As the Northeast geared up for a hurricane, I squeezed in my last long run in a little early. I was hoping it would be another 20 miler, but I only had time for 15. When it comes to juggling child care, dissertation writing, and distance running, I've learned that I have to be flexible and to accept my limitations. Whether it's insufficient time or an injury or some other stumbling block, I can't sit around and stew in my own juices when things don't go my way. When I throw a pity party for myself, I waste valuable time that could be spent doing a short run or making paper pumpkins with my girls.
To quote Star Wars, "Your focus determines your reality." So, instead of worrying about not fitting in another 20 miler, I'm choosing to think of it as an early taper. One of the highlights of the taper is that you get more time to do non-running activities, like working or snuggling with the kids. Another is that your risk of injury goes way down as you're gentler on your body. During the taper, you can accept (guilt-free!) that less running is exactly what your body and mind need to prepare for the long haul of the marathon. Sometimes, slowing down a bit has unexpected benefits.
My mom's disease has forced her to slow WAY down, and while it's not really fair to compare her experience to a training taper, they are similar in that slowing down forces you to see things differently and to reevaluate your priorities. She does this with grace. Though she does tend to put more things on her to do list than any sane person could manage, she has learned to prioritize her goals and to divide them into manageable chunks.
Despite my hopes to keep things in perspective, there is a little part of my brain wondering whether I could possibly sneak in a 20-miler next week. I know better, though, and will do my best to enjoy the taper.
Don't forget, please donate to the Guthy Jackson Foundation and write "In Honor of Patti Lellock." Let's meet this goal together! The link is http://www.guthyjacksonfoundation.org/donate/tribute-donations/.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Pace Yourself
In the past two weeks, I ran 20 miles, raced a half marathon, and then raced again yesterday, this time a 10 miler. Needless to say, my body is sore. My quads are on fire, my hams are tight, and my glutes...well, we won't go there. I have another 20 mile run this weekend before I begin my taper. As a result, I'm beginning to burn out.
I've been told by many people--bosses, teachers, mentors, friends, and family--that I need to learn how to pace myself, to rein in my enthusiasm so that I don't run out of steam. This advice is especially true in a marathon, where early bursts of speed often lead to cripplingly slow final miles. And there are lots of final miles. When everyone takes off in the first few miles, though,I find I have a hard time sticking to my goal pace. At the Shamrock Marathon, for instance, I started out running sub-8:00-minute miles before I looked at my watch and said, "Oops." I was hoping for 8:23s. It's quite possible that my inability to pace myself in the early miles cost me my goal of qualifying for Boston during that race.
Yet it is also possible that the only reason that I ran a sub-4-hour marathon is that I wasn't afraid to go all out in the early miles, to listen to my body and to enjoy its momentum for a short period of time. There are two competing philosophies here. The first is to have what runners call negative splits, to go faster in the second half of the race than the first, which requires modulating your pace in the first half or more. This strategy is the one that most advanced marathoners tout. The second, mine, leads to positive splits, with a faster start and slower finish. I know it's the not the best strategy, but I just cannot seem to hold back when my body wants me to go.
I've inherited this inability to pace myself from my mom, who is still always on the go. I can't even keep track of her projects, which usually involve making thoughtful works of art for her family and friends. The familiar adage, "Slow and steady wins the race," might be sound advice, but it just doesn't work for the two of us peas in a pod. Indeed, I think that what has sustained her--and what sustains me in my long runs and in my own grappling with her disease--is a lust for life that drives us both to thrust ourselves headlong into projects, to squeeze as much life out of every moment as possible. We subscribe to the "Do not go gently into that dark night" mindset.
It's true that this approach leads to periodic slumps and burnouts. We're both often frustrated when the world or our bodies just can't keep up with us. Or when the results of our endeavors don't match our expectations of them. At the same time, however, it is our inability to pace ourselves that motivates us to keep moving, even when faced with challenges. It is this unbridled restraint restraint that gives us pleasure in tackling tough tasks. It is why I run faster than I ought to, and why she pushes through pain that would stop most people in their tracks. I'm grateful that she passed on her drive and energy to me, even if it means that my calves are angry with me today. There will be time for a taper tomorrow.
Remember, please donate to support NMO research and to write "In honor of Patti Lellock" when you do: http://www.guthyjacksonfoundation.org/donate/tribute-donations/. Everything helps, from $5-$50, it all goes to research for a cure.
I've been told by many people--bosses, teachers, mentors, friends, and family--that I need to learn how to pace myself, to rein in my enthusiasm so that I don't run out of steam. This advice is especially true in a marathon, where early bursts of speed often lead to cripplingly slow final miles. And there are lots of final miles. When everyone takes off in the first few miles, though,I find I have a hard time sticking to my goal pace. At the Shamrock Marathon, for instance, I started out running sub-8:00-minute miles before I looked at my watch and said, "Oops." I was hoping for 8:23s. It's quite possible that my inability to pace myself in the early miles cost me my goal of qualifying for Boston during that race.
Yet it is also possible that the only reason that I ran a sub-4-hour marathon is that I wasn't afraid to go all out in the early miles, to listen to my body and to enjoy its momentum for a short period of time. There are two competing philosophies here. The first is to have what runners call negative splits, to go faster in the second half of the race than the first, which requires modulating your pace in the first half or more. This strategy is the one that most advanced marathoners tout. The second, mine, leads to positive splits, with a faster start and slower finish. I know it's the not the best strategy, but I just cannot seem to hold back when my body wants me to go.
I've inherited this inability to pace myself from my mom, who is still always on the go. I can't even keep track of her projects, which usually involve making thoughtful works of art for her family and friends. The familiar adage, "Slow and steady wins the race," might be sound advice, but it just doesn't work for the two of us peas in a pod. Indeed, I think that what has sustained her--and what sustains me in my long runs and in my own grappling with her disease--is a lust for life that drives us both to thrust ourselves headlong into projects, to squeeze as much life out of every moment as possible. We subscribe to the "Do not go gently into that dark night" mindset.
It's true that this approach leads to periodic slumps and burnouts. We're both often frustrated when the world or our bodies just can't keep up with us. Or when the results of our endeavors don't match our expectations of them. At the same time, however, it is our inability to pace ourselves that motivates us to keep moving, even when faced with challenges. It is this unbridled restraint restraint that gives us pleasure in tackling tough tasks. It is why I run faster than I ought to, and why she pushes through pain that would stop most people in their tracks. I'm grateful that she passed on her drive and energy to me, even if it means that my calves are angry with me today. There will be time for a taper tomorrow.
Remember, please donate to support NMO research and to write "In honor of Patti Lellock" when you do: http://www.guthyjacksonfoundation.org/donate/tribute-donations/. Everything helps, from $5-$50, it all goes to research for a cure.
Monday, October 15, 2012
My Personal Best
For those of you who are (or know) runners, you know how motivating
it can be to try to set a new PR, or personal record. I just set a new
PR for the half marathon, beating my pregnant self of last year. As
silly as chasing down personal records might seem, they actually serve a
greater purpose: to inspire you to keep running even when your body or
brain get in the way.
On November 18, I want to earn two PRs when I run the Philadelphia Marathon. The first is to beat my Shamrock Marathon time of 3:59. It's the less realistic of my two goals, however, and it's the less important one. My second goal is to raise more money for NMO research than I did when I ran the Shamrock Marathon in 2011. We raised $2,015 last time in honor of my mom, who has suffered from NMO (or Devic's Disease) for over 5 years. This time, I would like to raise at least $2,500.
There's still no cure for this disease, and the treatment options are limited. Through her experience with Devic's, my mom has shown what true strength really is. In running, a PR is also called a PB, or personal best. Every step I take of my marathon is a reminder to be strong and to make each moment a personal best.
If you'd like to learn more about NMO or to donate, visit http://www.guthyjacksonfoundation.org/donate/tribute-donations/. Be sure to let them know your donation is in honor of Patti Lellock.
On November 18, I want to earn two PRs when I run the Philadelphia Marathon. The first is to beat my Shamrock Marathon time of 3:59. It's the less realistic of my two goals, however, and it's the less important one. My second goal is to raise more money for NMO research than I did when I ran the Shamrock Marathon in 2011. We raised $2,015 last time in honor of my mom, who has suffered from NMO (or Devic's Disease) for over 5 years. This time, I would like to raise at least $2,500.
There's still no cure for this disease, and the treatment options are limited. Through her experience with Devic's, my mom has shown what true strength really is. In running, a PR is also called a PB, or personal best. Every step I take of my marathon is a reminder to be strong and to make each moment a personal best.
If you'd like to learn more about NMO or to donate, visit http://www.guthyjacksonfoundation.org/donate/tribute-donations/. Be sure to let them know your donation is in honor of Patti Lellock.
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