Making do

Yikes, I haven't posted for awhile. Running has been less of a priority for the past couple of weeks, as I've been busy working on a school project, reconnecting with an old friend, and preparing for our AGM at work. I've been trying to do faster, higher-intensity runs to make the most of my time.

Yesterday I did two one-mile repeats. Since I don't live anywhere near a track, I found a crescent in a ritzy, relatively quiet neighbourhood that is exactly 500 m around. So I do three laps plus 100 m. I should really just set up my Garmin so it will auto-lap at a mile, but that would mean changing to imperial units and that's annoying.

Anyway, I hit my target of 5:10/km (see, then I'd have to convert that to min/mi, and I know it's 8-something, but...annoying), and actually was a little quicker on the first repeat. It still kicked my ass, though--so much so that I seriously contemplated changing it to 400 m repeats. But then I saw some presumably wealthy resident running farther out around the crescent, and I was determined to beat her. Ah, my competitive streak.

I'm hoping to do a 18 km LSD on Sunday. I've decreased my long-run distances over the last month, mostly because of a lack of time, but also because I'm running out of places to go to increase my distance. Vancouver is only so big, it seems.

I'm still trying to decide if I should join a Running Room clinic for the marathon. The goal race for the one I'm looking at is the Okanagan International Marathon, which is the same weekend as Victoria. I'm hoping at least a few other people in the group will be training for RVM, because it would kind of suck to train with them for five months and then race alone. Kind of REALLY suck. Training alone is really tempting, but I haven't been as disclipined, training for the Scotiabank Half alone, as I was training with the clinic for the Fall Classic Half last year. So, camaraderie versus the bliss of running alone: where do you stand?

Commitment

I just registered for the full Royal Victoria Marathon. The reason I always register early for these things is that I need that financial commitment as a training incentive. But I also rationalize that it's only $80, so I could still flake out without too much lost.

I'm scared, though. Hold me!

The power of crap

I am something of a perfectionist. Or rather, a recovering perfectionist. This manifests itself in various ways, but we are gathered here today to to talk about running.

I used to get really down on myself when I had a bad run. A "bad run" usually translated as not going far enough or long enough or fast enough, having to stop and/or walk, feeling tired or hungry, being passed by the elderly, attracting unwanted comments or looks, having to run into the wind for too long--basically, every run I ever went on. The certainty of having what I deemed a "good run" felt far beyond my control.

I'd return from such a run feeling defeated and might even let it deter me from trying again for a few days. I had this concept of a perfect runner--the Platonic ideal of a runner, if you will--who was out there seven days a week, doing endless hill repeats solely on willpower and a bowl of Cheerios eaten 10 hours ago. I'm not even sure these runners actually exist. But in my mind, everyone else in the world was one of them and because I wasn't able to complete that day's run the way I'd wanted to, I'd failed in some way.

Lately, I've begun to embrace crappy runs. I have a pet theory--yes, I've graduated from running neophyte to one of those pretentious runners who cultivates philosophies--that you need the bad runs to really appreciate the good ones.

Take yesterday: I was feeling pretty good at work. My energy level was steady. I'd eaten enough and I was well hydrated. The weather was decent--warm, dry, mild wind. I practically ran home from work so I could change into my running gear and run some more.

I started my usual 10K route in reverse, along the False Creek Seawall. About 10 minutes in, I noticed I was breathing harder than I normally do for the amount of effort I was exerting. I didn't think my fitness could have declined that much over the past few weeks (I haven't been running as regularly as I should be, with a half-marathon coming up next month), and so I decided just to take it down a notch: steady instead of tempo pace.

Then, at 25 minutes, I took a one-minute walk break. Then, a few minutes later, another. Finally, a few minutes away from Granville Island, I sat down on a bench and hit stop on my Garmin. I watched a few runners I'd been pacing go by. I listened to the shouts of the dragon boat teams practising in the creek. I felt the sweat running down the back of my neck.

Newly determined, told myself I was going to continue. I went a few hundred metres and just stopped dead. I'd run out of gas. Maybe I'd misjudged and hadn't eaten enough. Maybe I was more tired than I thought . Maybe my heart just wasn't in it. Maybe I had indeed lost some of my endurance and needed to redouble my training efforts. All I knew was, I wasn't going to finish this run.

Luckily, I'd brought my bus pass for just such an event. As I mentioned in my last post, I didn't used to do this. And I felt a little guilty for bringing it this time, because it made it almost too easy to walk up and catch the #50 South False Creek a block away. But it was cooling off and I couldn't fathom walking the 5K home, into the wind, uphill. Plus, Ugly Betty was on in 40 minutes.

So I wrote yesterday's run off as a 5K that was better than nothing. It was actually sort of funny to me that I couldn't do 5K after doing five times that much on Sunday--it almost doesn't seem logical, and I guess that's the nature of the beast. You can train diligently for months but run a terrible race, and it sucks, but the latter doesn't negate the former. A bad run today means the possibility of a better run tomorrow.

And when I hear myself say things like that, I feel like a less-toothy Tony Robbins.

Running my own race

This morning was the 37th annual BMO Vancouver Marathon, which I was not running in. But Vancouver is only so big, and so of course my long run intersected the route several times.

Watching the participants going in the opposite direction certainly helped the time go by faster, and I did 25K in just under three hours, which is pretty much right where my long slow distance pace should be. I'm relieved that my endurance hasn't diminished too much in the past few weeks, during which I hadn't run over two hours at a time.

My hamstrings were screaming louder than the race spectators toward the end, though, so than rather negotiate the 15-block gradual incline back to my apartment, I hopped on a bus. I never used to do this, but now I make a point of carrying my bus pass with me when I go for my long runs. I just feel better knowing I have an "out" if I bonk or get injured.

So maybe next year I'll do the BMO. My excuses for not doing it this year were that I didn't want to train in the snow (valid) and I don't want to run 200 feet up Prospect Point (very valid). But it would be neat to run a full marathon right here in Vancouver. I'll think on it.

Other running things of note:

I am not so impressed with the Fuel Belt. It was bouncing around a LOT at first--so much that after two blocks I was going to go back and get my usual water carrier. Then I guess I started sweating or whatever, and it more or less stayed in place. But the sloshing noises were distracting, and I KNEW I should have gotten the small size instead of medium, even though the small barely fit around my hips. The minute you fill the bottles up with water and gel, the whole thing is heavier and you need to make it tighter and I can tell it's going to stretch some more with time and GRR. That's $50 not so well spent. Do you think I can sweet talk the Running Room manager into letting me exchange it, even though it's used?

I watched Spirit of the Marathon yesterday. I'm pretty sure 90% of the audience was running BMO today--it was probably the fittest movie audience ever. I really enjoyed how they followed different types of runners: elites like Deena Kastor and Daniel Njenga, first-timers (or "26.2 virgins," as someone's shirt declares), and veteran marathoners trying to improve their time.

There are also some interesting anecdotes about the history of the marathon. My favourite came from Katherine Switzer, the first woman to enter the Boston Marathon. Women weren't allowed to enter at this time (1967!), so she registered as "K. Switzer," and when race official Jock Semple saw her, he tried to grab her and pull her out of the race. Switzer debated whether she should leave the course; she clearly wasn't welcome, but finally she decided that leaving would only prove those who didn't believe women could race right. Switzer's boyfriend, Tom Miller, knocked Semple away with his shoulder, and Switzer ran off. Awesome.

A line from the film that will stick with me is "People run marathons to prove to themselves that there is still triumph and possibility in their lives." I started sobbing when I heard that, because I've never heard it put quite that way, and it's so accurate for me. I think it's the "still" that gets me. I tell people I run because it's the only form of exercise I actually enjoy, which is true, and I started running mainly to lose weight, but as for why I keep doing it? I've known a lot of disappointment in my life, and there are times even now when I feel like I'll never know true fulfillment or happiness. But whether it's a 3K run around the block or a half-marathon, I get a sense of achievement, if only for a moment, and it makes me hopeful that there is more. Just more.

Back in the saddle

After a week of no running (although I did my runners' yoga class and felt slightly fraudulent), I went for a 10K along the False Creek side of the Seawall last night, including a lap around Granville Island. Time: 56:50, which is quicker than my Sun Run time, although I wasn't trying to beat it. I probably went a bit faster than I should have, but my muscles wanted to move.

It was warm enough to wear short sleeves for the first time this year, and bright enough that I didn't trip over the uneven rocks that "pave" the pathway. (Seriously, I'll have to get a photo of it, because it's so spectacularly ill conceived. Here's someone else's photo in the meantime. People are actually supposed to rollerblade on that.)

Last night, a cyclist missed a curve and went over the edge of the Seawall, and there was footage all over the news this morning of his dramatic emergency rescue. They couldn't get the ambulances in there because the Seawall is still unstable in places. Apparently, he was intoxicated and riding in the dark with his friends, which I guess seemed like a good idea at the time.

I've had my share of run-ins with cyclists in Stanley Park. I really make an effort to stay in the pedestrian lane and shoulder-check before I cross the bike lane. So imagine my surprise early one Sunday morning when a cyclist came barrelling toward me, not only in the wrong lane, but going in the wrong direction (the cyclist lane is one way only).

He looked like he'd lost control, but he wasn't making any effort to stop or get out of the way. I was only about 8K into my long run and still half asleep , but I dodged him at the last minute. He mumbled some sort of apology as he continued to straddle the lanes unsteadily. Now that I think about it, maybe he was drunk, too. Perhaps one Sunday morning I will carry beer in my Fuel Belt and see how far I get.