Dose of Humility

It never fails.

The last few weeks of marathon training always fool with me. They're like that prankster in grade school who thinks it's hilarious to pull out a chair from underneath you then laugh maniacally while you lie on the ground clutching your tailbone. Simply put, the last few weeks of marathon training are pure evil. If something goes wrong, you can bet your kids' college funds the last few weeks of marathon training have something to do with it.

Usually it's not until the taper when they really start messing with you. You've survived the worst of the training and the end is in sight. All you've got to do is run a few miles here and there to keep your legs fresh, the kind of workouts you can do in your sleep. You can guiltlessly eat and sleep in copious amounts and just put your feet up until the day comes when a measly 26.2 miles are on the schedule. But that's the cue for the last few weeks of marathon training to move in and stir up some trouble. You start feeling anxious about not running as much or as long. Little niggling worries and doubts take hold in your head like a thistle in a patch of weeds. And of course, the most cunning trick of the last few weeks of marathon training: the phantom injuries. The ache in your calf you wake up with one morning that you've never felt before. The sore ankle you notice when all you've been doing is keeping the couch warm. It takes very little pain to throw you into a wild state of panic.

Oh, the clever and wily ways of the last few weeks of marathon training.

I've fallen prey to them time and again and this training round is no different. Except this time it was with a twist. The last few weeks of marathon training must have realized I was onto them and their insidious ruse because they went out of their way to throw me a curve ball-- even employing the help of an outside and equally shrewd force.

The other night, on a day when I hadn't even run, I felt a tingle in the middle toe on my right foot. My toes have certainly been a source of trouble the last few months, what with shedding their nails and all, but this was a different sensation. Instinctively, I looked down to see my toe was noticeably red and swollen.

"Last few weeks of marathon training!", I instantly hissed.

Sure enough, upon further inspection, my toe hurt. I poked and prodded to survey the extent of the damage and sure enough, it hurt a lot. I began mentally backtracking what'd I'd done in the last 24 hours that could have possibly caused my toe to behave this way and I couldn't think of a single thing. I hadn't stubbed it on anything; I hadn't stepped on anything. And it'd been days since I kicked any stray cats. I was truly perplexed.

The next morning when I swung my feet around to get out of bed to run, I stood up and nearly crumpled. I let out a moan as the pain traveled six feet from the nerves in my foot up to the nerves in my brain.

"That the best you got?", I taunted the last few weeks of marathon training as I defiantly laced up my running shoes. Without hesitation, I headed out the door and ran six miles of speedwork drills while ignoring the occasional needle stabs that were going on within my sock.

Apparently, that pissed the last few weeks of marathon training off big time. I barely made it to work that day. When my boss (a chiropractor) took a look at my toe and pulled on it, I came within just millimeters of knocking his teeth out of his head with my knee.

I went to bed that night pretty sure I had a broken toe. With a new respect for the last few weeks of marathon training, I begged for forgiveness and promised to acknowledge and subject myself to its majesty for the remainder of my days if only I was spared to be capable of running my marathon.

The next morning, the pain was gone. Completely gone. I would have suspected it was all a bad dream if my toe wasn't still a little red and swollen. It ocurred to me not long aftewards that it was never a broken toe at all but most likely a bad spider bite that nearly brought me to my knees begging the last few weeks of marathon training for mercy.

Humility is a humbling thing.

I have no mind to tempt the last few weeks of marathon training again, especially now that after one more long training run this weekend I'm officially starting my taper. I possess no such reverence for its shady wingmen, however. The next spider I see in my house will not get the customary swirl job in the toilet. Oh no. I'll be pinning the repugnant arachnid on a piece of cardboard and pulling its eight legs off its body one at a time while I watch it squirm. Nobody messes with me during the last few weeks of marathon training.

Except, of course, the last few weeks of marathon training.

De-Monkeyed

It's a few weeks after the fact but I suppose it would be appropriate to report here on my so-called "running blog" the new half-marathon PR I pulled off at my last race. This was the PR that has haunted me for over two years. The one that followed me around like hungry stray dog, taunting me as I attempted over and over again--and failed over and over again-- to claim it.

I'm pleased to report not only did I best my previous half-marathon PR by three minutes, but for the first time in my illustrious running career, I brought in 13.1 miles under two hours. 1:58:35, to be exact... and you'd better believe I'm counting that extra minute and 25 seconds as further reason to gloat. Not only did I shake that monkey off my back once and for all but I spit in his monkey face and kicked it in its monkey nuts. Never before in my life has beating up a monkey been so fun.

As it turns out, I run pretty darn fast after getting a root canal. Whoulda thunk? Maybe it's not the most conventional of strategies, but hey, to each their own. Of course, I might have a hard time ponying up the $800 it requires each time I race, but then again, those race fees are getting a little hefty themselves. Pretty soon, I'll have to offer my children to enter a marathon and since I only have so many of them, I guess I'd better choose my races wisely.

As for this race, it really just boiled down to gutting it out. It was a late start-- 7:30a.m.-- and for someone used to training while the sun is barely peeking above the eastern horizon, it felt warm and muggy before I even took my first steps. The course was tricky with lots of rolling hills, starting two miles into the run and ending at the finish line. And then there was the issue at mile 9 of inadvertently nudging my contact lens up into my eyelid when I reached to wipe some sweat off my brow. It was insult to injury as the lens in my other eye had already clouded over with sweat a couple miles prior. At mile 9, I was exactly on my target PR pace and knew I couldn't stop for even a minute if I wanted to get it. Despite being nearly blind in one eye and might-as-well-be blind in the other, I forged ahead, able to see only enough to stay on course and not get hit by a car (although I had a close call with a six-year old on his bicycle).

For the first time in a race, I nearly spewed my innards while approaching the finish line. I wasn't more than a tenth of a mile away when I felt a wave of dizziness pass over me. My body swayed a little to the left and I imagine I looked a lot like a drunkard trying to walk a straight line. I teetered and tottered for a few seconds until I regained some balance then somehow managed to continue moving forward until I saw someone with a watch who told me I could stop. Once I did, I stepped aside enough to avoid getting run over by anyone coming up from behind me to put my hands on my knees and dry heave a couple times. Thankfully, I managed to hold it in and felt better after getting some water and sitting down. Actual vomiting before, during or after a race is something I will have to look forward to another day.

Once I'd recovered and caught my breath, my predominant feeling (other than exhaustion) was sheer satisfaction. I'd spent the last seven months training like a fool. I followed a program that made me faster and kept me injury-free and I put my pedal to the metal and floored it week after week. To see the hard work pay off in the form of attaining such a coveted PR was extremely satisfying to me. I drove home that day with the smuggest of smiles on my face.

Not even the pathetic whimpering moans of the monkey tied up and gagged in the back seat of my car could erase it.
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For anyone keeping track of me, my next race is a full marathon the third Saturday in September. I've already knocked out a strong 20-mile training run with a 22-miler still to come. I don't want to jinx myself by being too cocky, but I'm feeling quite confident about this race. I think another PR just might be biting the dust soon.