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Joan's Training Log

Friday, January 7
I'm sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and enjoying my first cup of coffee when the headline "Exercise with Benefits" catches my eye. I like the sound of that, and read on. In this way, I learn about the Team in Training Program which combines training for a marathon with raising money for lymphoma, Steve's illness. Within minutes, I know I'll join. The timing and goals just seem strangely appropriate, and somehow, the decision already made. I call the TNT office and find out there will be an information session on the 18th. It's a first step.

Tuesday, January 18
After a few wrong turns, I pull into the hotel parking lot and find the room for the session. Several enthusiastic staff members are manning an information table in the hall. About 30 people of all ages are milling about. I grab some fliers and take a seat. Soon the session begins.

First we hear an overview of the program, then we meet team leaders and coaches for the various events (marathon, half-marathon, cycling and triathlon). They're all volunteers and past participants. Since I've been running for a few years, the marathon seems like the best choice. I see one event is in Anchorage, and this clinches it. On to Alaska!

A middle-aged man stands up to tell his cancer story. He has follicular lymphoma, the same diagnosis as Steve. I'm moved by his struggle and feel the synchronicity of the moment. His daughter ran in his name, and mentioning this makes him tear up a bit. I'm ready to sign up tonight, but I decide to wait and talk to Steve first. When I get home, I tell him about the session. He's encouraging and supportive as always. In a few days, I mail in my registration with a commitment check for $75 which goes toward my fundraising goal. Only $4,125 to go!

A few days later, a packet arrives with lots of information, including a pre-training schedule for the month of January. I'm relieved to see the runs are about 3-4 miles, about my usual. So I'm not too out of shape.

Saturday, January 29
Today is the kick-off celebration - 8:00 AM at a hotel in Alexandria, VA. Not my usual time to get up on Saturday morning, but I figure I'd better get used to it. Long group runs will be at this time each Saturday throughout the spring.

I make some coffee, grab my info packet and head toward the hotel. I find the TNT area, but this time I see hundreds of people and tables loaded with information, T-shirts and food. Everyone looks excited...lots of talking, sharing and just standing around taking it in.

I pick up my information packet and look inside the banquet hall. There are many round tables holding about 10-12 people. I've been assigned to a group of other Alaska marathoners sitting together at a table near the door. I talk for awhile with Vicki, a mother of four kids who done a marathon already.

The TNT staff is sitting on a dais in front of the hall. After a welcome, each one stands to tell us a little about different aspects of the training, fundraising and LLS programs. They convey an air of sincere enthusiasm and support. It's clear they're committed to the program as is everyone in the room. I realize many participants are returning for their second or even third time. The cyclists are an especially rowdy bunch. (Is there beer on that side of the room?).

Next we hear from Sport & Spine Rehab, a TNT partner. Participants can have a free consultation to talk about any health or past injury concerns. A cancer survivor rises to share his story. He believes he owes his life to research sponsored by the LSS. We meet other honored teammates - special people who have a blood cancer. Two children are assigned to our group. Victoria (15) has the same birthday as I which feels like another synchronicity. Bryce is only 1 year old - a baby with cancer!

The program lasts about two hours and truly seems to be a celebration of our efforts to come. Before leaving I make an appointment with Sport & Spine to find out how I can protect my left knee. It aches and "pops" whenever I move in certain ways. Can't have the poor thing breaking down on me. I also talk for a while with Steve, my team leader (TL). He's done a number of marathons and says, "You don't believe it now, but soon you'll be saying...Oh, I only have to do 10 miles today!"

My chosen event is the Mayor's Midnight Sun Marathon on June 18, 2005 in Anchorage, Alaska. I'm excited about this personal challenge. I've never run more than 5 miles at a stretch, but I'm ready to go for 26. I've also never done any fundraising, but I've pledged to collect $4,200. It's a lot of money, but I feel confident I can reach this goal with your help. When I do, I'll donate my expenses as well so all funds will go to LLS.

Tuesday, February 1
In my information packet, I find a complete training schedule that takes me up to the day of the marathon. Runners are divided into two groups.
Novice runners:

1. are new to running (first marathon)
2. have a base of 10-15 miles/week to start
3. have a goal to "just finish the race"

Experienced runners:

1. have run 1 or more marathons
2. run pace between 9-10 min/mile
3. have a base over 15 miles/week

I guess I'm three-for-three with the novices, so I know where I stand. In February, I'm to run three miles every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. The length goes up to four miles on the 19th and 22nd, and five miles on the 26th. Not too bad, I think, until I sneak a peek at the month of May.

Week of February 1
My mid-week three-mile runs go just fine. I run in the afternoon at the local high school track since the students aren't training for any outside sports right now. Each lap is 1/4 mile, so I do twelve laps. I don't time myself, but just try to keep a steady pace. A few other hardy souls are walking or jogging as well. One young man does an easy lope pass me, but I just keep trucking. When I'm done, I feel good, but try not to think about what it would be like to have to run 23 more miles.

During the week, I receive emails with information and greetings from the TNT staff, my coaches and TL. I also get directions for signing up for a yahoo news group. The backup support continues. I learn there will be a clinic for marathoners on Saturday at 9 AM. We'll be meeting at a high school about 20 minutes away.

Wednesday, February 2
This morning I have my appointment with Sport & Spine Rehab. I find the building easily enough and take the elevator to the basement. There's a just-moved-in look to the office, but the young staff seems friendly. I fill out forms, wait about 45 minutes and then meet with a doctor. I tell him briefly about my knee. He watches while I walk toward and away from him. He says I pronate quite a lot and lets me see for myself in a full-length mirror. The inside of my right foot almost lays on the ground when I walk. He then moves my leg into different positions to check for pain. No discomfort, but my knee does "pop" a couple of times. In the end, he recommends orthotics, or shoe inserts, to correct for the pronation problem, so I make an appointment for a fitting the following week.

Saturday, February 5
I arrive for the clinic and see the now familiar tables of food and info, surrounded by clusters of animated runners and walkers. We're divided into three groups by event, so we can rotate through three half-hour lectures.

My first session is upstairs and down the hall. As people sit down, they chuckle about being back in high school again. The speakers are two guys from Potomac River Running. They tell us about choosing shoes, running wear and equipment. It's important to get the proper shoes based on gait and foot specifications. We should expect to go through at least one pair of shoes before the race as running shoes wear out after 300 miles or so. I learn cotton is a no-no because it absorbs sweat. There goes my favorite flannel running shirt.

The next session is by coach Rich, who seems a bit crazy, but in a good way. He talks about hydration (a lot), good carbs (bread, pasta, rice, fruits, veggies) and bad (doughnuts and the other usual suspects). He lays out a recommended diet for before and after a run, with "before" begin three days prior. No big meals the morning of a marathon, or you will really regret it! During a long run, you need some food, so he talks about the alternatives. Power bars are the old way, and gel pacs, the new. These are little packets of goop that go down easily on the road. His favorite running food is peanut M&M's. Protein with a little sugar boost. I like the idea of guilt-free candy.

The last session is on stretching and injury prevention by a man from Sport & Spine Rehab. Stretching is important before and after running. He also talks about R.I.C.E., a good first-line treatment for injury. R.I.C.E. stands for Rest, Ice, Compress and Elevate. Ice should be applied until there's a feeling of numbness.

The lecture part is over, and we're ready to do our first group run. We'll be running twice around the high school and then on to the track for five laps, a total of three miles. Rich says to go at your own, easy pace for today. The three "rules" of a sustainable pace are:

1. You shouldn't be huffing and puffing.
2. You should be able to carry on a conversation.
3. You should feel you could run longer once you've reached your goal for the day.

We head off. Soon, there's a cluster of faster runners at the front. I'm somewhere in the middle which feels about right. I talk from time to time to a few others to hear their stories and also check rule number two. Karen is a walker, so she slows down at one point. I find out Amy's uncle has lymphoma.

Team leaders and coaches are standing at points around the high school to mark the route. They clap and shout encouragement as we run by. It's a nice gesture of support and I can see what a difference it would make on marathon day. Soon we're heading onto the track. The sun's shining, and it's warm for February. A great way to begin.

Sunday, February 6
My three miles on the track seem a little harder today. It's easier with some company. I time myself with a pocket timer and calculate my pace to be about 11 minutes/mile. Back at the house, I decide to start wearing my TNT "Steve" bracelet all the time. It looks like hospital ID bracelet and reminds me of why this event really matters.

Monday, February 7
A few days ago, I found out Steve's sister Mary is going to train for a cycling event through TNT in Cincinnati. What a surprise! I'm so pleased, but also just a little worried as I realize we'll be "reaching out" to the same family members. How's that going to work?! When I call her, she tries to convince me to switch to cycling, but I picture myself weaving around on unfamiliar roads and decide I'd better stick with my own two feet. (Although.... I do like that wild cyclist energy). Eventually, we decide to divide up our two family "camps" - she takes the Midwestern Bunnings and I, the ones near DC.

Tuesday, February 8
This morning I go back to Sport & Spine Rehab to get fitted for my orthotics. I put my left foot on a shoe-sized platform and suddenly feel tiny tickles all over my sole. Little metal cylinders are rising up from within the platform to create a three-dimensional contour of my foot. The machine is wired to a lap-top so the contour information can be sent directly to a program. The software creates a detailed picture of my foot's shape. The doctor tweaks the specifications a little, and we do the other foot. We're done. My custom-made inserts will be ready next week.

I devote the evening to fundraising - the "forgotten" side of my commitment. TNT staffers are holding a seminar to help us reach our monetary goals. Some people have brought 75 appeal letters to take advantage of TNT's offer to pay postage costs for early-birds. Needless to say, I am not among this group, but I do admire their organizational skills. Many creative ideas are suggested. One man is planning a poker night with a rather unusual ante, and idea that would appeal to my son. I'm beginning to feel like a slacker. Steve and I have been working on pages to go on my website, but I realize I need to step up the pace. We're pinning a lot of hope on this effort.

When I get home at 9:30, I still have to do my run. I ignore my inner runner who says she's tired, and head outside. It's almost exactly one mile from my house to the end of the street and back, so I triple this to make my three miles. I'm lucky to live in a safe area, so I'm not too concerned about running at night. It's hilly, though, and I'm definitely violating rule one as I puff my way up the home stretch.

Thursday, February 10
I get out a map and calculate a three mile run through the surrounding neighborhood, into our local park and back. Another beautiful, clear day. For the last half mile, I'm thinking of the bagel with cheddar waiting when I get back. Good carbs!

Saturday, February 12
By the luck of the draw, this morning we're meeting about 10 minutes from my house, so I get to sleep in until the last minute. Everyone is gathering on the trail, stepping from foot to foot to keep warm. There's a smaller crowd, maybe 30-40 people. We take a quick jog up the trail and back to warm up, then do some stretches.

I've decided to try run/walking with Coach Rich today. Taking walk breaks is a somewhat new trend in the marathon world. Instead of running the whole time and fading at the end, you alternate a period of running with a period of walking to better manage your energy level. This has meant better times even for competitive runners. Today we'll run for three minutes and walk for one. It's an easy pace to let us try the method.

We head out as a small sub-group so Rich can yell the times out to us. How pleasant to hear "You can walk now!" We run easily 1 1/2 miles and then turn around. I talk to a few people along the way. By the time we're back, I feel warmed up and comfortable. The method definitely works, although I know the real benefit will be for longer distances. A bit of food and talk, and we split up until next Saturday.

Sunday, February 13
Today I'm driving my son and his friends back to college for a round-trip of 8 hours so I haul myself out to the track around 10 AM. I notice three miles is easy now, whereas I was pushing to make two back in early January. A small accomplishment, but it feels like the first of many.

Tuesday, February 15
I run in the afternoon today in weather more like May than February. I figure out a new neighborhood route and add an extra .3 miles for good measure. I forget to take water and think of the hydration article I read that morning. Apparently humans have a sub-standard thirst mechanism. A dehydrated dog or sheep will drink exactly what it needs to replace lost water weight, but people won't. So, when I get back, I down an extra glass or two to compensate for my faulty biology.

Thursday, February 17
I decide to run to the post office and back - 3.2 miles. A big German shepherd mix barks at me coming and going. I wonder why he doesn't jump the fence, which is quite low. I guess he accepts his limits. I pass under a tree with some furry buds that remind me of pussy-willows. It's softly overcast and not too cold. Still, during the last .5 mile I suddenly see a solitary snowflake. Did I imagine it? No, it's followed by others, but never enough to make a flurry.

Friday, February 18
Today I'm determined to get my TNT pages onto my site in whatever form. I work on them most of the day and Steve joins in when he gets home. He's designed a beautiful new home page for me. Finally we're ready! I feel nervous for the briefest moment as we transfer the files. The internet is so permanent, and we're sharing so much that is personal. Then I remember...what is life but sharing, and what is there to hide?

Saturday, February 19
Today is our second group run. I get up around 6:30, stagger around and manage the usual routine - shower, coffee, paper. I wonder if a sleeveless fleece jacket will be enough, but decide to throw a parka in the car just in case.

The run site is about 40 minutes away - a park near NW D.C. by the Meadowbrook Riding Stables. I know the area well having grown up just a few miles away. I remember the thrill of the rare horseback ride and running around on the little playground. I park and join the group standing around keeping warm. We can see our breath. I run back to the car to get my parka, grateful for my earlier moment of sanity.

We warm-up and then the coaches explain the route and turnaround points. I'll be stepping up to four miles today. We begin by crossing a little bridge and turning left onto Beach Drive. Parts of the street are closed on weekends, so we have the luxury of spreading out in places. The route is fairly flat at first with a long downward slope around mile two. My delight in this easy stretch is tempered with the knowledge I'll have to climb it on the way back.

Everyone is in good spirits, talking and laughing. We pass by an open field with some dogs and owners in the middle getting to know each other. Our route runs along Rock Creek which sparkles in the morning sun. My hands are numb, so I stick them under my armpits for awhile. No gloves. No hat. I learn the hard way.

Eventually Coach Scott points out the turnaround point for the 4-milers. I fall back from the front group and run the last two miles alone. It's peaceful and my pace is easy enough, but I wonder why there are so many more curves in the road on the way back. Finally I see the open field and know the parking lot is just beyond. How nice to finish!

I grab a banana and join the others. A man walking his husky looks curious. I tell him about Sophie, my huskie-mix, and we compare notes. I find out he did team-in-training in New York at one time. It feels warm now, but then I discover the hair on the back of my head has frozen into icy strands. I guess I raised a sweat. On the way out, I grab a PowerPac gel for Steve. A breakfast offering which he graciously declines when I get home.

Sunday, February 20
Today I'm in the mood to go out, do the laps and get the job done. The track is empty, but a few lacrosse players are practicing nearby. After a while I realize I've lost count of my laps. Is it five or six? I think my forgetfulness is a good sign. It's so easy to get compulsive about ticking off the distance. There's a brisk wind, but it's not bitter. A few snowflakes accompany me on lap seven, but they're soon gone. No post-run stretching today. I'm too eager to get home.

Tuesday, February 22
I was supposed to run today, but never made it. A stomach bug hit right before I was planning to leave. (Coincidence....I wonder??) My first training miss. I think about Olympians and other top athletes who still compete even if they get sick the day of their big event. Their discipline and desire must be incredible.

Wednesday, February 23
This morning I feel well enough to go with Steve for his third chemo session, but have to crash when we get home. I wake up around 9 or 10 and have to decide what to do. Do I make up yesterday or not? Do I get my butt out there or not? Somehow I get my shoes on and head out into the cold and dark. "I'll just run to the end of the street and turn around." A comforting thought, but not to be taken seriously.

After a while I start enjoying the quiet stillness of the hour. It clears away all my fatigue. I cut through the high school, double back and continue past my street in the other direction. Most of the houses are dark, and few cars are on the roads. When I see the lights of home, I feel a deeper satisfaction than usual.

Thursday, February 24
Snow is coming, so I decide to run early. Indeed, flakes are already falling as I begin. I need to do four miles, so I plan to take the post office route and add an extra mile. Traffic is light, and street sounds are muted by the snow. I look for my doggy friend from last Thursday, but he's inside (smart animal). A huge mastiff growls at me later, but I can tell he's less serious about his territorial duties.

I'm wearing my new orthotics today. They're comfortable, and my feet feel more solid and steady. When I reach the post office street, I jog past into the hilly streets beyond. On the way back, I stop for just a moment to pick up my mail. Even that brief, 2-minute respite is refreshing and enough to see me through the rest of the run.

Saturday, February 26
Today we're meeting at Fletcher's Boat House on the Potomac. I follow the directions perfectly until right at the end. Is that white building the boat house? It looks like an old mill. Where's the sign? Oh, damn. That was it. Find a street. Turn around. No one coming. Careful. Swing wide for the entrance. Made it!

The group is gathering in the parking lot close to the river. We're down to the hardy 20 or so, but enthusiasm is still high. After stretching, coach describes the turnaround points and we're off. We begin on the well-known C&O Canal Tow Path heading toward Key Bridge. Someone says the path is considered to be gravel, even though there are few stones. I guess gravel means not-paved, but whatever the surface, it's delightfully flat. The morning is clear and sunny. A few rowers are practicing on the river.

I talk for a while, then drop back. I'm running five miles - my longest ever. Suddenly it hits me this really could be a lot of work. It's been easy so far with the novelty and short distances. Now, it's time to get real and produce. I sense this same pattern will repeat on marathon day. So many long miles after the thrill of the first few.

The bridge is our two-mile turnaround. Coach points out we can switch here to the paved Capital Crescent Trail running parallel, lower down and closer to the river. I decide to go for the change of "pace" along with a few others. I notice right away a subtle boost from the pavement. The Alaska marathon is on gravel for ten miles, and I can guess now at what that means.

Soon, we're back. The four-milers are done, but I have one more in the other direction. Step, step, keep going. Someone shouts from behind, "The bridge is your turnaround, Joan." Oh, beautiful bridge! The 1/2 mile back is the best of the whole run. A tired, old pack horse catches sight of the stable ahead. I make it with energy to spare, and there's homemade banana bread on the food table. All is right with the world.

Talk turns to fundraising, and I realize I'm way behind. Some people have collected thousands of dollars. I vow to start working on my letters tonight. Steve and I have been concentrating on our TNT website, but it's such an unknown. I feel a chill and start to shiver a bit. (Why am I still wearing that cotton shirt?) Heading back to the car, I try out a few sample letters in my head.

Sunday, February 27
I walk onto the track for my regular 3-mile, Sunday run. In the distance, I hear the clear, sharp crack of a baseball hitting wood. What a sound! A few others are on the track as well. One man's jogging with a dachshund on a leash. The little guy has to work hard to keep up - about twenty steps to his master's one. How differently he'd run, if free! Dashing here and there in wild, joyous spurts. But, it seems that's not how it is today. We both keep trudging along in our circles.

Tuesday, March 1
I patch together a route of four miles through the surrounding neighborhoods. The road is slushy with melting snow. I look for clear spots, but miss sometimes, and the mess splashes up and soaks my shoes. The streets are mostly empty. I pass a man walking his two dogs (my dog spotting for the day!) and later a couple of builders working on a house. Suddenly I realize I've hit the head-for-home spot. Every run has one - the place where you shift from heading away to heading back. No matter how far you go, you turn toward your source eventually. The soul journeys in the same way, I think. The runner as prodigal son.

Thursday, March 3
Today I run my three miles on the W & OD - a paved trail that follows a former railroad right-of-way through the Virginia suburbs. I head north from the old train station near the center of town. Along the way, I see a small, steep hill to my right. I know that hill! The boys and I climbed it years ago. We were out for a walk. I remember running to the top, encouraging them to follow. The memory brings a pang of nostalgia.

Further on, I see a flash of red. It's a cardinal landing in a bush to my left. I wish there was more wildlife to see. Looking ahead, I see the trail inclines slightly upward. Not a dip in sight, the whole way. Sigh. I comfort myself with the thought of the easy return trip. But...what's this? It looks steeper on the way back! How can this be? Both directions can't go up! (And if they have to be the same, why not down?) I'm caught in an Escher print and ponder this strange physics all the way back.

Saturday, March 5
Today's run is again on the nearby W & OD trail. It's cold, but sunny. I pack a change of clothes as there will be a breakfast in the community center afterward. While stretching, people tell fundraising stories. One young woman received a check for $1,000 from a friend of her brother's whom she barely knew. We are awestruck by this event.

I'm going six miles - three miles out and three miles back. We're told there will be a refreshment table at the turnaround. As we head out, I'm with a woman who I've talked with before. She's in graduate school and running her first marathon as well. She said she was exhausted after her Thursday run and wonders if it will be the same today. She's glad for our slow pace ...my fast pace...but I gamely stay with her and try to hold up my end of the conversation.

We pass landmarks I recognize from Thursday, but soon we're in new territory. I see my cardinal again in the same bush, this time with his mate. At one point, TNT cyclists pass us on the left. They wave and smile, whizzing by at an unnerving speed. Finally I see the table up ahead. I ask my friend if she wants to stop, but she says let's keep going. My heart sinks, but just for a moment. OK...let's do this thing.

We see coach heading toward us. As we pass, he steps out in front of us with his hands up. We slow down thinking there's something wrong, but then realize he just wants to high-five us. We groan good-naturedly. Now we're in first gear and have to grind our way back up to pace. Shortly I begin to feel chafing on my inner thigh from my sweat pants. So this is what they were talking about back in February. I guess they weren't kidding.

About half-way back, a woman runs up and joins the conversation from behind. I offer to let her take my place as we can only run two abreast on the trail. She looks surprised, but I admit I need to fall back. They both run on and the distance between us gradually widens. How nice not to have to compete.

My two friends are already stretching when I get back. We compare notes about the run. I mention my chafing and the husband of one friend reminds me of the special body cream for runners. He says he laughed when they talked about sore nipples, but changed his tune after last Saturday's run. I'm thinking sports bra from now on.

It's time to get ready for the breakfast, a special event to celebrate honored teammates with cancer. I get my fresh clothes from the car and find a bathroom stall to change in. Every layer is soaked. My skin feels cold and clammy, but the dry clothes help a little. In the auditorium, I sit down at one of the long tables with my friend and her boyfriend. There's a table with breakfast food to one side, but I'm content for the moment to just sit and enjoy the day's accomplishment. I see some families with young children in the room and can guess why they're here.

Steve will be arriving soon as my personal honored teammate. I see him in the doorway and wave him over. We decide it's time to eat and join the food line. Lots of fruit and carbs. When we return to the table, an older couple sits down. She's a lymphoma survivor and shares her story with us as we eat. There's a warm, post-exercise buzz in the room - the kind you feel in a ski lodge.

After a while, a TNT staffer greets us from a mike in the front of the room. She asks all the "official" honored teammates to stand so we can applaud them. I see Victoria, but baby Bryce isn't here today. He's undergoing a treatment at Duke University. Some families then share their stories and thank us for our efforts. One toddler has been through so much in his short life. It's hard to hear.

When it comes time to introduce Steve, I'm ready. I stand and talk a little about how we first learned of his diagnosis and what came of it. I mention how I found out about TNT and knew right away it was for me. I can't help tearing up at the end, but I know this crowd understands. I ask them to think of Steve in the days to come, and I know they will. He's standing by my side and simply says "Thank you" as we sit down. Steve's not a big talker, but I know he's moved as well.

As the event winds down, several people drop by our table to share. Each has a cancer story - all unique variations on a theme. One young man was diagnosed with follicular lymphoma in December, so we are about two months ahead of him in the process. He and Steve swap information, and more subtly, support. It's a good day.

Sunday, March 6
Today I notice the Canadian geese have returned to the football field. They love to hang out there and poop on the track. I've never actually seen one go, but clearly they do. I guess they wait until night for a little privacy. There's a pair of them in an end zone watching me as I go by. Every time I pass, the same goose is drinking from a little puddle of melted snow. I feel guilty knowing she's hydrating properly while I've forgotten my water bottle. As I leave, they're all sleeping near the 40-yard line, their heads tucked into their back feathers for warmth.

Tuesday, March 8
It's snowing today so I decide to return to the track, but this time with a goal - to run four miles in 42 minutes or less, a pace of 10.5 minutes/mile. Since I've been running about 11, this is quite a stretch. I set the timer so I can watch the seconds tick down. The first lap I do in 2.5 minutes. A great start, but not a pace I can maintain, so I settle into a groove to keep the goal just in reach. I try not to check the timer excessively, but it's tempting. At the beginning of the last lap, I have about three minutes left. Yeah! I going to make it! And indeed I do finish with 18 seconds to spare. As I cross the "finish line," a goose lifts up his head and gives me a big honk. I can't believe it. Maybe he just wants to shoo me out of there, but I like to think it's a cheer.

Thursday, March 10
Another night run today. I repeat my triple, up-and-back jog to the end of the street to make my three miles. It seems a bit easier than a month ago, but still not a breeze. I wonder if running ever feels effortless?

Saturday, March 12
I've been thinking about this run all week. Eight miles! 42,240 feet! A distance way beyond my comfort zone. Still, I feel ready and know I'll make it somehow. We're meeting at a new location in downtown Bethesda where we can access the other end of the Capital Crescent Trail. I pull into the parking lot at 8 AM and see our group gathered in a far corner. As I walk up, a young woman comes up to say hello and mention how moved she was by my story last Saturday. It feels strange for a moment to be viewed in that light, but still I'm very grateful for her well-wishes.

Next we do two warm-up laps around the lot. Somehow I feel this should count toward the day's mileage, but of course it doesn't. After stretches, Coach describes the different turn-around points. I'm to run two miles one way, then back, followed by two miles in the other direction, and back to finish. The first two miles are downhill, so that means...yes....miles three and four are uphill. Coach says go slow; Saturday runs are not about speed. I do like the sound of this advice.

For the first two miles, I talk easily with a woman who also has two boys. We share tales about motherhood and other challenges. The day is beautiful with lots of people enjoying a walk. I try not to dwell on the slope of the trail, but it's definitely downward all the way. We soon see the TNT refreshment table up ahead. I grab a cup of Gatorade, and I'm surprised to find, on turning around, that my friend never stopped. She's already up the trail and uncatchable, so I settle in for the return trip on my own.

The next two miles are not as hard as I expected. I simply put one foot in front of the other over and over. It's the way of the tortoise. A few hares run by me from time to time, but I wish them well since, luckily, we're not actually racing. My friend ever so gradually pulls away from me as her pace is a little faster. I track markers I noted on the way out...a park bench, road overpass, swing set... and soon find myself at the parking lot again.

This time I don't stop for a drink, but just plow on into new territory. The trail cuts through downtown Bethesda, so I have to cross a busy street. I wind up taking a wrong turn and have to double back. Extra mileage! Soon I leave the sidewalk and enter a tunnel underpass. From this point on, the trail is firm gravel bordered by shady trees and vines. I'm glad it seems fairly level.

I see another busy street up ahead and know from Coach's instructions that there's just 1/2 mile after that. When I reach the light, the walk sign is on, so I don't have to wait to cross. (I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or not.) Soon I see a few familiar faces coming my way. One guy smiles and let's me know the turnaround is just up ahead.

Now I'm homeward bound! I get a short break at the light and continue on the other side. I feel tired, but good. Both legs ache from feet to hips, but I know I'm going to make it. Then, suddenly, all the energy drains out of my body. I slow to a plod, barely above a walk. I can't seem to manage more than that. What a difference in just a few seconds.

I decide now is the time to use my "magic" PowerGel. It takes a while to get the pac out of my pocket, rip it open and squeeze some goop into my mouth. A mass of semi-solid gunk just sitting there until I find the energy to swallow. I finish off the pac and wait for the miracle. It's not Popeye's spinach, but it is refreshing. My plod revs up to a slow jog.

When I finally reach the street again, I meet Coach coming my way. He asks if I'm all right, which makes me wonder how I look, but I tell him I'm fine...and indeed I am. I realize I've pushed through some kind of inner barrier. It's just a matter of keeping on, after all. That simple and that basic.

Sunday, March 13
In the morning my legs are achy, but by afternoon, they're back to normal. I decide to take an easy neighborhood route for my three miles. No need to push the envelope again today. It's clear and cool, ideal running weather. At the two-mile point, I'm supposed to turn back, but when I get there, I decide to go farther. Not much farther...just a block or two. I realize doing the minimum no longer feels quite right.

Tuesday, March 15
Today I decide to go back to the W & OD Trail, but this time to start from the turn-around point I ran to on March 5th. It'll be fun to see what lies farther up the trail. I drive to the spot and leave my car in a small parking lot nearby. It doesn't take long before I start questioning my curiosity. This stretch of the trail is seriously uphill. In fact, I climb continually for about 1 1/2 miles. Somehow, though, I'm not as disheartened as I would have been a week ago. Saturday's long climb taught me that a slow, steady pace conquers all.

When I reach Reston, the trail levels out and passes through an area of office buildings. People are out exercising or taking a stroll on their lunch break. Years ago I worked in one of these buildings myself. Now I see the area from a different perspective. Overlapping images in time. On the way back, I reap my reward. A lovely, slow descent all the way to my car.

Thursday, March 17
I want to try something new today, so I get out the map and work up a four-mile route through the town of Vienna. I write down the street names on a card so I can keep track of them while I run. The first half-mile is a climb, but I barely notice. My hill-phobia seems to be almost gone. The rest of the run seems easy too. "Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of this," I think. Judging from the card, I'm nearly done, and I still have so much energy. Then, the truth hits. I misinterpreted the map scale! I haven't run four miles, only two! It's a deflating explanation indeed, and...I have to keep going. I think about doing the same route again, but somehow it's lost all its appeal. I decide to just run over to the W & OD and make up my distance there. It won't be exciting, but it'll do the job. Two miles later, my body is in a much more recognizable state. Now I know the run is over.

Saturday, March 19
Around midnight, I get a call from my Dad's nursing home. He's having trouble breathing, and they're calling 911. I catch up with him at the hospital, and we spend the long night in the emergency room. Luckily, by morning he's stable and doing well. I see him into his room and head for home around 6:30 - the same time I would have normally left for today's run. The air is chilly, and I'm blinking back sleep. I'm afraid this ten-miler is going to have to wait.

I wake up three hours later and face a tough choice - do I run today or wait until tomorrow? I know it has to be today. Before I can change my mind, I dress, grab my water bottle and drive to the W & OD.

I decide to go six miles roundtrip in one direction, and then four miles in the other. I stretch and warm up, then walk to the nearest mile marker. No extra distance today. I start with a very slow jog that's easy to maintain. It's warmer than usual, so I take off my top shirt and tie it around my waist.

Soon, the world narrows to just my body and the space around it. Thoughts come and go, people come and go. Nothing registers with any depth. I'm suspended between the miles ahead and the miles behind. Half-mile markers tick by...11...11-1/2...12. I take a sip of water at each one. I turn around and head back.

The next three miles are uphill. It doesn't matter. I keep on. At five miles, I walk for two minutes. The change feels good. I cover some ground without strain. My legs ache. It doesn't matter. I see the community center and pass on. A sign, a man with a dog, a dip in the trail, more markers. I turn around and head back. Two miles...just two miles. The dip, the sign, the community center.

I run to the starting marker, but keep going. Can't stop yet. Just a bit more. Only a bit. Finally, at the street crossing, I release the run. I've made it....I've made it. I walk slowly back to the center. Mileage doesn't matter. Every run is a marathon, and to finish, you just need to not stop.

Sunday, March 20
The track seems like the best choice for today. My legs still ache a little, so I go slowly for the first lap or two. Soon all the soreness is gone. The area is deserted; no runners, kids or dogs. Even the geese have disappeared. A lone walker shows up eventually, but we share the track for only a short while. Three miles is enough for me on this first day of Spring.

Tuesday, March 22
I decide to return to my old friend the W & OD on my way back from visiting Dad. My plan is to run to the first mile marker I find. Then, I'll go two miles out, two miles back, and finish to the car. It's a way to do a bit more than the "required" four miles.

The trail is quite busy, mostly with solitary walkers and cyclists. There are also a few families biking together and moms pushing strollers. About midway out, I start to hear an odd sound. It gets louder as I approach, and suddenly I realize it's a great chorus of spring peepers. They've gathered together to socialize in one small area of a tiny brook. On the way back, they're still going strong. I guess frogs really know how to party.

Thursday, March 24
Today is our first specialized group training held at a nearby high school track. I arrive around 6 PM and join a group gathered in the parking lot. While we're waiting for others, Coach explains the theory.

Track workouts improve strength and speed, while long weekend runs boost endurance. A workout is a series of speed lap sets with a cool-down lap between each set. For Mile Repeats, you run four laps (one mile) about a minute faster than your goal maration pace. For Yassos, you run two laps at a pace determined by your anticipated maration completion time. If your goal is 4 hours, 30 minutes you run the laps in 4 min, 30 seconds...if 5 hours, then 5 minutes. The cool-down is a walk or slow jog. The ideal is to keep toward the end.

Everyone wants to try the yassos. Maybe it's the odd name, or maybe just the thought of doing two laps instead of four. I'll be doing four sets, the recommended number for a beginner. After the uusual preliminaries, I set my timer and head out. The first two laps are easy, but by the end, I'm ready for the cool-down. I'm breathing hard, but that's to be expected. I walk for a bit and then jog slowly for the rest of the lap.

When I check my timer, I realize I've pushed the wrong button! No reading. I'll have to wait until set two to see my pace. But, then, I push the wrong button again!! Still no reading. By set three, I finally master this extremely complicated, two-button mechanism and get a time of 5 1/2 minutes. A marathon time of 5 1/2 hours. I'm pleased since I'll be happy with anything under 8 (the race limit). One more set, and I'm done.

The sun is setting, and it's chilly now on the open track. The plan is to meet for pizza at Ledo's down the street. Ledo's pizza is my favorite. When I was a kid, my family used to order take-out from the original restaurant near the University of Maryland. This restaurant is noisy and full. While we wait, I find out about the Alaska race. Eighty percent of the contestants are TNT volunteers from all over the US. The course itself is beautiful and not too steep, though there's a climb at the end.

We break up into two tables of about eight each. I'm the oldest by far at my table, but I enjoy listening to the twenty-somethings talk. Everyone is a little concerned about the mileage jump on Saturday. For now, though, the pizza is delicious - just as I remember it, minus the meat. I leave for home full and happy.

Friday, March 25
In the evening, Steve and I take a trip to Potomac River Running. There's a training belt I've been coveting which has four mini-water bottles and a tiny purse compartment. No more clunky water bottle! I also pick up some PowerGlide for chafing and six pacs of Gu, the original gel pac. The clerk recommends the chocolate.

I also decide to look at shoes. The clerk has me run for a while on a treadmill without my orthotics. A camera is pointed at my feet from behind so he can watch my gait on a big screen. When he checks my size, we discover my shoes are 1/2 size too small. This means my orthotics are not going to work. I'll have to abandon them entirely to get new shoes - a costly mistake. Beginners always learn the hard way. I choose some shoes with structural support for pronation and hope for the best.

Saturday, March 26
It's back to Fletcher's Boat House today for 12 miles. I try not to dwell on the distance as I drive in, but I miss my exit and arrive late. Maybe my body is trying to tell me something. After the usual preliminaries, there's nothing left to do but get started. Today at least, I'm fully equipped!

The run is divided into three four-mile segments: up and back to Key Bridge, a climb in the other direction, and the return downhill. I figure I'll be alone most of the time because of my slower pace, and indeed most runners pass me during the first mile or so. I don't mind, as I can't afford to go too fast in the early stages.

The first leg is uneventful. When I get back to the starting point, I treat myself to two minutes of walking and a fruity Gu. Afterward, I feel refreshed and ready for the next leg. Soon I reach the bridge where I turned around weeks ago on my five-mile run. This time I cross the bridge to new territory! From here, the trail leads upward.

I come upon a pair who are stopping to walk frequently. We play leap frog for a while. When they stop, I pass them with my slow jog. When they start again, they pass me. We smile as we continue this little game. After a while, the hill begins to take its toll. I long for even a short break downhill, but there are none. I had planned to walk at mile eight, but I barely make it to six.

My body shifts into endurance mode. My thoughts narrow to just one - keep going. I hardly notice the scenery to either side or the people who pass. I see a woman who is struggling as I am. She's also alone with her task, drawn into herself. We acknowledge each other, but lack the energy to do much else.

Suddenly I see a huge, arching bridge up ahead. I recognize it from my eight-mile run, but now I'm coming from the other side. I've run all the way to Bethesda! The bridge is so steep I have to walk part way up. Then it's one tough stretch to the turnaround point. My trail friend and I reach it about the same time. She says she's determined to run the final four miles, and I vow to do the same. I stop to stretch my legs, but she keeps going, and I eventually lose sight of her.

The next four miles are a blur. A foot moves forward, the other follows. Mile markers tick by. Faces come and go. I can't hold a thought for more than a moment. I think my body aches, but I'm not sure. I try to ignore a cramp, but finally have to walk it off. Better to make it back than struggle to keep my vow. Somehow I get to the last half mile. I'm determined to finish strong. "Still smiling," Coach says as I slow to a walk for the last time. I'm too tired for a sense of achievement, but I think it will come. I walk the parking lot for a while. I see my friend and congratulate her on making it back. Mostly I'm just glad to be done.