Running High

The last two weeks I've been overwhelmed with life, trying to get things ready for autumn while simultaneously squeezing every last sunny day out of summer.  Throw in all the miles of training for a marathon, and I'm just plain exhausted.

The biggest headache has been those long runs.  Long and getting longer.  I can barely find time to fit them in.  I told someone today "I hate this f-ing marathon."  Which is true.  I feel like there are only so many miles I can fit into one sunny summer day before the whole thing feels like a big fat drag.  I wanna hang out with my family and go to the farmer's market and read books on the back porch while swinging in the hammock.  I don't want to worry about getting enough sleep.  The county fair only happens once a year.  Berries are already out of season.  Tomatoes aren't far behind.

I dread those long runs.  They take me away from a lot of wonderful things.

But at the same time, I love those damn runs.  Each one is like it's own little vision quest.  I see things I've never seen, witness the world in a new way, run from one end of my little island and back again.  Twice.  People have started commenting "Didn't I see you downtown this morning?", "Are you still running?" , and "Holy cow!"  Things happen during those long runs I can't describe.  Each time I survive one I feel like I've visited the shaman and he dosed me with acid.  In many ways, it's incredible.  And I'm intensely grateful that my body is even letting me do this.

I had a 17-miler scheduled for Sunday that I skipped (because Saturday was my wedding anniversary and I was up later than usual) and now I'm scrambling to find a way to get that run accomplished this week.  Part of me wants to skip it.  To just go forward and make sure I'm prepared when this weekend comes, so I can get it done without hassle.  But there is another part of me that wants that 17 miles and wants it now.  It's the head trip I need to get me to 19.  And 19 is the head trip I need to get me to 21.

And then the 3-week taper.  And then the marathon.

I'm loving it.  It's also possible that when I'm done, I may never run again.  I doubt it.  But a part of me thinks it's a psychological favor to give myself the option.

Things have been motoring along well in my training and last weekend I approached a 13.5-mile training run with honest excitement.  My confidence was a little shaken when the temps started to reach into the 90s, very uncharacteristic for the PNW, and completely out of the realm of comfort for me.  But I didn't let it get me down.

On Sunday I woke up early and forced myself out the door before even drinking a cup of coffee, in an effort to get my 2hour+ run finished before the heat set in.

Though I finished the run, I wasn't altogether successful.  The heat felt unbearable immediately, though the temperature was just touching 80 degrees.  The previous day I'd spent walking around in the blazing hot sun of a county fair, so perhaps I started out with a core body temperature that was higher than normal.  Whatever the reason, I spent the entire 13.5 miles feeling slightly dehydrated, despite the almost constant stream of water I was pouring down my throat.

It was a tough run.  And not in the usual way.  Usually, I push myself mentally, overcoming all the obstacles of confidence my inner critic throws at me.  But Sunday's run was all about physical limitations.  I just didn't have the stamina to be running that distance in that heat.

As a result, my shins are feeling a little, shall we say, splintery.  Not exactly full-on shin splints, but tender.  Sore.  Like if I tried to run again I'd be in danger of injuring myself.

In addition to the heat, I've also been logging some serious miles lately, in an effort to make up for my slacking off at the beginning of this training period.  Every weekend (with the exception of one) I've added an additional two miles to my weekend long run.  I've kept my weekday runs short, to try and offset this, but the math has caught up with me.  It isn't really safe to add more than 10% distance a week.  And in ignoring that guideline, I've put myself in a precarious situation.


So far this week, I've chosen to rest my legs and reconsider my training plan.  I'm at 13 miles for my long run with only 8 weeks until the marathon.  With a two-week taper right before the race, that only leaves 6 weekends to get my miles into the high teens/low twenties. 

Balancing the potential of injury with the desire to get up to a 20-mile long run before the race isn't going to be easy.  There's a fine line between training hard and overtraining.  And warmer temperatures only complicate the equation.

Icing, stretching, hydration, nutrition.  Proper sleep.  All of these things are critical at this stage.  Especially if I have any more long runs with (what is to me) extreme high temperatures.

Who would've guessed I'd be wishing for summer to leave so soon? 

Every time I go to Victoria, BC, I buy myself a teacup.  Not just any teacup.  The Royal Doulton Tea Set teacup at the Fairmont Empress Hotel.  Maybe it's all the caffeine and sugar from the high tea I eat before browsing the gift shop, but there is just something about that tea set.
Can you see the little crown on the plate?  There is a little crown inside the teacup, too, at the very bottom.  I love crowns.  Maybe you didn't know this about me.  I married a Brit and have a bit of an obsession with the Monarchy.  I think the word is anglophile.

The Fairmont Empress has used this style tea set whenever the Royals have come to visit.  So besides the little crown, I like to look at the tea set and imagine the Queen drinking from it. 

So far, I've collected four cups and saucers.  They are super expensive and I have never used them.  But I love them.  They are the only things I truly collect.  Someday I'm actually going to drink tea out of them.  I've promised myself I'll do this once I have a complete set.  I will probably also wear a fancy hat.

This year, I have my eye on the teapot.

It has 14kt gold on the handle.  Seriously.  Isn't that ridiculous?  I'm embarrassed telling you that.  I have holes in my jeans right now.  I haven't had a haircut in months.  The only things I buy are books and food.  The most expensive things I own are my tattoos.  And yet...

The tea set.  I just love that tea set.  When I first started buying the teacups I didn't even drink tea.

This is why I signed up to do a marathon in Victoria.  The best way I knew to justify buying a crazy-expensive-can't-help-but-covet teapot was by running 26.2 miles.

Staying sober is great and all, but that teapot?  Now that's motivation.

My level of burn-out after the half marathon was frightening.  Every book and website was telling me half training recovery would cap at two weeks, tops.  Maybe four.  Me, I was still struggling six weeks in and wondering what the hell was my problem.  It wasn't the physical.  It was the mental.  I was tired of long runs and the effort that went in to them.  I was tired of running full stop.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I went to bed Friday night actually excited about tackling my eleven miles the next day.  This feeling has been a long time coming.

Partly it's due to Jeff Galloway's Marathon book.  Besides the information he provides on his run/walk/run method, there is an enormous amount of useful knowledge about marathoning in general. Nutrition, mental toughness, preparations... the list goes on.  He's concise and not condescending.  I've been reading this book over and over for weeks now.  It's really helped me get my head back in to training.

And then while cleaning out my storage unit the other day I found an old copy of Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes.  Needless to say, he's an intense guy.  And he credits his success with his ability to push himself past the point most people are willing to go.  He can go psychologically deeper, physically farther, and is willing to try anything once.

On top of that, Karnazes was a heavy drug user before he started channeling that intensity toward positive things. Are you surprised?  There is the saying in AA, that if we addicts put half as much energy toward our sober life that we put towards scoring and using drugs, we'd be unstoppable.  And Dean Karnazes is an excellent example of that.

So of course, with this sort of energy in my brain as I stepped out for my run on Saturday, I couldn't even consider walk breaks.  I just couldn't do it.  Karnazes had me pushing myself as hard as I could, attacking the run like it was heroin.

Another key element was that I gave myself permission to eat while I was running. This is something that both Galloway and Karnazes mention, and I thought I'd give it a try.  It was noon when I started out, and I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, so I took two bites of a Luna bar and put the rest in my pocket.  Every so often while I was running, I took little bites of the bar.  It kept my blood sugar level from dipping, and yet it didn't weigh me down or slosh around in my stomach.

The bar was far superior to the sport beans I'd been eating on previous long runs.  It felt like actual nourishment, rather than a chemical energy boost.  And since I started eating it before I noticed a dip in blood sugar, I was able to keep my BSL at a steady state throughout the entire run.

Eleven fantastic miles.  No walk breaks.  It was wonderful.

And my dear Jeff, I want to thank you for giving me the permission to walk when I needed it.  And for teaching me how to properly fuel myself.  But I have to be honest with you.

I'm ready to run now.

It's Thursday and I finally, Finally, Finally, squeezed in a run. 

It's been a long week.

But now I've taken my medicine and breathing is easier.

I've also been working on an essay, which has taken up a lot of my writing energy.  It's based on a previous blog post called What I'm Running From.  In a little over a week I'm taking it down to Portland to workshop with one of my favorite people in the whole world, a fantastic writer, and the funniest woman I know.  Hopefully when I'm there she'll let me take photos of her and post them on the blog.  You really should know who she is so that you can say you knew her when.

And this weekend I have a big bunch o' miles planned.  The first double digits in this training period.  And hallelujah I'm actually looking forward to it.

Hooray for a little running mojo.  Feels like the post half-marathon burnout is finally behind me. 

So for now I just have one question:

What are you running from?

[In the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you that I have always failed Science.  Even in college, I got a D in Geology, the only science-related subject I was forced to take as a creative writing major.  So it's a wonder to me that now I'm married to a scientist and am completely fascinated by the subject. 

Unfortunately, because I have no real background in it, I'm prone to believing anything that sounds even remotely plausible written by anyone with even the slightest tone of authority.  These people, with their tone of authority and no real proof, are called quacks.  And I've bought their books, signed up for their programs, and joined their clubs.  Eventually, I do some research, and then turn to my Biochem PhD husband and say,

"Did you know there is almost no scientific evidence to back this stuff up?"

To which Biochem PhD husband replies,

"I'm not surprised."

Consider yourself warned.]

After reading Potatoes Not Prozac I was inspired to quit eating sugar.  And after the Big Bad Thing, I'm feeling a renewed committed to my health.  So I've decided it's time to curtail my sugar intake, into something that feels manageable.

I found a website, Stop Being Sweet, and it gives excellent advice on how to quit sugar sensibly.  Using it's suggestions, I've cut out most of the sugary stuff I was previously eating.  I've lost a couple pounds, feel better mentally, and am regaining a little control over my emotions.

It wasn't until last week that I really came to acknowledge how sugar is such a powerful drug.  Especially to someone with my brain chemistry.

Last week.  The continued aftermath of the Big Bad Thing.  It was probably a bad time to decide to quit sugar.  I also limited my caffeine intake.  I didn't run.

If Potatoes Not Prozac has reliable science, my brain was in a severe state of withdrawal from lots of good chemicals that keep it happy.  Coupled with the Big Bad Thing, this caused a major depressive episode.  And an almost complete lack of motivation.

Fast forward to this week, where I ran on Monday and started to emerge from the fog.  Yesterday I went to the park and ran 3.5 miles in 32 minutes and got high.  Crazy high.  SUPER CRAZY HIGH.  I felt better on that run than I've felt in weeks.  Months maybe.  Suddenly I wanted to run forever and never stop.  Some sort of adjustment in my brain receptors, between the sugar and the caffeine and the not running -- and then BAM, a huge hit of endorphins yesterday.  Super crazy high.

I had hoped to run 4.5 miles.  But at about 3 miles, in the middle of my crazy super high run, my brain told me to stop.  I really wanted to keep going, cause there was a lot of great stuff going on in my body and I had a goal of 4.5, but I only managed another half mile before I finally succumbed.  The high was over.  My brain went to sleep.  And I dragged myself back to my car.

As I walked back, I remembered reading a chapter in Marathon: You Can Do It! about blood sugar level (BSL) and motivation.  According to Galloway, when a runner's BSL is low they can "feel drowsy, lose focus, and be susceptible to quitting early."  He recommends snacking every 2 hours during the day, with each snack consisting of complex carbs, 15-25% protein, and 10-20% fat.  I was hungry when I started my run, as it was late in the afternoon and I hadn't eaten anything since lunch.  But I figured it was only a few miles, and I just wanted to get it done.

(Another reason to keep sugar out of the snack, when the BSL gets too high the body secretes insulin, which puts the BSL even lower than it was before.)

Here is the key paragraph:

A low BSL puts a major stress on your system and activates a stream of negative messages from the left side of your brain.  "Why am I doing this?" "Slow down and I'll feel better." "If I just stop, I'll feel great." You can often stop these messages completely within half an hour or less.  Just eat an energy bar or another energy-boosting snack, choosing foods that will regulate the rise of the BSL and keep it in bounds. 

Really truly amazing.  As a person who is sensitive to even minor chemical imbalances, this information is like gold to me.  I'm learning how to take control of my body, my brain, and fuel myself appropriately.  Is it possible I could actually get enough knowledge to someday erase my depressive episodes by using exercise and nutrition?  I believe it's possible. 

And now I sincerely wish I had paid attention in science class.  Since I didn't, I'll just have to keep haunting the library.  And continue to pester Biochem PhD husband.  (Probably a bit of both.)

Last week, I didn't run.  Not once.  I thought seriously of giving up the blog, forgetting the marathon, and running away to join the folk rock traveling freak show.  (Even if it existed I'm sure I would have trouble getting in, my admiration for Leonard Cohen notwithstanding.)

Instead I played music, struggled with a teething toddler, and entertained the idea of chucking it all.  Sleep wasn't happening (depression, insomnia, toddler) and neither was running.  But music was happening all over my brain, and still is.  Even right now I've got one eye on my computer screen and one on my guitar.

Honestly, though, last week was more painful than it needed to be.  I could've gone for a run and saved myself.  I could've stood up to it like a big girl and met it head on.  But instead I wallowed.  This is what I do when I'm sitting in a pile of pain that won't disappear.  I pick up my guitar and write songs about it and eventually force all my friends to listen.  It's not a bad method for coping, actually.  Except that it hurts.  A lot. 

I've also spent time with some very dear friends recently.  When I look into these people's eyes I see myself and remember who I am.  It's important to have people like this in life.  I'm blessed in this regard.  I have more than a handful, which is really quite a few.

And today, finally, I managed to get out of the house and run.  Not great, but good enough.  And things began to settle into place.

The fog is lifting.  More music is on the way.