Less than two weeks from today, I will run 13.1 miles in the Jersey Shore Half-Marathon in Sandy Hook-which-I-think-technically-is-Middletown, NJ. It'll take two posts for me to fully explain the process - the first one, which you're reading now, will concern itself with training for the race. The second post, which I'll write in two or three weeks, will be about the race itself.This is no ordinary blog post about running, because I'm not your ordinary runner. I like to run, but I am not a natural by any means. I'm going to be brutally honest about what half-marathon training does to the average individual (since my athletic ability can be described charitably as average). And in the end, I will have hopefully explained exactly what this process does to a person in a way that makes sense to runners and non-runners alike. I feel that runners need to do a better job of understanding that not everyone in the world is a runner. Let me repeat that, with emphasis: NOT EVERYONE IN THE WORLD IS A RUNNER.
So, even if you don't give a shit about running, you might as well keep reading, if only for the references to Van Halen and elementary school kickball.
Most runners who write about running (either training for a road race or the race itself) make it sound like an incredibly soulful and transcendent experience. The miles on the pavement seem to melt away as they "goal-fully" stride their way toward the end of their long runs, or the finish line. They smile, and eat lots of carbs, and spend lots of money on the latest fad training gear, and upon reading the half-marathon training articles that they write, you can easily convince yourself that running 13.1 miles is doable - or, even, easy.
Running can be a lot of fun, and sometimes it can even be "transcendent"... I guess. (I hate that word.) However, having been through the process, anyone who tells you that training to race 13.1 miles is easy is a damned liar.
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Preparing to run a half-marathon, if you follow a reasonable training program, takes about ten weeks (from scratch). Each week consists of three running days, two cross-training days, and two rest days. Rest days are seriously rest days; it's sometimes difficult to walk, depending on the number of miles I've run in the previous week.
The running days are broken down as follows:
Long runs: The weekend "long" run starts at about 3 miles in the first week and, for me, progresses to 12 miles (two weeks before the race itself). Not all long runs are created equal. With training, I can get my body to withstand the pounding of running about 10 miles fairly easily. But somehow, for whatever reason, my internal organs revolt to the mere thought of additional distance with the fire of a thousand suns. It becomes difficult to breathe; my legs not only ache but also feel as if they weigh a hundred pounds apiece; the skin irritation post-run is almost unbearable, and my mind begins to run wild.
I'm serious when I say that running is more a mental than a physical exercise - at some point, once any individual pounds the pavement for a certain number of minutes, the idea of running 10, 15, 20 minutes more than what they've already accomplished becomes completely irrelevant. What people refer to commonly as a "Runner's High" is actually (for me) runner's ambivalence. At some point I say to myself, you know, fuck it - I've been doing this for 45 minutes and I'm going to do this for 45 more. That's a really long time and it's not going to help me to count the minutes anymore. Might as well turn up this lovely Steve Winwood compilation on my iPod and get to groovin'. (Just kidding about the Winwood.)
However, the runner's high/runner's ambivalence starts to break down for me somewhere north of ten miles. At that point, as I mentioned before, my mind becomes my own worst enemy: I can't help counting down the minutes or landmarks until I am able to stop running, on some days (these are the lucky ones). On the unlucky days, my mind begins to rationally explain to me why running so many miles is suicidal, and actually provides rational evidence - THROUGH LISTS! - of professional athletes who've died while playing their sport. When it wants to be, my mind is a Wikipedia of tragic deaths. I am incredibly morbid.
So that's the bad news about long runs. The good news is that they work in increasing endurance... and also, they expand my taste in music. These days it takes me about one hour, forty-five minutes to run 12 miles, and in that time I can listen to almost three entire albums. Each week I plan my music in advance so that I save the most exhilirating songs for the very end.
By the way, here are songs that I can listen to while running that essentially guarantee I will not stop running for the duration of the song:
- "Right Now" by Van Halen
- "Whiskey in the Jar" by Metallica
- "Run Like Hell" by Pink Floyd
- "Kids" by MGMT
- "The High Road" by Broken Bells
- "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits
- "Long Road to Ruin" by Foo Fighters
- "Running on Empty" by Jackson Browne
- "Land of Confusion" by Genesis, followed by "Land of Confusion" by Disturbed
- "Silvergun Superman" by STP
- "The Ruler's Back" by Jay-Z
- "Roll With It" by Steve Winwood (just kidding... or am I?)
A pace run is where you run at "race pace" for the duration of the run. A tempo run is where you run the first 25% of the run slowly, spend the middle 50% of the run slowly speeding up to slightly faster than "race pace," and then spend the last 25% of the run going slowly again. I am terrible at slowing down for the last 25% of the run - I spend that time telling my haggard legs to go F- themselves and do the best I can to finish strong. Someday, after I seriously injure myself, I'll read this and realize that this is probably why.
Cross-training days, for me, are typically spent on a stationary bike next to my fiancee. That's right; spin class.
Spin class is a very interesting place. My understanding is that different instructors take different approaches to managing a spin class. This particular class is an hour long and I'd say only about 80% of the people who show up for this thing manage to finish in any condition whatsoever; maybe 25% of the total are able to ride fast for the full hour. It's a boot camp-like environment, and what are supposed to be my "easier" days during training turn into situations where I find myself bike-sprinting 53 minutes into an exercise session. It's hell, but it's the kind of hell where at the end of it you feel pretty damn good about what you accomplished.
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Before 2009 turned to 2010, I'd never raced at a distance beyond 3.1 miles, and before I committed myself to run longer distances, I assumed that I never would. I've spent some time this year thinking about what changed, and I think what happened was I finally understood that pushing oneself athletically can be useful and illustrative, for a bunch of different reasons.
If you select to judge by the rubric that defines elementary school games of kickball and high school pick-up basketball games, I have never been an athlete. I've never been quick, nor have I ever been coordinated - my mind can tell my muscles to do something, and by the time my muscles react, it's next Tuesday. However, I've found that I'm actually decent at running. It's weird; it's one of the few things in my life where I find that if I put in the effort, the results end up taking care of themselves. There is no worrying in the middle of a run (or a race) - there's just running, or racing. There are no obstacles (or, for that matter, clients, although I fail to see the difference between the two). Anyway, at age 27, I find that I'm in the best physical shape of my life, which is quite cool.
I think also that distance running has taught me a lot about hard work (and vice versa). At some point in everyone's life, they realize that they can't skate by on talent alone and actually have to put in serious effort to make an impact on whatever they feel like impacting. I feel like I was able to skate through college and graduate school, with a good deal of objective success, on some combination of moderately-hard work, lots of potential, and my ability to talk/write with very little prompting. But it also feels good to push yourself to the brink (if you're one of those people who likes it, which is circular logic but really the only good way to explain why some people run full marathons and others eat Bon-Bons).
I can't skate by anymore, because my work demands so much of me intellectually and also it's the kind of work where if my heart's not in it, it would immediately show. This year, as a New Year's Resolution, I decided to let that can-do attitude filter into taking care of myself physically, through running. I can't believe it's almost October and I haven't failed on my New Year's resolution - by the end of the calendar year, I'll have run three half-marathons plus a 15K (9.3 miles).
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So this is training for a half-marathon, in short, and hopefully a bit of insight as to why a reasonable person would put themselves through so much. In two weeks, the race wrap-up - I'll be brutally honest.
