Week 11 started with a missed run* and ended with vomiting and overheating on an 8-miler. It included hill sprints, stair repeats, sore legs, a blister,** an unexpected generous donation from my favorite tattoo artist, and an inspiring video from Sean "P.Diddy/Puffy/Puff Daddy" Combs about running.***
Thirteen weeks to go until my race. I can run faster, farther, and harder than I could more than 165 miles ago (about the distance I have ran since I started training).****
*I added the time from my missed run to my other runs and made sure to get in the full amount of running time allotted for the week.
**The blister was from walking around in heels all day--peep toes, which I wear less often than closed-toes.
***The Sean Combs video can be found here: http://dailyviews.runnersworld.com/2008/07/diddys-treadmil.html. Diddy reminds runner to be conscious of the run and for the blessing that it is--being alive and being able to run. Sure, a lot of jokes can be made about Mr. Combs, but the man did train for and run the NYC Marathon a few years back.
****I have missed a few runs here and there, so my overall mileage is a bit below the mileage prescribed. I'm confident that I'll be able to complete the race in 13 weeks.
[Also, this post was originally longer and more thoughtful, but I had a computer/internet issue and lost all my work.]
Showing posts with label stairs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stairs. Show all posts
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Run 'Til You Puke (Or, At Least 'Til You "Spit Up")
I am unsure what the line between puking and "spitting up" is, but I think last night's hill and stairs run (Run 42) included spitting up, but I'll get to that.
After my miserable end to week 8 and after spending too much time on the Pearl Izumi running site (see my previous post), I went out last night for a tough hill run, determined to run until it hurt. There's a hill route that goes west on Riverside, down the hill towards Peaceful Valley, and leads to the top of the hill by Hamblen/Hamlen Conservation area. The hill up to the Conservation area is a looping 1/4 mile of climb. The hill back up Riverside heading east is a full 1/2 mile from start to finish. I successfully ran (or, at least shuffled towards the end) both hills, and then I threw in the stairs by the MAC.
Upon summiting the final stair (I believe there are 5 flights), I spit up. I think spitting up is a more accurate description than puking. My stomach contents at the time were solely water and Kiwi-Strawberry Carb Boom gel, and the regurgitation wasn't the gut-clearly event that puking is. I am fairly certain that I have not run harder in my life.
Part of my motivation (aside from the Pearlisms about running v. jogging) was a man with his daughter on the Centennial Trail. The girl looked like she was about 14, and she was in a wheel chair. My uneducated diagnosis of her condition was cerebral palsy. As I was midway up the 1/2 mile hill, I thought about her and the fact that she would like never run--and had not likely ever run. Perhaps I needed a new perspective on running--recognizing that I was lucky or blessed or privileged to be able to even actually physically run, regardless of factors like pace, endurance, etc.
After my miserable end to week 8 and after spending too much time on the Pearl Izumi running site (see my previous post), I went out last night for a tough hill run, determined to run until it hurt. There's a hill route that goes west on Riverside, down the hill towards Peaceful Valley, and leads to the top of the hill by Hamblen/Hamlen Conservation area. The hill up to the Conservation area is a looping 1/4 mile of climb. The hill back up Riverside heading east is a full 1/2 mile from start to finish. I successfully ran (or, at least shuffled towards the end) both hills, and then I threw in the stairs by the MAC.
Upon summiting the final stair (I believe there are 5 flights), I spit up. I think spitting up is a more accurate description than puking. My stomach contents at the time were solely water and Kiwi-Strawberry Carb Boom gel, and the regurgitation wasn't the gut-clearly event that puking is. I am fairly certain that I have not run harder in my life.
Part of my motivation (aside from the Pearlisms about running v. jogging) was a man with his daughter on the Centennial Trail. The girl looked like she was about 14, and she was in a wheel chair. My uneducated diagnosis of her condition was cerebral palsy. As I was midway up the 1/2 mile hill, I thought about her and the fact that she would like never run--and had not likely ever run. Perhaps I needed a new perspective on running--recognizing that I was lucky or blessed or privileged to be able to even actually physically run, regardless of factors like pace, endurance, etc.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Skipping, Stairs, Snake Charmers (Runs 37 & 38)
I skipped run 37 yesterday (a scheduled 40-minute hill run). I am not giving up on running and training, rather, I have had a general "over it" attitude about everything of late, so my pouty attitude + really hot weather = sitting on the couch watching Olympic Trials and "Throwdown" with Bobby Flay instead of running. This lame attitude got me nowhere, but I did get to watch Mr. Phelps (aka Aquaman) break another world record (which was previously held by him), and I learned that coconut cake is primarily made of butter (literally pounds of it) and heavy cream--no wonder it tastes so good.
Anyhow, as my previous post mentioned, watching Olympic athletes (particularly swimmers and runners with their ridiculously low body fat percentages--google 40-year-old Olympic hopeful Dana Torres) is both motivating and disheartening, so this morning I did my 30 minute run (I actually ran 35), but I threw in three sets of stairs at the MAC (Metropolitan Museum of Arts, I believe--the museum in Browne's Addition). Each set of stairs included 6 or 7 flights (I couldn't get an accurate count, as my breath started to run out at the top of each flight). I am going to run twice tomorrow (at least that's the plan) to make sure I maintain the right mileage for my training schedule.
Finally...I try to run early in the morning. It's gotten quite hot in Spokane, so night runs are out of the question unless I want to run around midnight. Usually the only people I see are other runners and people walking their dogs. This morning, in addition to those two categories of people, I also saw a man wearing what appeared to be a red bathrobe--not the kind that ties at the waist, but the kind that my mom used to wear in the early-1980's, that slips over your head and has a zipper that comes down to your chest. The man was walking west on Pacific and playing what appeared to be a recorder, you know the instrument everyone learns in third grade music class? He looked like he was attending an Arabian Nights-type costume party dressed as a snake charmer. I was tempted to run by to get a closer look, but I decided against it.
Anyhow, as my previous post mentioned, watching Olympic athletes (particularly swimmers and runners with their ridiculously low body fat percentages--google 40-year-old Olympic hopeful Dana Torres) is both motivating and disheartening, so this morning I did my 30 minute run (I actually ran 35), but I threw in three sets of stairs at the MAC (Metropolitan Museum of Arts, I believe--the museum in Browne's Addition). Each set of stairs included 6 or 7 flights (I couldn't get an accurate count, as my breath started to run out at the top of each flight). I am going to run twice tomorrow (at least that's the plan) to make sure I maintain the right mileage for my training schedule.
Finally...I try to run early in the morning. It's gotten quite hot in Spokane, so night runs are out of the question unless I want to run around midnight. Usually the only people I see are other runners and people walking their dogs. This morning, in addition to those two categories of people, I also saw a man wearing what appeared to be a red bathrobe--not the kind that ties at the waist, but the kind that my mom used to wear in the early-1980's, that slips over your head and has a zipper that comes down to your chest. The man was walking west on Pacific and playing what appeared to be a recorder, you know the instrument everyone learns in third grade music class? He looked like he was attending an Arabian Nights-type costume party dressed as a snake charmer. I was tempted to run by to get a closer look, but I decided against it.
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