Turns out that day off is kinda important
A little. I kind of hope. Because yesterday was brutal. There was the on-and-off rain, during which I had to cradle my GPS-averse iPhone in my shallow windbreaker pocket and accept the drops clinging to my hair, clothes, etc. There was the return of the searing pain at the bottom of my feet, owing, I think, to my ill-advised decision to, instead of doubling up on sporty socks like I usually do on the long runs, pairing thin socks with what I believed to be cushy enough ones.
There was the difficulty breathing, which I guess I can pin on either the humidity, my four straight days of running (totaling 24 miles—ha, still not a marathon in sum! Ha. Ha…ha.). Also, my fitness level? Hope not.
I thought I had done everything to prepare after last week’s tenner. I stayed in the night before (well, after two margaritas at happy hour and some sober mingling). I bought one of those stupid carb, electrolyte colorful drinks that scare me and swallowed it up a couple hours before I headed up to Central Park on the F train, following loads of water. I also brought my water bottle, but like last week I had to ditch it after the first few miles. Between the rain, the mechanics of my too chilly/too warm windbreaker and my vulnerable iPhone, there was no way I could cart that at least 15-pound Poland Spring. So after those first few sips it was dunzo. I already had the overwhelming urge to pee, and while that’s not an indication of hydration, especially with so much distance left, I was also good lookin’ out for my bladder. And arm.
With all this, the pain, the rain, the juggling, I allowed myself to walk 3-4 times. I think it was 4, to be fair. Each time was about 1.5 minutes before I grudgingly broke back into my run, and I’m not sure if they helped. Physically, perhaps they didn’t. The walking didn’t soothe the pain inside my Asics or cushion my knees. Mentally, though, I might’ve needed it.
That mental thing is tricky, though. My biggest use for it is usually tracking my distance, i.e. “After this quarter of a mile and two more, you’ll be a quarter of the way there! Plus a victory lap!” I’m obviously bad at tricking myself, but I never stop trying. I go Fox News spinmaster on those cold hard numbers. Don’t know if this is bad or good. I’ve been doing it since high school, when I’d calculate minutes left in the class minus those pesky last 5 because “those don’t count.” These fantasy calculations annoyed my friends. Now they’re strictly aimed at my panting, huffing self.
Yesterday, though, I had to talk myself out of stopping too much. Which didn’t always work. “Remember last week?? Stopping for a minute was such a good decision!” (My internal voice is manic at this point, obv.) Ok. Power walk. Let’s stop again! No. Yes. No. Let’s just call it quits after 8 miles; it’s so easy! The 123 train stop is right there! The deli where you shall purchase water with the two dollar bills stuffed in your iPhone case is right there across 7th Ave! It was so hard to push through. But I’m so competitive and hard on myself, I don’t know if I could have ever seriously completely given up. But I’ve never been so tempted in my training until now.
But I made it through. I recently discovered some walking is kind of expected, I guess, in these long distances. At the very least, allowed. I didn’t even consider this possibility til I finally read some of the chapters I’d skipped over in my book, which include personal stories from people who’ve done the program. Not that I want to encourage myself to splice in so many power walks, but it probably is beneficial to have that option, over completely giving up and hopelessness.
So, tomorrow I begin a new week of more properly spaced-out training. On the agenda to buy in the meantime: new sports bras (I won’t get into the details of my horrid chaffing wounds… oops guess I just did) and those Batman utility packs of water, ?, etc. I see people with on the trails. Streamline this whole endeavor of mine.
I think it’s hardest for the reasons they—you know all those runners—say. The mental. And it seems no matter the instruction and advice, which does tremendously help, you’re figuring it out for yourself. Every time. That should be a bumper sticker: Runners: Doin’ it for themselves.
Maybe not.
