Now that my hip has healed and my body feels strong again, I've been quite adamant to keep up a rigid marathon training program, if only out of sheer desperation to not come last on May 3rd.
"No matter what," I told friends and family, "I will not make excuses. I will train!"
And then life got in the way.
After three weeks of 16-hour days on the job, weekends included, the stars on my running calendar (which indicate a run) were few and far between. In fact, there are only 6 on the first three weeks of March. There *should* be 15.
So I have wavered. And i know I have, but I literally haven't had a moment to breathe or sleep or eat, let alone polish off 25+k.
So as I started to see a light at the end of the tunnel this week, I promised myself that a l-o-n-g training run was in order.
To make sure I followed through, I told people about it. When they asked what I was doing on Saturday, I happily and boisterously replied: "Oh, you know, just running 33 kilometers or so."
As the week progressed, I received phone calls, texts, and emails. "Good luck on your long run on Saturday."
Gulp.
The idea to be held responsible seemed like a good idea at first, but as Saturday approached I started to wonder how the heck I was going to pull it off. Scared and intimidated, I was prepared to do it, no matter what came my way.
"Down with excuses!" I said Friday night as I carb-loaded for Saturday's run.
Nothing would get in my way of 33k on Saturday.
Nothing!
Or so I thought.
Here is how Saturday unfolded:
I woke up alarm-less for the first time in months and it was bliss! The sun was shining for the first time in three weeks. The sky was blue. The temperature had risen to a perfect 10 degrees (not too warm; not too cool), and the world was my oyster.
I whipped up a protein-packed smoothie, and as the bananas and soy were pureeing, 33k Run Interference #1 occurred.
33k Run Interference #1:
It was a client. On the phone. (On a Saturday!!!) I shouldn't have answered. But I did. Delirious from the excitement of my ensuing run, no doubt. I should have looked at Call Display. But I didn't, and somehow roped myself into a few hours of work on a Saturday morning. As long as I am out by 12, I'll be just fine!, I thought. So I settled in front of my computer, hunched over and immobile, the protein-power from my shake slowly edging it's way to my hips.
My friend Mike sent a text: "Are you running yet? you inspired me! I am going for a 30k too!"
I texted back: "Boo. Hiss. I am working. Hoping to be out by noon."
Just a little after 12, I wrapped things up, sent my last email, and put on my running gear. Well, everything but my shoes and fuel belt, which were in the car trunk from a previous workout in Stanley Park a few days before. I wanted to get some gels from the Running Room anyhow, so I grabbed Harley and the car keys and walked out to the car.
33k Run Interference #2 and #3
We walked a block and a half to where the car was parked. As we rounded Arbutus on to 6th Ave, the very corner where I had parked the car a few days before, we were greeted with an unpredicted surprise: the car was gone. On the boulevard beside where it had once been was a new sign: "temporary no parking" which had clearly been erected sometime after I had parked my car three days ago and this very moment when i really needed my car.
Just in case I was wrong and I hadn't actually parked on 6th and Arbutus, and the missing Hyundai was a figment of my imagination, Harls and I scoured the neighbourhood in all of our favourite parking spots just to be sure. After all, this wouldn't be the first time that my car "went missing" and turned out to be on an adjacent street. heh heh. I am notorious for forgetting where I left that blue bird.
After a half an hour I felt pretty sure that my car was gone.
Grumpily, and with a few aggravated tears, I marched back home to call a few towing companies. It was almost 2:00.
Sure enough, Buster's had towed my little Hyundai because I was parked too close to the sidewalk (I want proof!) and the car was sitting in the impound lot at Granville and Pacific -- downtown, across the bridge, and not accessible in a timely manner at all!
At first I thought "I'll run there!" and then I remembered that in addition to confiscating my car, Buster's had rather inconveniently confiscated my running gear. Darn!
The clock kept ticking.
33k Run Interference #4
I decided that since my shoes were downtown and I had been humming and hawing about getting new runners for months, I might as well bite the bullet and buy the shoes I wanted. After all, after my last long run, my knees ached and my shins writhed. It was time for new shoes. So perhaps this towing incident was a blessing in disguise!
I called the local Running Room to make sure they had a pair in stock.
They didn't.
They called the other Vancouver stores.
Nothing.
I said "How about the Elixer 2s then?"
"Nope"
"How about the new model?"
"Everything but a 10 and a half, ma'am. We'll have to order them special. Two-threee weeks delivery."
I let out an audible frustrating cry. Something like: "Gerrachigugraaaaah!"
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing," I replied as I dug through the "For Goodwill" bin in storage with a pair of old Mizunos with no tread and no padding and one heckuva stench.
I laced them up. They would have to do.
It was 3:00. So I plotted my route, put on my iPod, and left. Nothing was going to stop me from this run!
I ran to the Running Room first, a short 5k away, to pick up some gels and a new Fuel Belt en route.
33k Run Interference #5
"I don't need a bag," I said. "I am heading out on my long run now!" It felt good to say it.
I gave the cashier my debit card as I put the belt around my waste and loaded up the pockets with new gels.
The card, infamous for it's finicky stripe, did not go through. Not the first time. Not the second time. Not the third time when she wiped the stripe on her shirt. Not the fourth time when she used a plastic bag. Not the fifth time when she swiped it back and forth forty-seven times at mach speed.
"Do you have another card?"
I slowly un-velcroed my new Fuel Belt.
Since I was on my run, I hadn't brought my wallet. Just one card to fit in my pocket that wouldn't be cumbersome. Just one card that would not swipe.
So I left the store - no shoes, no gels, no fuel belt. Basically totally unprepared for the task at hand.
But I put on a brave face and pressed forth.
After 12 k, I was hungry. Starving actually. And I could feel the water from the fountain at kilometer 6 swishing in my belly. Bad sign, I thought. Bad sign.
The day was a perfect day for running, all unforeseen circumstances aside. Blue skies. Slight breeze. Clear view of the mountains. As is typically Vancouverian, everyone was outside soaking up the Vitamin D. And so was I. And despite the fact that my car was impounded with my shoes, it was 5 hours past when I was supposed to start out, i was gel-less, and my knees were killing me, it was so glorious. Nature therapy.
There were 8 loons in a line on the support leg of the Lion's Gate Bridge. Lined up like dominos. The second looking like a shadow of the first. There was an impromptu drum circle on Second Beach on the Northwest side of Stanley Park, and people who didn't know each other were dancing. A one-legged man ran past me on his prosthetic leg and I was humbled. Birds chirped. Children laughed. Elderly couples sauntered while holding hands. It was a great day to be alive (impound fees notwithstanding).
About half-way through Stanley Park and about 17k into my run, my right calf seized up. So tight it felt like I'd been stabbed.
I ran through it. I limped a little. I stopped to stretch. But it wouldn't rest. It was clamping up and I was mad. My brain was sending my calf mean nasty messages: "Listen you idiot. I've had to overcome a lot to get out here today. you are NOT doing this. Not now." But the little bugger persisted.
As I crossed Georgia Street and exited the Park, I knew I only had 10 more k to go. But my calf was seizing so tightly, I was running through tears. And I knew, the closer I got to the bridge home and the slower I started to run, that I was not going to run 33k today. And I was frustrated.
At Burrard Bridge I was supposed to continue east for 5 k until turning back home and across the Bay, but instead I made an acute right turn, headed over the bridge, and hobbled my way home.
I was miserable.
Wildly disappointed in myself - for not doing all 33 (turned out to be approximately 27.2), for parking illegally, for having big feet that need special-order shoes, for not saying no to work on a Saturday, for everything.
Consequently, 3 hours and $150 later, I got my car, my runners, my Fuel Belt and a wee bit of my dignity back.
I even laughed with the lady at the impound. In hindsight, it was all pretty hilarious!
I still have five more weeks to go until race day, and need to get in a 33 k before the race.
Here's hoping that nothing, and I mean nothing gets in the way next Saturday.
