Well, holy crap, I'm running a marathon on Sunday. Magiccool?

I've survived much of taper madness. (And am still going through the "am i really ready?" phase of taper.)  I've had a lot of stress at work, and I'm trying to leave it all at home (or at work) to get my head on straight for Sunday.

Came across the notification that they are offering deferments due to the weather. Defer. For next year. Like not run Sunday and put it off for a year. I don't think my 20 milers will hang in my legs for that long, so I'm going to go ahead and run. Here's where we are at on this:

1. Going to be carrying some sort of fluid with me, I think. Visions of the Chicago marathon from that one really, really hot year are dancing in my head, and I'm thinking better safe than sorry. I may change my mind on Sunday morning, but that's where my head is right now. (And the Flying Pig people are already saying that they are doubling up on their fluids for Sunday).

2. Abandoning all time goals. Oh, wait. I already did that. Well, I'm abandoning them even more. They are even more left behind now. If I'm hot, I'm walking. Just gotta cover the 26.2 miles on my feet on Sunday, and that'll be a success. No watch.

3. Taking salt tabs. I have to pick them up yet, but I lose salt like no one's business on hot days. So I'll be taking some salt tabs with me.

4. Bought cooling cloths. Got this great thing called "Magicool". I'm not relishing the idea of lugging my weight in gear around on Sunday, but this looks like a good idea. It's a cloth. And it's cool. How bad can that be?

5. Relying on my training. I'm a pretty tough cookie. Even when I'm a little out of shape, I can get my head in the right space. Depending on that.

Finally, I'm going to enjoy the run. Seriously. This is going to be fun. Damn it.

Yesterday's run was brought to me by the letter "R"

Running stroller + Ruby Grace + wind Resistance + Reality + REALLY warm

Yesterday was the start of a much-needed four-day weekend, and I took advantage of the free morning to pull the running stroller out of the closet and take the Rooster out for a run. A tough, tough run.

There was a lot going on. Roo is now 25 pounds big. Even though we bought a top-of-the-line running stroller, that's still a bit of weight to push. And there was a wind. I felt like I was trying to push a small horse down the road. A small, reluctant horse. The 70+ degree day was beautiful. It was the hottest I've been on a run in months. I was drenched by the halfway point. So grateful for my small, reluctant horse of a running stroller to carry my water bottle!

I intended to run somewhere between four and eight miles. Thunderstorms were threatening. I wasn't sure how Roo was going to do in the stroller for that length of time. And I was waiting for a call that was going to change my schedule for the day, so I felt like I couldn't commit to a specific distance.

All that being said...what a great, tough run! Roo is a champ in the running stroller. We talked for the whole run. She pointed out every bird, butterfly, and big tree along the way. Whenever I drank, she drank (never too early to instill an understanding of the importance of hydration). And she loved the ride so much that when we got home, she insisted on staying in the stroller for her morning snack.

I do not always gauge runs by the distance, and yesterday was all about gauging by effort required to finish the run. Despite only getting in five very slow miles, I felt like I had gotten in a very hard eight. More stroller runs to come, for sure.

18 miler coming up this weekend.

Falling off the wagon and finding my way back to the saddle...on being discouraged

Ran last Sunday and totally bonked. Nothing else this week. Work. Only work. Monday through Thursday of this week, I came home every night from a long day and felt like I would barely make it to put my daughter to bed for the night. Could not get myself into that headspace where I needed to run no matter what. I felt like I was getting my ass kicked by Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and I was stuck at the bottom of the pyramid.

I can list the reasons...er, excuses...er, reasons. But I have not run this week. And I'm looking at a 17 mile long run this weekend. And I'm mentally in a strange place. I've never tried to pull off a marathon on this kind of training nonsense, so I'm in new territory. I feel like I can totally recover from this bad/blah week with a solid run this weekend, so I'm putting a lot of weight in that long run. What if I can't pull it together?

Here's the thing, I'm not a "What if?" kind of a gal. I played that game when I was at Ironman Wisconsin the first time around, and I pretty much put that to rest. With "What if?", just answer the question, and it's done. Ironman Wisconsin--What if I use up everything I have on the swim? What if my bike breaks down? What if the hills really are as bad as they look on the course profile? What if I forget my sunscreen? What if I get dehydrated and can't get caught up? What if I don't make the cutoff times? You name it, I asked it. And I answered every single one of them before I even got to Madison. Most of the answers were something along the lines of, "I would suck it up and move on."

So I'm surprised to find myself "What if"ing again this week. Time to turn it on...

What if? I'll gauge it. And try it again on Sunday.
What if? I'll plan walk breaks and take them.
What if? I'll do better with nutrition this week.
What if? If I don't get out first thing tomorrow morning, I'll wait until Sunday morning.

And I've got to be consistent in my other runs this week. I'm a lucky duck. Spring is just around the corner, and the changing of the clocks on Sunday promises longer daylight hours after work. Shut down the what-ifs, and get back in the saddle.

You be strong woman! Continue!

I got passed by a Kenyan today. Twice. An actual Kenyan...not a speedy fast figment of my imagination. And when I say passed, I don't mean once coming and once going. I mean the guy lapped me. (He's a runner on the local university team.)

I get to qualify this by saying that I was running a 1.25 mile loop in a local park on a gravel trail, and he was doing some sort of inner loop on the grass (cross-country style), so I don't think he was actually doing the same distance that I was. But whatever distance he was doing, he was doing it a heck of a lot faster.

I got out of work late today, pulled on my running shorts (yes, shorts in February), and walked out to my truck debating all the way there whether or not I should just head home. I was pressed for time, and by the time I got to the park where I wanted to run, I wasn't sure I'd have time for even a three miler. With the Flying Pig coming up, though, there isn't much wiggle room for missing runs, so I hit the trail.

Initially this post was going to be about the running monologue in my head while I run in a park. My brain wants me to say these unfiltered thoughts to the people I pass. "Really, those Skecher shape-ups aren't doing a thing for your ass." "I'd kill for that pace." "Buddy, lose the fleece...it's freaking 60 out here!""Hey, dog friend." "What's with the side to side arm motion, dude?" "You. Are. Badass." These comments are usually interspersed with my own comments to myself. "You do love hills. You really do." "Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast." "Tuesday night tacos?" "Relentless forward motion." But then he showed up. The Kenyan.

I was coming down into a little mini-valley...down to the bottom, through the scoop, and right back up again. I had just taken those few sweet steps where forward momentum and downward momentum somehow combine to make the running feel effortless, and I was about to start the grind up a 1/3 mile long hill when I saw him coming out of the corner of my eye. Fast. Feet kicking up. Smooth. That sweet spot feeling immediately disappeared, and I just wanted to stop and watch the poetry in motion. He was unbelievable. He said something to me that I didn't hear as he passed, and I said, "Go, man, go!" and he was gone.

On the second loop, I didn't see him coming. Through the sweet spot again and about twenty steps up the hill, and he was behind me again (very briefly). "You had to catch me on the hill twice," I said cleverly as if the hill was what was making the difference...not my 10:42 pace. What he said made my day, "It's good. You be strong woman! Continue!" And he was gone again.

New mantra. Thinking about putting it on my shirt for the Pig.

You be strong woman! Continue!

A new route, a milestone, and dog poop (again with the dogs)

I set out on a new running route today. I never do that. I run the same roads every single time I run. Most of the time I run alone, so running familiar routes is a comfort to me. I know the houses. I know the dogs. (There are two on the backside of my 8-mile loop who chase me every Sunday on my long run, but they are behind an electric fence.) And apparently some of the people know me--I once got passed by a woman out on a beach cruiser who struck up a conversation with me about how much I was running because she'd watched me lose 20 pounds over the course of several months passing by her house on my runs.

Today on my 14 miler, I ran out into the countryside onto the sixteen-mile loop that is part of my bike route. Hills. I haven't found out too much about the Flying Pig, but people tell me that I need to be running hills. Perhaps not the wisest choice today--I haven't run 14 miles in five years. I've been sick for the last week and a half. And I was tacking two miles onto my previous long run, so it promised to be a tough day out there anyway.

The thing about this route, though, is that I know where the dogs are because they've chased me on my bike a million times. I talked with my husband about it before I left the house, and he said that he hadn't seen any dogs in the house I was most worried about in quite some time. Comforting. Last time I'd been by there on a bike, no fewer than four dogs had chased me down. My husband said that he seldom gets chased on the run like he does on a bike. Hmmmm. Okay. I'd give it a whirl.

So this house is about five miles into the run. And you get to the top of a roller just before you get to the edge of the property. Then you're faced with about a third of a mile of barnyard and junkyard-like paraphernalia to deal with. If the dogs are there, they are usually pretty well-hidden, but they are never chained or collared. And by the time I got there today, I had repeated my husband's words about not having seen dogs there several times in my head like a mantra to calm me. Still, I was wound up.

I tried to run as stealthily as I could, and I was about halfway past the house when I started to think my husband might have been right. Maybe these folks had gotten rid of their dogs. Phew. What a relief. Shuffle, shuffle....shit. Yep. Right next to the mailbox. Two amazing piles of dog poop. I mean, these piles were so huge that I wasn't sure that Clifford himself hadn't been there. My heart rate skyrocketed, but I shuffled on. Evidence. No dogs today. But the signs are clearly there.

Miles four through eight were the hills. I was gassed when I was done with them, and I still had another six to go. I finished, though. I wrapped up the run at exactly fourteen miles, and I was exhilarated and discouraged. Exhilarated because I hit the 14 mile milestone again. I haven't been that distance since the marathon of Ironman Wisconsin in 2007. Discouraged because my mile pace was a full minute slower than the 12 miler I'd done a couple of weeks earlier. Also discouraged because I felt like crap when I finished. Seriously. I got in the shower and couldn't stand still because my hammies were screaming so loudly. I went through that mental space where the marathon seems ridiculous. If 14 feels this bad, then how the heck am I supposed to get back to 26.2? And I'm looking at a 5+ hour marathon time, and that's something I've got to get in the right head space about before I toe the line in May.

All part of the process. And there's no point to committing to a marathon if I'm not going to appreciate the process.

100 miles down...14 miler coming...and rich dogs...

So I discovered something yesterday while running. I got to run out of a park that I normally don't get to run from, and I headed from there up a tree-lined street into what I'm pretty sure would be a gated community if we had such things in the area where I live. The houses up there are amazing--well-manicured lawns, wide streets, views of other well-manicured lawns, circular drives, and street lights appropriately placed every so often so as to highlight the well-manicured lawns. There is only one road in and out of the subdivision, and that road leads to a circle of 1.1 miles through the subdivision looping back to the entry road. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty sweet. There wasn't a person to be seen on the entire run, and I kept thinking to myself, "These folks should get used to seeing me because if they aren't going to use these beautiful streets, I sure as heck am." Whoever those folks are. I didn't see a soul. But here's the thing I discovered--rich dogs are annoying, too.

I planned to run about 3.59 miles yesterday. Okay, at least 3.59 miles yesterday. I had exactly that much to hit 100 miles for the year. The road from the park up to the loop was .65 miles. And I went around the 1.1 mile loop once admiring the houses and thinking about how peaceful it was to be in this beautiful area of town. What I didn't realize was that while I was doing my first one-mile loop, the homeowners were all coming home from work and letting their dogs out.

So I headed out for loop 2, and I met my first two furry friends. Yip dogs. No sweat. A few houses on from there, and there was a black lab-type friend and some other muttly looking guy. And the parade continued. What had been a peaceful neighborhood only minutes before erupted in wild barking for the extent of my second loop around. Eight dogs came out from four different houses in a 1.1 mile stretch. And still, not a person in sight. I thought the barking would bring someone out, but nope. Pretty much the same as in the country. When I run past someone's property and their dog goes on the offensive barking and such, no one seems to take note. Not something I really understand. If my dogs go after someone/something, I go after them... and then apologize profusely and explain that they are geriatric and can't hear and don't really have teeth anymore. No one bit, though. So that was a good thing.

Tomorrow is a 14 mile run. I was going to do it Sunday, but the weather is rolling in. Tomorrow's high: 60. Sunday's high: 37. Hmmmm, tough call. 14 miles is enough to reassure myself of my badassness (giggles out loud), so I don't feel the need to add in challenging weather if I can avoid it. The journey to the Flying Pig continues.

1:43...9 miles. 40:something...4 miles.

It's been a decent running  week. My goals for training for the Flying Pig largely involve consistency. So I give myself five stars for a week if I manage to get in two runs during the week and then a Saturday and Sunday run. This week was a four star week--one run during the week and then the Saturday and Sunday runs happened. One of the hardest parts about starting a marathon training program post-baby is recognizing that having a two-year-old baby means that you have to make choices between training and family time, and family time is often going to win.

4 miler--Jessie Beam Frozen Four Mile
We entered a benefit race on Saturday morning for a student who had a serious infection this fall, and the money from the run was going to benefit the family. It was supposed to start at 9:34, but we had a snow fall on Friday that actually caused the course and park to be too frozen for the run. Irony. The race started at 1:30.

For me, it was a decent run for where I am right now. Something like 10:12 average for the run. I was cold. It was on gravel paths. I started out a little fast, so my third mile was my slowest. Low point? The finish. Some chick decided to step in front of me right when we were crossing the finish line. Okay, let's take a moment here. First, it's a benefit race, and I was placing 123rd overall, so neither she nor I were going to take home any hardware. Second, I'm not actually sure that she stepped in front of me, but the guy at the finish line said that she did. I'm too stinking competitive, really. A) She's a jackass for pulling that nonsense at the finish line and b) I look like a jackass if I complain about it because if it really doesn't matter, then why should I care?

Sunday long run...9 miles
We are all sick. Ruby started on Thursday. Kevin started on Friday night. I started on Saturday. Saturday night was misery for us all. Ruby was up for most of the night because when she wasn't up, she was coughing. And when she coughed, she ended up nearly vomiting or vomiting because her cough was so strong. So by Sunday morning, I think I had had about four hours of sleep. Kevin was on the couch coughing. I just wanted to curl up in bed. But, as I told Kevin, when you've committed to a marathon, you don't get the luxury of skipping a long run. So I strapped on the shoes and headed out the door.

There isn't really much of consequence to report other than that I covered the distance. This week's head game was to count to 1,000 steps (yes, you read that correctly) and then take a one-minute walk break to fuel up with water or gel. That worked really well up until about mile 7 and then I started to feel run down and took breaks after 500 steps.

I must not have been in really awful shape at the end of the run because I was able to do the math (amazing how the ability to do math has become my fatigue gauge over the years) and figured out that if I hold that pace (11:24) for the marathon, I'm looking at a five-hour marathon. My PR for the marathon is 4:31, and my PW is probably in the 5:25 range if you don't consider the times on my Ironman marathons (I have no clue what those were right now). I'd rather be in the 4:45 range. I've got to get my pace down to at least an 11 minute mile to do that. I ran a 2:29:20 half marathon in October. Hmmm. Maybe, for right now, I should say I'm shooting for sub-5.

Now, where's that cold medicine?