Getting a PR despite my own stupidity

My new nutrition plan was a bust. Without getting too graphic, it was painful and explosive.

There is a racing axiom: don't try something new on race day. In my enthusiasm, I lost my senses and did it anyway. Three days of carbo-loading before the race and massive amounts of carbs the night before.

The morning of the race, I woke at 3 a.m. to eat first breakfast: 3 weight-loss shakes, a double bowl of raisin bran and 32 oz. water. At 5 a.m., I was supposed to eat more, but couldn't. I sucked down a chocolate milk and hoped it was enough. Whenever I think of second breakfast, I think of hobbits. At 6 a.m., an hour before the race, I had a banana and 16 oz. water. That was it until 10 minutes before the race, when I had 10 oz. of Gatorade.

And we're off. I'm running with my young and speedy friend Nick. It's Nick's first marathon and he's busting at the seams with enthusiasm. I'm busting at the seams with carbs, but I feel okay at this point.

His enthusiasm calls him, like a siren, to what I feel will be his doom: 15 seconds faster than our planned race pace. I lose him by mile 3. He will go on to finish in 3:23. It's going to be a lonely day. My day becomes a lot lonelier as soon as I realize that I need to go to the bathroom. Number two.

I'm able to hold out for a while. I see my lovely wife and kids at about mile 6. I hit a set of public restrooms. What's behind door #1? I can't tell 'cause it's locked. Damn. Door #2? Locked. Door #3 holds the prize: a stainless steel toilet with no sink. I guess I'll use my left hand to grab water and Gu.

I check my watch to see how much time I'll lose. It ends up taking me about 90 seconds. Damn. My splits so far: 7:52, 7:49, 7:47, 15:47 (for two miles), 8:01, and 9:09 for the bathroom-interrupted mile. That's okay. I'm still on pace for sub-3:30.

I get back on the course and fight the urge to make up time. 7:50, 7:49, and I can't believe I have to go again! Same drill with the restrooms, but this time it's behind door #2. This delay is almost two minutes. I hit the button for mile 10 and come in at 9:25. The bad news is that my stomach still feels upset. The good news is that I'm otherwise right on pace, so I should still break 3:30.

Back on the route. My stomach's bothering me. I'm also a little worried about my calves because they feel tight. I have the iPod Nano on now. "Love Song," the 311 remake. I play it twice because it reminds me of my wife. 7:42, 7:43.

I see my father, who is attending one of my races for the first time. He was lamenting the fact that he had no pictures of me running, so I invited him to take some. I try to look cool despite my stomach, bowels and calves. I fake it okay, because I don't look like I'm in pain in the photo. At mile 13, I really have to go again. I can't believe it. Not a bathroom or portable toilet in sight. 7:50.

At the next turn, the 1,000 marathon runners have joined the 10,000 half-marathon runners. It's bad. I'm weaving in and out of people, trying to hold everything in, thinking about my calves. Why is it that walkers tend to walk five abreast, taking up a full lane?

I'm starting to wonder if I took a wrong turn because I can't see anyone with a marathon number. I only see half-marathoners. This is not the psychological edge I was hoping for. It's hard to run with full effort when you're wondering if you've gone off course. This goes on for a quarter mile until I see another marathoner. I still have my doubts until I see a second, then a third. I reach a mile marker, "Marathon. Mile 14." Whew. 7:58.

Now my stomach is killing me. My calves are still bothering me. I've really go to go. I see the portable toilets, but there's a long line of people. Probably walkers, damn them. I pass it up, trying to remember where the next pots are. I'm hurting so bad now I have to alter my stride.

And there she is: the walker talking on her cell phone. Where do these people come from? It's not exercise if you can simultaneously make a phone call, lady. 7:58.

I'm miserable now. The sun is out. It's warming up. I'm on a slight incline and I can't keep pace because I'm afraid of what might happen to my shorts. There are half-marathoners and walkers everywhere. And cell phone talkers. 8:08. 8:01.

During mile 17, I see them: pots without a line. I find an open one and look at my watch. I finish and look again. Almost two minutes. A 3:30 just went down the pot, but there's hand sanitizer here.

I get out of the pot and I can't believe it: my stomach still hurts. It's even worse now. I hit the 18 marker. 9:42. The next mile is downhill so I can make up some time. I'm running as fast as I can, but I can't reach the pace I want. My legs aren't slowing me. My stomach hurts so badly it's cramping up. 7:46.

I'm in a park now. It's warm, but trees here and there shield me from the sun. I wish my stomach didn't hurt. Every stride is killing my midsection. And I have to go again. I see some restrooms in the park, just a little off the course. Break #4. Just over a minute. I hit the 20 marker at 9:07. I try not to get discouraged. At this point, I'll be lucky to hit 3:35.

The next couple of miles have a lot of uphill. I am now starting to feel fatigued. Miraculously, my stomach no longer hurts. Will that be my last stop? I'm hopeful, but I'm slow. I'm pushing and pushing, but I'm consistently over 8 minute miles. 8:17, 8:35 on the long uphill, 8:10.

Now I turn the corner for the home stretch. It's flat. Incubus's "Drive" is playing, my favorite running song. I hit the repeat and pick up the pace. If I run 8-minute miles, I think I can salvage 3:35.

8:16 at mile 24. I estimate my finish time. I'm at 3:16'45. 2.2 miles at 8 should take me about 18 minutes. Push.

Mile 25 is 8:06 and my cumulative time is 3:25'52. I'm trying to calculate two-tenths of 8 minutes and I don't have the brain power. Just run like hell, but not like last year when you ran like hell for the last mile and ran out of gas with a half-mile to go. Run like almost hell.

I see my buddy Nick's wife and wave at her. I recognize her, in part, because she's wearing the same brown sweater she wore last night. She looks at me like she doesn't know me, but waves back. Wait, she's a woman, so she would not be wearing the same sweater she wore last night. She doesn't know me because she's not Nick's wife. Hello lady, from the delusional but friendly marathon-running stranger.

I hit mile 26. 8:11 for the mile and 3:33'03 overall. Is it fewer than two minutes for .2 miles at this pace? It has to be. I think. I hope. I can see the finish line with its balloon arch. It seems really far away.

Running as fast as I can now, which isn't all that fast. Race volunteers keep saying, "Half-marathoners stay left, marathoners to the right." It seems to have no effect on the half-marathoners. Damn them. Push. And try to look cool as you finish.

I can see the official clock now. It is getting dangerously close to 3:35. I know my time is less than the official clock because it took me several seconds to get to the start line after the gun. Still, it gives me something to shoot for. I see my wife and kids cheering me on.

I run as hard as I can as the clock ticks, 3:34:56, 3:34:57, 3:34:58, 3:34:59, and I hit the finish line. 3:35:00 from the gun, 3:34:46 start to finish, PR by 17 minutes. I'll take it.

The inverse relationship of hair and drag

Couldn't help myself. Did an unscheduled 3.25 easy today. I'm ready to jump out of my skin tonight. Maybe I'll cut my hair.

I like to be pretty bald for a race. My wife doesn't like it much, but it makes me feel fast. I wish a haircut could make me run fast, but my thinning hair causes little drag. The good news is that each passing year will reduce the drag my hair creates. It will compensate for the speed I lose with age. At least that's what I tell myself.

Last bit of speed work tomorrow. Gotta cut my hair before that, right? Whoosh.

Another bad long run

Training tip: the night before a long run, eat something. Friday night as I lay in bed obsessing over my blog, I didn't eat dinner. Well, I had a bowl of cereal, but that was it. The next morning, I got down a smoothie before my run. Big mistake.

The combination of bad eating, lack of sleep (only 4 hours or so), and fighting sickness finally caught up with me. I had difficulty running 8:09 for 13. I stopped after 11 and change, and managed only 8:39. Not catastrophic, but two bad long runs in a row don't build confidence. The marathon is 2 weeks from today.

What makes it more demoralizing is that this week was a low mileage week because of the taper. Yassos were 8.5, tempo was 5, and long was 11.5. 25 miles for the week. I'm fighting the urge to do 5 easy on the treadmill to make 30.

I'm still waiting on the new domain. Very disappointing. My new domain is with 1and1.com, and I'm not up after almost 48 hours. With godaddy.com, where I registered my other domains, I could get my blog on the domain within an hour or two. Oh well.

Yasso 800s

12 x 800m @ 3:25 = 26.2 @ 3:25:00. This equation summarizes the Yasso 800. I first read about this test in this article.

Yasso 800s are named after Bart Yasso, race manager for Runner's World magazine. He has observed that people who can run ten-to-twelve 800 meter repeats at a 2-minute, 40-second pace can run a marathon in 2 hours, 40 minutes. This assumes a 2:40 rest interval between repeats.

I'm doing my anecdotal validation of the Yasso theory. Today I ran 12 x 800m @ 3:18 with 2:00 rest intervals (I forgot how long the rest interval was supposed to be). The reason I chose to run the 800s at 3:18 was because of an article my friend read at McMillan Running, saying that the Yasso 800 projects a time that's about 5 minutes too fast. Thus, my 3:18 800s will actually result in a 3:23, per McMillan.

My results today were both encouraging and worrisome. By mistakenly running Yassos with a shortened rest interval, I probably intensified the workout. But the workout did not feel hard. In fact, it felt great.

With full rest, I think I could have made 12 x 800s @ 3:10, my usual interval pace. This would make a 3:15 doable. Which means a qualifying marathon 2/4/07. Except for my awful long run this weekend, which convinced me 3:15 was out of the question.

Shit. The taper paranoia is starting to hit. I need to get some sleep.

Two days, zero runs

It's been nice having two days off. I'm lazy, so I love my rest.

Sunday I still felt poorly from the 20-miler on Saturday. My wife and I did some laundry and hung out with friends. I watched some football and baked some bread (my new avocation). Two loaves from different recipes. One was whole wheat and tasted great, but had the shape and consistency of a soft brick. The other tasted pretty good and was soft, but was only 1/3 whole wheat. What's a running baker to do?

I watched the Chargers lose (boo) and the Bears win (who cares). I'm a former Dallas 'burbs resident and lifetime Cowboys fan, but currently live in SoCal. If my team isn't in the mix, I root for the locals. Oh well.

Today I did some work around the house and made some gumbo. I love chicken and andouille gumbo. Not exactly runner's fare, but a man's gotta live. I like the gumbo from The Gumbo Shop in New Orleans. They have a cookbook. I recommend it. Great gumbo recipes using frozen okra and canned tomatoes. Great for SoCal cooks who like low country food.

On weekends I like to make a double batch of the chicken and andouille recipe, eat some for dinner, freeze some for later, and inadvertently get a good buzz while I cook. Get the book, buy a $9 cast-iron skillet (a cheap cooking essential), a 5 1/2 quart enamel cast-iron dutch oven (expensive, but worth it), and get to it. For my double batch, you need a bigger (9 quart) oven, which I found at a Tuesday Morning for about $110.

Tonight I'm drinking Ridge 2004 Geyserville, a bottle my friends brought over yesterday. Yum. My granddad always said odd years for reds, but he was wrong on this one. Forgive me if I digress, but I got a bood guzz going and mo nileage dor the fay.

Bon appetit.