A small thrill

I've been on a high since my run yesterday evening. I wasn't sure how far I'd go, but figured on somewhere between 8 and 10km. My daughter has swim training a few evenings a week now, and it's out near some of my favourite trails, which makes running a pleasure. I set off feeling very light of heart and fleet of feet, for reasons unknown. At the 1km mark, I noticed that I'd run just under 5 minutes/km, which is fast for my opening kilometre -- I tend to start slow and speed up as I warm up.

I passed a group of university students training for cross country. I didn't want any of them to catch up to me, so I really hoofed it through the woods. Next thing I knew, I'd run the second kilometre in 4:33. This is unheard of for me. I never break the 4:40 mark. The third kilometre was a touch slower, in the 4:40s, but the fourth kilometre was back to 4:37, and I thought, oh my goodness, I'm on track for my fastest 5km run ever. I absolutely hoofed it for the next kilometre: 4:22. I've never seen that time before. I didn't even know that I could run that fast, honestly. Overall, I'd done 5km in 23:18, my fastest ever recorded.

But I was out in the woods, still far from the end point. I took a minute to walk and get my heart rate calmed down. I began jogging again, figuring hey, I'll just run this out, however long it takes me to get back, no need to speed. But then I saw that kilometre six was at 5:36, which is really not that slow, considering I'd walked for a full minute. I realized that my "slow" pace was actually pretty fast, it just felt slow compared to the blistering 4:20 time. So I thought, hey, let's go for a fast 10km and see what happens.

I must add that I was pushing extremely hard throughout this run. I was breathing rapidly, and it was not easy.

I kept the next three kilometres well under 5 minutes, but I was really going to have to push it to get in under 48 minutes, which was my goal -- as that's my fastest 10km time ever (and that was recorded in a race). There was a huge hill at the start of the last kilometre, but I was running past the university kids, whose workout was apparently already over. I pushed it up the hill and just kept pushing it. In fact, I was downright sprinting at the end, and I made it!!! 10km in 47:56. I realize that's not blistering for real runners, but it's blistering for me.

I came home completely thrilled.

And got up this morning and ran another 9km with my friend -- we go so slowly that we covered that 9km in 55 minutes. But we talk. There would be no talking at the other pace.

I don't know why I love finding speed. I don't know why I get such a rush from pushing myself in ways that can only be described objectively as "hard" or "unpleasant" or "painful." I'm getting the sense that running faster is not just about getting fitter physically, but about being willing to push one's body well beyond comfort levels, to keep pushing even though everything is saying "stop!" It's a mental strength as much as a physical one. I love the days when I'm mentally strong enough to push myself like that.

And I'm not doing the marathon, or the half. I have a big reading the day before, and those drain me, mentally. And I haven't put on the necessary mileage. But I'm going to keep enjoying these speed runs nevertheless, and hope to sign up for some longer races this winter.

Running. It really feeds something in me.

Run for the Toad, thoughts on the race one week later

Well, I finished 188th out of 750 finishers (men and women), and 54th out of 421 women finishers. My time was two minutes slower than last year, a very respectable 2:20:54. The numbers would suggest that I did very well, all things considered. So why, I asked my husband, did I feel after the race like I'd had a less-than-stellar run? Why was I disappointed in my efforts?

I think, sometimes, that my expectations will always be too high, and it's just part of my personality. It's inborn. Luckily, these high expectations never seem to prevent me from trying, even when I know I'm likely to fail. But I also can feel very disparaging of my own efforts when I fall short of these expectations. What I don't understand is why the disparagement isn't discouraging. Because it really isn't. Maybe it's even motivating in some strange way.

Maybe that's how my psyche works: expect great things, work hard, fail to meet expectations, work harder.

I ran a fair bit this week. I did a very fast 5km run on an indoor track after buying new shoes. (One of the unfortunate things about the Toad was that my shoes started blistering my feet about halfway through; the last half of the race I could just feel those blisters getting bigger and bigger -- and they really hurt, which didn't help my morale.) Anyway, on Tuesday I tested the new shoes on the track, to make sure they fit well, in case I wanted to return them. I was on a high after getting terrific news that day (that my book was a finalist for a major Canadian literary award), and I kept up a blistering pace, despite the hockey kids playing on the track.

I also ran Wednesday morning with a friend (9km).

The "spittlebell" class on Thursday morning felt easy ... my usual weight felt light, but I didn't want to tell the instructor lest he hand me something heavier. Maybe it was just lightness of heart.

Today, Sunday, I went for a long run, still in hopes of being fit enough to run the Hamilton marathon in a few weeks, although I'll admit my hopes are diminishing. I want to run fast, and I can tell that the pace I'd like to hold is currently out of reach. I don't think the distance, persay, is out of reach, but I'd have to hold to a slower pace, and I kind of don't want to. I'm considering signing up for the half-marathon instead, and trying to tear through that distance. (But I'd still like to do the marathon, honestly. Wish I had an extra month to train.)

I ran 18km, keeping pretty close to a 5:15/km pace, sometimes a bit less, and on one or two kilometres toward the end, a bit more. I ran 18km in 1:33. (Just checked, and that's a 5:16 pace.) I don't think I could sustain that over another 20-odd kilometres, frankly -- at least I couldn't have today -- and I'd have to average even slightly faster to break last year's time. Why do I want to break last year's time so badly?? Well. I'm not sure. I think it relates back to that expectations thing.

I won't sign up for the marathon unless I can get in a good long long run, something over 30km. For tapering purposes, I'd need to get that in next weekend. It's not impossible, but it seems unlikely. My husband is working all day Saturday, and my eldest daughter has a swim meet to which I have to travel, taking the other three kids along. AND I think I may even have a soccer game that Sunday. Good grief. I'm in Vancouver the following weekend.

Hm.

But I did a good job at the Toad! A week past the event's running, I can now feel genuinely proud at my effort and my results. It wasn't such a bad race after all.

I'm thinking of signing up yearly, as a seasonal almost ritual event, no matter what's happening in my life. I really like that race.

Training for the Toad

So I've kept up my training plan for the Toad. I ran 15km last weekend, and then ran 12.5km on Saturday, and 10km on Sunday, all at race pace. Actually, probably faster than race pace, because honestly I'm not sure I could hold that pace for 25km on trails, and that's not really my plan.

But here's an awesome thing: I can now hold the 5:00/km for 12km. I used to struggle to hold it for 5km. In fact, that seems to be the pace my feet now want to run, and when I'm feeling even peppier, I'll pick it up for about 4:40/km. I was able to run 12km in 59:56 on Saturday, which pleased me to no end. It was a hilly course and I fought a huge headwind for the last half of the run, but I kept my pace consistent throughout -- really pleased with that run. The only thing I can add is that it's hard work to run that hard for an hour. That's all.

But I think it's good for me. It reminds me/teaches me that I can do things that are hard, that I can keep going.

I'm running with a shorter more upright stride, like my physio showed me, and it's true, I can really go faster running that way. But it's also harder, uses different muscles: stomach, glutes, inner thighs. That's the core right there.

If I'm to be honest, I'll admit I've been having some twinges of pain in my hip these last few runs. So I've added my physio exercises back in. I hope it won't get worse. I love running long distances but maybe my body doesn't? I hope these exercises keep the pain to twinge level. At least I know, having had all those tests done last winter, that it's not a stress fracture or anything too serious.

Managed my second run of the weekend in 50:21 for 10km. Not bad. Consistent, again. In fact, for three straight kilometres, I ran exactly 5:00/km. Taking just 20 seconds off of each kilometre takes a huge effort. My new goal (assuming the hip holds) is to make 4:40 my standard pace, and 4:30 my speedier pace. I could start by just holding 4:40 over 5km, and then work my way up -- after all, it's worked for the 5:00 pace.

Why do I like going fast? I wonder, but I'll never know.

A good note

I'm ending this week on a good note: a great long run!

I wanted to run 2 hours to try to see if I felt prepared for the Toad, which is in just under four weeks from now. As I got going and settled in to the run, I continued to feel really good, and I decided to aim for a half-marathon distance at minimum. The kilometres really started ticking away by the time I'd gotten into the teens. I'd set my watch to give me my split for every kilometre, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The longer I went, the faster I got--and not just a tiny bit faster, a whole lot faster. I'd planned to aim for a 5:30/km pace, since it was a fairly long run. I stuck to that for about the first 10km, which I did in 54 minutes, but gradually my pace began to speed up, until I realized I'd run the 16th kilometre in 4:42. In fact, I ran each of the last 5.5 kilometres of that half-marathon distance at a 4:45 pace. I couldn't believe it. I have a hard time holding that pace when I run JUST five kilometres on my speed runs.

In the end, I ran 23km in exactly 2 hours! And I finished my half-marathon distance in 1:52:20, which is almost three minutes faster than I ran my real half-marathon a year and a half ago.

I'm feeling much more confident about tackling the Toad right about now.

And I'm getting to experience again what I remember experiencing in my long runs and races last year -- that I would get faster the further I went, not slower. I mean, I was just ticking along. I think my legs were just about numb, to tell the truth. My breath was extremely even. I was just laying down the pace without even thinking about it.

My training plan is to do a couple of shorter speed runs this week (by shorter, I mean 10km, and hopefully at least once at my favourite place to run trails -- because I need the hill work).

Then I will do a shortish long run this coming weekend, between 15-18km.

Then two 12km runs back to back on the following weekend. And then rest up a bit!

Because then it's race weekend.

I will keep aiming to run five times a week, not necessarily for super-long distances. So far, I've been holding steady at four runs a week, which isn't fabulous, but hey. Seems to be working okay.

One step and then another

Today has been an excruciating day, and my sense is that I probably won't choose to write about it on my main blog. But I still want to write about it, and acknowledge what's happening, and this blog actually seems like the perfect place to reflect on it.

Today, the longlist for a Canadian literary prize was announced -- the most important literary prize Canada offers for fiction -- and my new book was not on it. I knew it would be a long-shot, but my publisher and agent were both very hopeful. I'm crushed to have disappointed them--and myself. Getting onto the list would boost sales, garner attention, basically help sell books, which is what I'm supposed to do, as a writer (often people forget that part of the equation, but it's pretty critical to me continuing to be able to write, and more to the point, to publish.)

My initial emotion upon hearing the news was shame, which makes no logical sense. A jury of three people chose a handful of books from an eligible pool of 227. It would have been a stroke of great fortune to be among that handful, and not being there, while disappointing, is hardly shameful.

I don't know why that was what I felt. But I did.

A few hours on, I'm doing better. I bounce.

Here's how this experience relates to the training I've been doing recently. I've been doing some hard runs, trying to give a quick-ish bump to my fitness level so I can race the 25 km trail run I'm signed up to run in a few weeks. In the past five days, I've done two 10km runs, trying to run right at my edge, and last night I went 13km, still pushing to my edge. At 10km, my edge is just under 5 min/km -- at least, I can hold on for about 9 km before slowing slightly. At 13km, my edge is just over 5 min/km. I was pleased to have completed 13.1km yesterday in a time of 1 hour, seven minutes. That's two minutes off a five flat pace. Pretty fast for me. And I could hold it, and if I'd thought to bring water along, I could have gone further.

But here's the thing: every step of those runs is hard work. Every single step. There isn't a step that feels easy. I'm pushing myself the whole way. I have remind myself repeatedly to maintain the intesity of effort.

I find I can't even do it another way (unless I'm running with someone else).

My life as a writer is very similar. I push myself. I set goals that may actually be slightly beyond my reach, but I believe in my own ability to get there. When I don't, it's painful. But I can't stop myself from continuing to try, despite setbacks.

Every step of the way is hard. It never gets easier, because as I get stronger, I don't glide; instead, I push a little harder, expect a little more. It seems to be in my character. Failure hurts, but it isn't a real obstacle. The only obstacle is my response to failure. So I took some to feel sad this morning, and I know the sadness is going to grab me now and again in the days and weeks to come. But I'm going to keep on keeping on. One step at a time.

The best-laid plans

Well, I didn't run every other day last week. We were at a water-access-only cottage for most of the week and I would have had to boat out to run on a country road, which seemed not terribly appealing, especially with lovely hot weather and a lake to swim in instead.

After my 16km run awhile back, I played half a game of soccer the next day without ill effect (half because I got the time wrong and showed up late; oops). I ran fast and hard, however, for 45 minutes without feeling fatigued at all.

The next day I did a 90-minute hot yoga class. It was almost too easy, though. Nice, but easy. I did discover that my hips are ridiculously tight. Ugh.

I also got a few runs in, but not the five I'd planned: 9km slow; 7km in 35:35; 7km in 35:25. And a spin/weight class that really kicked my ass (we had a substitute teacher ...).

Then I spent a day canning, and the next day at a soccer tournament and packing and driving, so I got no runs or exercise in whatsoever. When we got to the hotel, I'd planned to run on the treadmill -- and the gym was already closed. I was pretty grumpy and irritable. Sitting does not suit me!

But on the first two full days of our holiday, I actually had back-to-back excellent runs in two different but very beautiful locations. On Monday morning, I ran off the stress of the long car ride by going 10km in 48:40. That's less than a minute off my fastest (okay, only) race time, so I was really pleased; especially pleased because I'd started with my fastest 5km time, speeding through it in 23:29. I couldn't quite maintain the pace, but I hadn't actually planned on running 10km, just got going and decided to keep going. In fact, I even stopped to walk after 9km, which had brought me back to the hotel, then thought, what the heck, I might as well see how fast I crank out a full 10, so I set out again.

The next day I ran 7km in 34:26, on a killer hilly course. I was pleased to be keeping it under 5min/km, which is my "fast."

And then I didn't run again until this morning! Circumstances.

But I did swim. I swam twice a day for about half an hour each swim. Two days in a row I also did a long distance swim that took me longer than half an hour. The second and last long distance swim actually turned out to be kind of scary. Luckily I had my husband along in a kayak (because there are motorboats and skiidoos on this lake too, and a tiny bobbing swimmer's cap isn't terribly visible). My arms must have been more tired than I'd realized from the previous days long distance swim, and the water was really cold. I started gasping when I put my head under -- but I was already way out in the middle of the lake by that point. Luckily, I could hold onto the back of the kayak -- my husband pulled me part of the way home until I was ready to try swimming again. The water is very deep and I found it kind of spooky looking down on all that dark nothingness. (That might have been making me gasp, actually, as much as the cold.) My imagination is way too over-active! I think it was my mental state more than my physical state that affected that swim, and which I couldn't seem to overcome.

Anyway, my advice is: never ever ever swim alone! I didn't do any of my swims alone, even the ones closer to shore, and I kept a close eye on my husband on his swims too.

But I'd do it again -- attempt the long distance lake swim. The first day I had some similar panicked moments looking down into the dark depths, but I was able to overcome my panic, and once I got over it, I felt like I could have kept swimming forever. My limbs were kind of frozen from the cold, but the rhythm felt very serene, as if it could be sustained for a very long time. I liked it. But I'm not making crazy August plans to swim across Lake Ontario next summer or anything ...

One other running note: I've noticed that my left knee aches after a slow run, but it doesn't hurt at all after a fast one. Curious, huh. The slow runs almost feel harder on my body.

Summer blues

August. Never my happiest month. I think I keep expecting something of myself come September: some new and exciting direction, some elaborate plan, some back-to-school nerves. But of course, I'm an adult, pretty much set in my routines and schedules, and August just means, well, the end of summer.

Two years ago in August I had the brilliant idea that I wanted to complete a triathlon. Amazingly, I achieved the goal in less than a year, despite having to learn how to swim. Two summers later, I love swimming.

July was all about swimming. I'm hoping to continue swimming at least a few times this week, in the outdoor pool, and lots next week, in a lake (which is a very different experience). Because it doesn't involve the same pounding that running does, I can do it every day. I'm not so sure about running every day.

But I discovered something, reading about those Olympic marathoners and 5,000/10,000 metre specialists: they run not just every day, but three times a day. Yipes. I'll bet that would make me faster ... or injure me in the process. And I can't possibly devote that kind of time to the pursuit of speed, not at this late date in my athletic life. I'm not exactly in my prime anymore.

This past week, my goal was to run every other day. I started last Saturday with the 35 minute treadmill run. Monday I ran 10km in a respectable 52 minutes (respectable, but not especially fast for me.) Then I ran Tuesday (oops), 5km, brutal. I'd just eaten supper, and thought I was going to throw up. Not pretty. Not fast either. Got up the next morning, Wednesday, and ran 9km with my friend (we always go slowly, for which I was truly grateful). A few hours later, I swam 1600m at the pool, and felt terrific, not at all tired and achy, which surprised me. Bouyancy, I guess. Then I subbed in my spin/kettlebell class on Thursday, ran out of time to squeeze in a run on Friday, and instead got up early on Saturday and ran 16km. I didn't even let myself think about it in advance, just got up, put on running clothes, ate banana, took a drink along, and went out. I told my husband I'd be going 10-12km, because that was all I could bear to think of running myself.

And then I got going. And then 16km seemed pretty manageable. In fact, I was quite sure I could have run a half-marathon distance without harming myself. That said, the pounding on my joints feels greater, lately, than I remember it feeling last summer when I was training for distance, and I wonder: is it age? Is it just that I've forgotten how the pounding feels? Is it having been injured? I wonder whether I read my body's signals differently post-injury. A bit of fear added in, somehow.

In any case, I was thrilled to have gone 16km. And I played my soccer game yesterday without ill effect. I didn't fatigued or worn out in the least.

Soccer has changed my training, a bit. I've been hesitant to do long runs the day before a soccer game (which is a long run in and of itself -- 90 minutes of interval training, essentially, tons of sprints, and movement up and down the field). But on Saturday I decided just to train for today, not worry about tomorrow. I need to maintain that mentality and get out for more long runs. I think if I can get a couple around 20km, and continue running at least five times a week, I'll be able to complete the Run for the Toad at the end of September. The only issue will be me giving myself permission to complete it in a slower time than last year's. There is no way I can duplicate the kind of training I'd done going into last year's race, mainly because I lost out on the winter training due to the hip injury, and I can't pretend it's there to back me up. I also haven't raced all season.

But if I can accept running the Toad at least 15 minutes slower this year, I should be physically able to complete it. Here's hoping I can show up mentally. And enjoy it for what it is.

Today's plan: a short run after supper. Or a hot yoga class to stretch out. I'm missing that too, in my training. It might be more beneficial than a run, today, frankly.