The previous summer, my runs had never gone beyond three miles, so I only had to find a sliver of time in my schedule (usually before work) to run. Now, though, because of the distance, I needed to carve out a substantial amount of time. Not only that, but with the heat I didn’t have much flexibility with regards to when I started running.
When you live in a major city, it can take a lot of creativity to find places safe enough to run long distances and won’t require stopping at an intersection every fifty feet.
This is where the Cleveland Metroparks once again comes into my story with its hundreds of miles of paved trails. As my training mileage increased, I decided to take advantage of all the local parks by trying out different ones when my Friday long run rolled around.
I’m already a naturally early riser but since adopting cats am even more so. While I am more than happy to sleep in until 9 or 10 a.m. every once in a while, my cats Chloe and Linus will not tolerate waiting that long for breakfast. (Well, Linus will, but once Chloe starts bugging me to wake up, he joins in. Because he apparently wants to be all cool like his big sister.)
So while Friday was a day off for me from work, I was usually up soon after sunrise, giving me plenty of time to run. Bonus: waking up early and knocking out my run first thing meant I still had the weekend ahead of me without having to worry about where to fit a run in.
But every once in a while, I do like to sleep in, so I’d forgo the early, early morning run for an extra hour or two of sleep. This was great and all until it is 10 a.m. and I’m only two miles into an 8-mile run and it’s going to take me about another hour and a half to finish which means it’s going to be closer to lunchtime by the time I’m done and it’s already, like, a zillion degrees and OMG JUST KILL ME NOW.
Long stretches of the Cleveland Metroparks are shaded, but just as many are out in the open. Because people like sunshine or something. Which, sure, if it’s a nice day in the summer and you’re going for a walk I guess I can sort of appreciate being out and exposed like that. But when you’re running for miles on end in the middle of summer, sunshine soon becomes The Enemy.
The weeks and months quickly passed and soon enough, the high heat of summer was passing and there was a slight chill in the air. With the drop in temperature, days were getting shorter: I no longer had as much daylight in the wee hours before work and the sun was beginning to set earlier each evening. When the thermometers start to dip, the mind naturally turns towards the months ahead: the red, orange, and gold leaves that would burst forth like flames of fire, gently abandoning their branches and falling to the ground. Soon there would be cool evenings full of warm apple cider and the basic girl heaven that is pumpkin spice everything and, eventually, snow finding the green grass and settling in among the blades, microscopic fields of crystals.
But I was getting ahead of myself. Before I could indulge in my most favorite season of all, I had to first finish my inaugural half marathon.
But before I could even do that, I had to finish my training plan.
When I first selected my training plan and mapped out all of the workouts and runs on my calendar, there was one particular run I was most anxious about, even way back in July.
As I learned in my research, many, if not most, training plans don’t actually have a runner run the final, full distance until race day. The idea is that if a runner followed the training plan and kept up with the long runs then they should be well prepared for that full distance, even if they have never run it before. This isn’t always true entirely across the board: some training plans do have runners not only run the race distance, some even go over on mileage, running fourteen or fifteen miles for a half marathon. Training plans like that, meeting the final distance before race day, are more often than not aimed at those runners chasing a time goal. Me, I just wanted to finish no matter how long it took me.
I was following one of the training plans that did not go all the way up to 13.1 until the morning of my race. The term “long run” is a bit of a … well, not a misnomer exactly, but it is very dependent on perspective. All it really means is that it’s the longest run in a week of training. For a 5K, long runs can be two or two and a half miles. For a 10K, four or five miles can suffice. For my half marathon training, my longest long run was ten miles.
Ten. Miles.
Toto, I don’t think we’re in the single digits anymore.
From the beginning of this whole running “experiment” (an experiment that was clearly by now less of an exception and more the rule), I was constantly finding myself lacking in confidence when it came to new distances. Running that first 5K, running that first 10K … each new race brought a new set of challenges. Challenges that I continued to meet and overcome.
Three miles? Easy. Six miles? Whatever. Nine miles? Eh, no problem.
But ten miles?
Whoa. Hold up here now and wait just a minute. What’s this whole nonsense about running ten miles? What kind of people run ten miles? Don’t they realize that’s double digits category? I’ll tell you what kind of people run ten miles—the kind of people who clearly don’t have anything better to do on an otherwise gorgeous Friday morning in autumn.
People like me, apparently.
It was the middle of September, a time of year that is cool enough to require a light jacket. Especially first thing in the morning, which is my favorite time to run. It’s my favorite time to run just as a general rule, but especially with a long run on the agenda. Because of my speed, I require more time to complete what others may consider quick runs. In this case, I was looking at close to three hours so the earlier I got out, the earlier I’d be finished, and the more time I’d have to relax and rest.
After waking up fairly early, I made a quick breakfast, knowing this distance was far too long to tackle on an empty stomach. I changed into my running clothes, put my shoes on, and added my hot pink running jacket, made of a lightweight stretchy material not unlike the tech shirts I sometimes get at races. Along with having a million pockets, inside and out, because it’s so light, I don’t worry about overheating when I start running. This is always an issue when I prepare to run in the cold and start to layer up—there will often come a point when I find I have clearly put on far too many layers but I’m pretty much stuck with whatever I’m wearing and have to suck it up until I’m done.
In recent weeks, I had started taking advantage of the over 20,000 acres that make up the Cleveland Metroparks, visiting various reservations and nature preserves around the area for a change of scenery. In fact, every Friday I’d look at the Cleveland Metroparks website and pick a new park or “reservation” to explore. This time, however, I wanted to keep things close to home so opted to return to nearby Edgewater Park.
The sky was overcast and grey, large puffs of clouds blocking what little sun was available. Strong winds danced across the dark waters of Lake Erie, which had enough lift to cause waves. Brave surfers, unafraid of the biting temperatures, met the rising water with glee.
Edgewater is a multilevel park with a one-mile loop on the lower park and a roughly half-mile loop on the upper park. A somewhat steep incline that measures about a quarter of a mile connects the two loops. This meant that a full lap, upper and lower plus the hill, was less than two miles all around.
Running the lower lap is nice and easy, for no other reason than the fact that it measures almost exactly one mile all the way around. I was without a GPS watch and had to rely on my phone, a device that should have been upgraded years ago, so being able to accurately track my mileage was important.
That said, the thought of running ten laps around the lower loop bored me to tears just thinking about it.
Knowing myself well, if I got into a position where I was even the slightest bit bored while running I’d quit early, so I decided to set myself up for success by taking advantage of the park’s topographical features and utilizing both the top and bottom loops. I decided to alternate: I’d run two loops on the bottom loop, then run up th
e hill and run a lap on the top loop. Then back down the hill only to do it over again.
Not only would I get some change in scenery and not have to view the same course for ten miles, I’d also get some hill work in as well. Because apparently along with running my longest distance to date I hate myself enough to throw in some hills.
Runners really are masochists at heart.
I parked my car in the lot, then stepped out onto the lower level path and started running.
The air had that cold autumn bite to it and the wind coming off the lake was fierce and forceful. My decision to wear a jacket was clearly the right choice.
That particular Friday morning in September, Mother Nature was unable to make up her mind. Some moments I would see pockets of bright blue sky high up above, only to then lose the sun behind the clouds as the sky turned grey and overcast.
Several miles in, I started to feel small cold drops of water: it was sprinkling. Please don’t start to rain, please don’t start to rain, I repeated over and over again in my head. I don’t mind running in rain and will do it if necessary. I mean, compared to the winter weather back in March that was the St. Malachi race, a little bit of rain is nothing.
But given the choice of running in rain or not running in rain, I will always pick not running in rain. Obviously.
It continued to sprinkle, but the impending storm held off long enough for me to finish my run. It took 2 hours, 43 minutes and at the end of it I was tired, cold, and drenched from a combination of sweat, rain, and Lake Erie spray.
But none of that mattered.
Because I had done it. I had done what was, without a doubt, the most badass thing I had ever done in my entire life: I had just run ten whole miles.
No, it wasn’t a fast ten miles. Those ten miles took me almost three hours to complete. My average pace was over 16-minute miles. Other runners, faster runners, might boggle at being out there that long for “only” ten miles but for me, I felt like a running rock star.
Ten miles is ten miles, no matter how fast or slow it takes.
When I started training back in the summer, I spent all those weeks feeling anxious and apprehensive about this particular run. Physically and mentally I knew it would push me far beyond my comfort zone and challenge me in ways I couldn’t even comprehend.
But I also knew that those ten miles would get me ten milers closer to achieving my goal of finishing a half marathon.
That was my last long run of my training plan. The Rock ‘N’ Roll Cleveland Half Marathon was still a few weeks away. From here I entered the tapering phase: tapering is the final part of a runner’s training plan. During the last couple of weeks, a runner’s training should focus less on running and more on resting, saving as much energy as possible for race day, while still staying loose and limber.
For many runners, myself included, tapering is the hardest part of the training plan. Harder than early morning runs, or long runs, or speed work, or all of the above. After weeks and months of working out on a near daily basis, suddenly runners are forced to, well, not workout and not run. At least not as often or as hard as they had been. The body is an incredible machine and it adapts quickly to a new schedule, a new lifestyle, and it starts to crave that new routine.
Tapering makes me twitchy. Like, there’s really no other word for it. I have all this pent up energy that is just BURSTING to come out. Normally I can exercise as a means of alleviating some of it but not during tapering.
Really, it’s like the meanest trick ever to play on a runner: oh here’s a training plan. Go follow it, including all the early morning cross-training and the weekend long runs and training runs and this run and that run and just run, run, run and then BOOM. STOP. And not only do you have to stop, you have to stop right before the race. So now, my body, which is CRAVING the desire to run, is now feeling all twitchy and anxious because I have to cut back; and then I’m also feeling all twitchy and anxious because OH HELLO I HAVE THIS BIG UPCOMING RACE and, so, yeah. I don’t like tapering.
The other thing tapering does is make you hungry as hell.
Getting “rungry” (see what I did there? Run + hungry) is a legit problem. It happens after normal training runs, too, which is why it’s super dangerous to go grocery shopping after one. Oh, sure, you think you’re fine. You get done with your run, it’s still early enough on your day off, you decide to go pick up some groceries. You even managed to remember to bring your grocery list!
For the first half of the trip you’re fine, you’re picking up your produce and your fruit and vegetables. But then, suddenly, you find yourself in the cookie aisle. You don’t even know how you got there, it’s like your cart wandered over all by its little lonesome self. Just like those cookies managed to just jump off the shelf into the cart all on their own.
Same thing happens in the ice cream aisle. I don’t know how that food does it.
When you’re training, you can kinda sorta justify it by all that running you’re doing (although, really, ice cream doesn’t make the best pre- or post-race fuel) but then during tapering all of a sudden it’s just FOOD FOOD FOOD. Like Cookie Monster, shoving those cookies in his mouth.
Ugh. It’s the worst.
But at least I have those thirteen miles ahead that will maybe burn some of these calories off.
8
Lucky Number Thirteen (point one)
I imagine people of normal, healthy weights and body mass indexes watching those weight loss reality shows and wondering how people manage to get themselves up to weighing over 300, 400, or even 500 pounds. Maybe it doesn’t even take a stranger on your television. Maybe it’s the stranger you see standing in line at the grocery store, awkwardly having to step out into the main aisle to unload their groceries because the space between the conveyer belt and the snack shelf isn’t wide enough for both them and the cart. Maybe you even peek into their cart and silently judge their food choices. Maybe it’s the person you quickly jog pass as you hurry up the stairs while they huff and puff behind you, each step feeling insurmountable, a single staircase as challenging as climbing Mount Everest.
Speaking as someone who once weighed 311 pounds, I can tell you that it’s really not that difficult. I ate a lot of food that’s not good for me and is devoid of all nutritional value and pretty much sat on my ass all day, watching other people lose weight on television. That’s pretty easy.
As previously mentioned, my foray into running started back in late 2011 when my younger sister, Amy, sent me an email. In that email she expressed concern over my weight and health, concerned that she would lose her big sister to an early death.
I’d been dealing with similar comments from family for years but something about it coming from my little sister had the necessary impact and soon after I signed up for Weight Watchers Online. Doing it online meant I weighed in at home every week.
As it turns out, home bathroom scales only go up to a certain weight and I was too heavy for mine. I stepped on that old analog scale and watched the dial move around and around the numbers, unable to register my weight.
I couldn’t remember the last time I weighed myself on that scale, but it had apparently been long enough to gain so much weight that it was no longer of use to me. I had to go out and buy a brand new digital scale that would be able to handle my weight.
If not for my sister and her email, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to step on that scale to begin with and start the journey to lose weight.
I couldn’t help but think about that email as I stood in my corral in front of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Being that it was October, all of us runners were lining up when it was still dark out and as the sun started to rise, the rays bounced off the panes of the glass pyramid that anchors the museum.
I couldn’t help thinking about it because in just a couple of hours I was going to be crossing the finish line of my very first half marathon. In that corral, surrounded by all the other runners, bouncing in place to try and keep war
m in the early morning autumn morning I realized that 13.1—the amount of miles I was about to run—is the same inverted numbers as 311: my starting high weight.
If that isn’t poetic, I don’t know what is.
When I first registered for the race over a year ago, I had put down an estimated finish time of 3 hours. As I worked through my training plan it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to keep up my normal pace over such a long distance and that my finish time was going to be closer to 3:30 so that’s what I was aiming for when the gun went off and we started running.
The Rock ‘N’ Roll Marathon series is unique in that it sets up bands along the course who play live music, which was a nice motivator along the way. They were mostly local bands, set up close to every mile marker.
After the start at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, the course went slightly east for a few blocks before turning a corner and heading back west across the Cuyahoga River. Around the Mile Three mark, the course ran past my apartment building, which also brought along the first of two hills.
For once I was actually prepared—a few days before, when I ventured to the Cleveland Convention Center for the Expo—there was a video that took runners right along the course from the point of view of a dash cam. So I not only knew there would be hills, I knew exactly where they would be.
The Rock ‘N’ Roll series was prepared too, planting inspiration signs along the hills as well. My favorite said Sweat like a pig, look like a fox.
Wise words indeed.
Coming up the hill, the course turned onto Detroit, one of the major roads which runs through Cleveland’s West Side. After running forty city blocks, the course turned down Franklin and headed back towards the city.
After passing the course marker for Mile Seven, I took a quick second to look down at my heart rate monitor. 10:20 a.m. When I realized that the race would take me right down the street where many of my friends live, I did some calculations and predicted I’d be coming their way between 10:15 and 10:45, depending on (a) what time I got out of my corral and started running, and (b) my pace.
Running with a Police Escort Page 12
