T minus 3

Well ok, so it's only been about three weeks this time since the last entry... It's been a busy month! I went to Minneapolis for a wedding (fun but lots of babies), had my 10-year reunion (fun but kind of weird), and did a ton of work for all my litigation cases, which suddenly got really interesting and busy (fun but stressful). Oh yeah -- and I continued "training."

So. The CARA Ready to Run 20-miler was on September 21. It was technically not a race, but a simulated race/training run. There were water stations, a start and finish line, bibs, a photographer, official gear, etc. But no chips, no official glory. I woke up early that morning and headed to Foster Ave. for my wave start at 6:48 a.m. By the time I parked, it was about 6:40. I dashed from my car (Clark and Berwyn) to the lake, and as I walked up I heard them calling my wave (38). Just in time. I fell into the crowd and only then did I realize that I had left my ipod in the car - d'oh! It was a sunny, muggy morning. About 72 degrees and 70% humidity -- not favorable conditions for a long run. But I was feeling ok, and was sort of still running on a little bit of adrenaline after doing well in the half marathon. And I was really excited, thinking about how I'd feel after finishing the 20 miles. It gets to be like a drug, these long runs. I see how people get addicted to it.

A couple minutes into the run, some guy comes up to me and is like, "hey! You ran the half marathon last weekend, right?" "Yes..." "And you wore your hair in those same braids, and you wore the same running skirt?" "Umm yesss..."

A little weird. But it turns out that he ran the whole race a couple steps behind me, and had paced himself off my run. It is funny, everyone does that in these races -- you find someone who you think is about your speed, and then "race" against them and use them to motivate yourself and keep you on track. And I guess I was this guy's (Bob) pacer. But it's just funny to recognize your pacer and then tell her about it -- or be the pacer and be told about it. Anyway we wound up running together for about 8 miles, had some fun conversation. He told me that during the half, he wouldn't have "let" me stop running if I had, and he would have made me keep going. I am not a big social runner, I prefer to run alone, but it is nice to feel like there's a bond with other runners sometimes. Bob dropped back around North Avenue, and I tried to keep pace with the 9:30s.

Things felt fine for a long time that day. But around mile 14, I slowed down. A lot. Bob eventually passed me by. I really started to miss my ipod. I decided around mile 16 to maybe walk -- just a little -- and that was where things sort of fell apart. I walked about a fifth of a mile, and then when I started to run again, it was like someone had applied a needle-laden vice to my legs. It just didn't feel right. My toes started to hurt around mile 18. I remember thinking, "ok, this sucks, but 2 more miles, 1.5 more miles, 1 more mile, is that the finish? I think I see the finish???"

I crossed the line at the South Shore Cultural Center in Hyde Park, and finished the 20 miles in about 3.5 hours -- an average pace of about 10.5 minutes per mile. Obviously the walking through water stations and the walk at mile 16 threw that off, but still... I was not pleased. But then again, I had finished it, and I was still standing and feeling ok, all things considered. I have some pretty sweet bruises under my big toenails as a badge of honor (they were recently admired by the running guru at Fleet Feet). Apparently it doesn't matter if my running shoes are 2 sizes up from what I normally wear. Pounding on your feet for 3.5 hours will make them swell enough that you get bruises that last for a month. Who knew?

Anyway, that day I took the bus back north and walked back to my car. Felt fine. Took a shower, went to meet my girlfriends at Wishbone for brunch -- felt fine. Even the next day, I could walk around ok and I went to work and didn't feel too stiff -- felt fine.

But then on Tuesday, I went for a run with James. Just 3 miles, to warm back into things. It was not fine. As soon as I started running, it was like my legs from the knee down were dead weight. I was dragging my feet, unable to really feel what they were doing or exert any control over propelling myself forward with my calves.

Wednesday was the same. 4 miles, 4 painful miles. Ice didn't help. I took Thursday off, and diagnosed myself at work with having posterior shin splints. The treatment was stretching, ice, ibuprofin, and compression. So I started myself on that regimen. I felt OK playing on my softball team that night -- and I thought that maybe wearing a compression wrap was all I needed to do.

So then Friday, I was supposed to run 12 miles. I wrapped myself up and headed out. But as soon as I started running, the pain was there. Every step felt like a rolling pin with red hot needles was hammering my calves. I wondered if suddenly one of my bones would just snap, and I became acutely aware that I didn't have a phone or money with me out on the trail. I turned around after 2 miles and walked home. I sat on the floor and cried to James that I'd ruined my chance of finishing the marathon, all because I was lazy and hadn't trained properly for those couple weeks in late August/early September. He was optimistic, as supportive as you could be. I decided to take a couple days off of running and see if the leg could heal itself in time to continue training.

Fast forward a week. Thursday October 2. I had taken a week off, and was icing myself, stretching every day, using compression and elevation whenever I could. Not wearing heels to work, not running across crosswalks or up the el stairs. I felt much better. James and I ran from our house to Hamlin park for the softball game, a little over a mile and a half each way, and I actually played really well and ran around the bases a couple times. It felt OK. I went running Friday and Saturday -- felt OK. Went running Monday this week, and it felt OK. I'm going to run tonight and tomorrow -- short, 3 mile runs -- and I think it'll be OK.

But I'm really worried about Sunday. T minus 3 and I'm going to be running 26.2. The weather report says high 70's and 80% humidity. Partly cloudy = mostly sunny. Oh, Chicago weather. Should be interesting.

I bought a $60 pair of endurance athlete compression socks last night, and the guy and I talked training and race/recovery technique. He and I are both pretty sure that I'm going to be injured after the race. I don't think I'll do anything permanent, but it probably won't be very pretty. We'll see, though. At this point I'm not so much concerned about making a time as I am about just finishing and feeling good about things. Plus, James kindly reminded me that I look like a sci-fi creature with melting flesh when I run, anyway -- so how much worse could it get.

It may sound defeatist but lately I've sort of resigned to the thought that this marathon is sort of a test run. I have actually been thinking that maybe I should do it again next year -- and train like I should have this year -- and run it feeling 100% at the start. Maybe I can convince someone to do it with me. Any takers? Seriously... I was never a "runner" and I can sort of see, now, how it's something that people get really into. I definitely want to keep doing shorter races, like half marathons and 10Ks, etc. And doing another marathon is on the radar... well maybe.

I am excited though. It's not the best situation it could be, but I'm so excited. I dream about the race, I think about it all day. I can't wait to run around this big city on a beautiful day (well, beautiful for the spectators, terrible running conditions for the runners), and see my friends and family out there rooting for me. It should be great.

To be continued.