sports drink.   I also didn't hesitate to take some nutrition.   But, by mile twelve, I was definitely dragging.   By fifteen I was walking.  But, I got through sixteen, one way or another.  

The rest of the weekend was awesome.   After coming home and showering, we headed off to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books and enjoyed our time at the children's stage.  Then we hit up a party (for a five year old, way  more sophisticated than our usual 2-3 year old parties).   Sunday morning we visited the zoo with some friends and their daughter (much to my son's delight).    By Sunday night I was so tired…..

Then Monday came.   As some of you may have noticed, this blog post did not go up on Tuesday per the usual.   Monday came, and I billed 10 hours, Tuesday came and I billed 10.5 hours, Wednesday came and I billed 11.5 hours.   In two and a half weeks, I go to trial.   That's right, every day for the next three weeks is going to look exactly like the last three days.   Oh, and I still have other clients who will require my attention.

When I began preparing for this journey, work was a little bit light.   Now, I can't see the light of day.   This weekend, I only have to run 10 miles (who knew that sentence would ever leave my mouth!)   But, the following weekend is 18, then 20, and two weeks after that 26.2.  At this particular moment, as I put aside my files to type this blog, I do not know how I am going to find the time to run,  at all.     

Week 11 - The Ice Bath

On Saturday I ran 14 miles.  It was exhausting.   Then, I came home and took an ice bath.   I have been trying to think of something profound to say about my experience this past weekend, - what a huge accomplishment 14 miles was, how I persevered, to come back after a miserable run the week before, -- but instead, I keep coming back to the ice bath.  

For weeks I have heard from my pace group leader about how great ice baths are for recovery.  She assured me that once we reached a certain amount of mileage, I would go home, jump in the ice bath, and feel awesome all afternoon - as if I hadn't run at all.   I talked to a variety of people on this topic most of whom sang the virtues of the ice bath.   Every now and then, there would be a naysayer, someone who admitted that they just couldn't do it.  But, those folks were few and far between.   So, I assumed that at some point I would try the ice bath.  

I knew going into my run on Saturday, that I would be biking on Sunday, it was CicLaVia.   CicLaVia is a yearly event in Los Angeles.  Ten miles of city streets are closed down for the enjoyment of cyclists.   There are a few roller bladers and pedestrians out too, but the bikes get to rule the streets for the day.   When we ride, I pull Oliver along behind me in a bright yellow trailer.  The trailer itself weighs about 20 pounds.  Add on top of that Oliver's 33 pound frame and all of our stuff (snacks, water, sweatshirts, diapers, wipes, three different types of sunscreen) and it's a heavy load to pull.   But, Justin rides a vintage (read:  ancient) Schwinn that he refuses to part with, so my bike is the only one that can pull the trailer.   Anyway, I knew we were going to ride, and I didn't want to take any chances that I would be in pain, - so I decided it was time for the ice bath. 

After I got home from my run, Justin ran down to the 7-11 to buy ice and chocolate milk (it's a great recovery drink!).   When he got home he filled the bath up with cold water.  I pulled on a sweatshirt and Oliver's owl hat and made myself a large cup of steaming hot tea.    I started to get in the water and knew it was going to be trouble from the moment I dipped my big toe.  Justin egged me on.   Finally, as I sat down in the water, Justin dumped a bag of ice over the top of me, -- scratching my leg I might add.   I screamed.   I screamed like baby, - a baby being put in an ice bath.   I found it excruciatingly painful.    Justin, on the other hand, was gleeful.   

Oliver came into check on me.  He understood this bath was different and asked me why I was taking a cold bath.   I explained to him, that the cold bath was like a boo boo buddy.   Mommy, I explained, had an owie and needed the ice.    He seemed to get  it and thoughtfully said "Mommy has a big owie."     

On Sunday I did ride through the streets of LA.    I don't know if the ice bath actually helped or not, or if I would have been able to ride without it.   I do know that after my ride on Sunday, I had an even bigger owie than I did the day before.  This time, however, instead of slipping into an ice cold bath, I decided to slip into a nice glass of wine, - or as I explained to Oliver, a glass of Mommy juice.   He, again, thoughtfully surmised, "Mommy has big juice."