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.