Almost immediately after I ran the Bolder Boulder; that day, in fact, Gregory gave me a login to Pyrasports, an online training tool and workout log program he'd created some time ago to keep track of his workouts. He got me to the login prompt, then placed his laptop in front of me, indicating that I should create my account. I did so, with the username "soreloser". It was a joke then and still is now, but a good reminder whenever I log in that that's exactly who I SHOULDN'T be...a sore loser. I wasn't at the Bolder Boulder and now, with one week of marathon training to go before I stat tapering, I need to keep that in mind more and more. Especially since today's run caused a major reevaluation of present circumstances, as well as a drastic change of plans.
Today was supposed to be a twenty-miler. I got up at five-thirty, had half of a whole wheat bagel, a large glass of Gatorade, and a small Nalgene full of Driven, my latest and greatest discovery: a pre-workout performance cocktail that does for aspiring runners what Long Island iced teas do for aspiring drunks. Anyway, it's great stuff. I was stoked, I was ready, I headed out around seven to the reservoir. First I had to setup my halfway-point rest stop, where I'd be able to refill my bottles. In addition to the 32 fluid ounces of Accelerade and water I was carrying on a hydration pack strapped on my waist, I left another 20 ounces of Accelerade, 20 ounces of water, and another small Nalgene full of Driven packed in bags of ice at the ten-mile point of my run. I felt pretty good, and as I headed back to the starting point, I forced myself to focus in on the task before me.
Focusing on ANYTHING hasn't been easy over the last few days. My life as it was got rudely interrupted by terrible news of a violent crime committed against my sister several days ago, and things haven't been the same since. She's all right, thank God, just badly shaken up and at the time, totally terrified, and the perpetrators of this heinous offense were caught and will have their day in court where, hopefully, they will be sentenced to decades in prison for what they did. However, the incident brought an eclipse over my life that wouldn't have been there otherwise. Reality as I knew it was suddenly blotted out as effectively as the moon overpowering the sun's rays during those incredible events, and I've been operating in a state of relative shock lately, getting little to no sleep, jumping at any noise in the middle of the night, dealing with awful, lengthy, and brutal crying jags that tear out all of my energy and leave me empty. I got to go see my sister today, thankfully, just seeing her and getting to hug her and love her and be close to her will greatly improve things for me, I feel. But it's had an effect on everything.
Including training. Not sleeping much the last few nights as well as the general upset my digestive system has been going through has taken its toll, and I had to leave the start twice to go home and go to the bathroom. Once my bowels and bladder were, I figured, finally empty, I scurried back to the start. It was almost nine-thirty, and very nearly too late to begin a twenty-miler. At best, it would be very, very hot by the time I finished. I gritted my teeth, pulled on my visor, and set off.
After less than a mile my shins began to throb with the splints I've now begun to associate with the patellar tendinitis and ITB syndrome that's been plaguing my left knee lastely and dumped me out of training for a month. Frantically I sped up, slowed down, stretched, tried to sit for a bit, then start going again. Nothing helped. Finally, nearing a rest area behind Boulder Reservoir, I made my decision. I would have to drop out of the marathon.
"Failure is not an option" is a great mantra, especially in endurance sports, but the difference between smart athletes and stupid athletes is that some of us know that that mantra means that true failure is proven by never starting in the first place or becoming so discouraged that you just quit altogether, and some of us only recognize the goal ahead of us. The smart ones modify their training schedules, go see specialists for recurring problems that impede our training and/or our health and, if and when necessary, modify the goal or drop it altogether. The stupid ones continue doggedly until they injure themselves so badly they're looking at months if not years in rehab and physical therapy, surgery, and possibly the outcome that they'll never be able to do their sport again. I've pushed the envelope of being the smart athlete, in part because I'm just a poser, as Gregory likes to say, and in part because I have modified my training schedule, seen a specialist, slowed down, taken time off, and gone as slowly as possible to accommodate my training. I made it eighteen miles last week. That said, I walked ten and ran eight. My knee was nearly shot by the time I finished, and I was gasping in pain whenever I had to take on the slightest downhill incline.
When I reached my decision today, it was a moment of absolute clarity. It made sense. It is what I have to do, so that I can keep training, so that I can keep running, so that I can go for a marathon later this year and then explore the possibility of Leadville further as I increase my training...the smart way. By adding distance gradually and upping intensity carefully. By not overtraining. By listening to my body. And most of all, especially in light of what happened to my family over the last few days, by remembering that there are about a zillion things in this world more important than the completion of a marathon on September 25 or, for that matter, anytime.
I am going to finish this post, log off, and go to my Pyrasports account, where I will modify my set goal. Then I will go to Backroads' website and change my registration to the half marathon. On the plus side, I will get to run with Gregory. He is 99% certain he is going to do the half, so we'll get to do it together. IF he can keep up with me, that is...
After all of that is said and done I am going home to shower and feed the kitty and then to see my sister. It's amazing how important these things seem...until something else happens to make you realize how incredibly stupid your little run is, in the grand scheme of things. In the past four days, I've been given the opportunity to realize my injury is bad enough that I need to bow out of a run of a distance that could cause permanent injury. I've also been given a second chance to be a better sister, and a reminder of just how great an opportunity that is. I would give anything to be able to go back and erase those minutes, those hours that my sister spent terrified and threatened and fearing for her life, and anything to be able to take away the future trauma that's in store because of this. But I can't do that. So the best I can do, the only thing I can do, is try to be the best sister I possibly can be. That's a lot more important than anything else in the world ever could be, and I know that now.
Asselronde 25 km Recap
2 months ago