Relaxing (but not resting) on Block Island

After the race my friend, Lee (who accompanied me on the trip for some fun and good cheer), and I hung around the Narragansett area. We went to the beach (though it was a bit windy and chilly) and enjoyed the day. We ate a lot, got a little tipsy, and stayed the night near Scarborough Beach. In the morning, we headed out on the noon ferry to Block Island, my favorite getaway spot, where I have gone on extended weekends once a year for the past eight.

If you do not know, Block Island is a tiny island that sits 12 miles off the coast of the state of Rhode Island. It is so far out into the water that it is only 14 miles from Montauk, the tip of Long Island, New York. It is the smallest municipality (13 square miles) with the smallest population (900) in the smallest state in the country. And it is gorgeous.

We had a great room (the Alice Mae) at the Dodge Cottage, which included excellent champagne buffet breakfasts at the 1661 Inn. We stuffed ourselves silly during those breakfasts and the dinners at the Poor People's Pub and Mohegan Cafe. And, as promised, we consumed more than a bit of alcohol. With the car on the mainland, there was no danger of drinking and driving!

During the days, I was supposed to be resting, it was hard to resist the fun of renting bicycles and tooling around the island for hours, hiking the Greenway trails, and discovering beach areas to which I had not yet been. It was unseasonably warm on Monday and Tuesday, so we totally lucked out for outdoor activity. I am guessing here, but I would say I probably biked about 25 miles on Monday and hiked around 15 on Tuesday. Amazingly, my legs did not hurt a bit.

We returned to the mainland on Wednesday morning and though I had not been physically as inactive as I probably should have been, I felt wonderfully rested.

Gansett Marathon, Part Two

Just as it was at the New Jersey Marathon four years ago, this double-loop race was a tale of two races. The first loop was incredible - fast, exciting, adrenalized. 

The second loop, in this case the last 10 of the 26.2 miles, quickly became disastrous. 

Rounding past the start line once again, I felt good. I knew I had lost a little time (the clock said 1:52, which meant I was still at a sub-7 pace) but I felt strong. However, it was time to tackle that long incline into the wind along Ocean Road again. And this time it was miles 17 through 20. The more I climbed, the more I could feel the energy draining. 

There were markers every half mile and I began to eagerly await my arrival at each, but it seemed longer and longer between them - Mile 17...17-and-a-half.......18..........18-and-half................where's the 19? How much longer?? 

By the time I hit the 19-mile mark, it was over. I knew my race was ruined. I had hit the wall and all kinds of horrible things started happening. For starters, my stomach began feeling uneasy. By the 20-mile mark, it went from uneasy to queasy, then to downright sickly by mile twenty-one. At the aid stations, I could not even think about taking water or Gatorade for fear of upchucking on the spot. 

Everything else seemed to feel OK. My legs did not hurt and my lungs were breathing well. But the nausea and cramps in my tummy were unbearable. Along the woodsy area in mile 22, I went from a run to a trot to a jog. By the time I gave the thumbs down to the photographer near mile 23, I was down to a pathetic shuffle. 

All the while, I was counting down the approximate amount of minutes until I could puke. That was ALL I was thinking about for almost seven miles. 

"48 more minutes, then I can vomit....half hour, then I can vomit..." Finally, unceremoniously, I shuffled to the finish line, beaten, broken and ready to spew. 

 I crossed the finish line at a dismal 3:13, proceeded to the nearest trees, and yakked up rivers of bright yellow liquid. I guess it was the Gatorade, of which I had too much early in the race, mixed with the energy gels and chews I had been taking. It seemed never-ending. 

When the vomiting finally subsided, the crying began, though just a little. It was not like the sobbing I did on Karen's shoulder at the New Jersey Marathon in 2008 (the only other time I hit the wall). It was more like a wave of emotion finally catching up. 

And then, I was fine. Physically sore and exhausted, but mentally OK. By the time I showered and attended the awards ceremony, I was moving slowly, but in a good headspace. I knew what I had done wrong - over-fueled, started too fast - and I knew how to fix it. This will not be my last marathon and I still refuse to believe I peaked in 2009. 

In December, I will run the Mangrove Marathon in Cape Coral, Fla., and test my mettle once again. And I will remember what one of the race volunteers said to me as I shuffled past him in agony: "You can always come back and fight another day."

Gansett Marathon, Part One

Even after the disastrous final 20-mile training run, I regained enough confidence to really think this was the one. I was ready to break my three-year old marathon PR. 

I rolled into Narragansett Friday afternoon with plenty of time to check in to the host hotel (across the street from the start line!), pick up my race packet, and go to the pasta dinner. The race start was 8 a.m. so I could comfortably go to bed at 10 p.m., get up at 6, and still have plenty of time to eat breakfast and stretch before the race. 

Nerves kept me from sleeping too well, but I was rested enough this morning. A weird thought hit me early on, "Did I carb-load enough last night?" and I started worrying that I was not properly fueled. So I drank a little extra soy milk, then had a bagel, then stuffed my pockets with energy gels and chews, and ate half a Clif Bar. I also drank a little extra Gatorade. By the time we started, my tummy felt a little weird. No matter, I thought, I will run it off. 

I set my iPod to play the Phish show from 8/16/2009 because its length is three hours and  three minutes - my goal time. We got the go signal, I started the show, and hit start on the iPod's stopwatch. 

I banged out the first mile in 6:36. Too fast! At the end of the second mile I was in the 13s. The third, 20s. We were running uphill and into the wind on Ocean Road, yet with every passing mile, I was gaining time. By the fifth mile, I was a full three minutes ahead of schedule, hitting that mark at 32 minutes, instead of the planned 35:05 (goal pace was 7:01). 

I kept telling myself to slow down and I kept not slowing down. Through miles six through 10, downhill to the Point Judith lighthouse and Block Island Ferry, I remained three minutes ahead. And damn it, I felt great. 

Along Galilee Escape Road, the wind was at my back and the sun was beating down in front of me. Suddenly it felt like it was 80 degrees and I started sweating heavily. No matter - at the halfway mark, uphill on Point Judith Road, I was still three minutes ahead hitting it at one hour, 28 minutes. 

By that point, I should have long before slowed down, but I kept thinking about how great it was to have such a cushion, so if I NEEDED to slow down, I could. Heck, by that halfway point, I had determined that I could have run 7:14 miles from there to the end and still gotten a PR! 

Instead, a dangerous thought popped in my deranged noggin: if I keep this pace, I'll run a SUB-THREE HOUR marathon. That's the dream! And it was WITHIN REACH!! 

And so I soldiered on, uphill to the turn off of the major roadway and onto a woodsy road that let back toward the Narragansett beach and the start line. 

In the middle of the first song of the second set, my ipod crapped out.  I was not upset about the lack of music - I can run fine without it - but I was pissed that my stopwatch was now gone. I had to gauge it on feel from there to the end. Some folks passed me in the 15th. I knew I was slowing down, but figured it was OK. I had that cushion!  

At the end of the first loop, 16.2 miles, I was in good shape and knew I had my 3:03 PR locked up. The second loop covered only 10 miles of the same ground and I knew I still had plenty of time to do it.

Nervous, excited, nervous, excited...

I have been alternating between nervous and excited all day.  In 60 hours, I will be running the Gansett Marathon.

I find I am more nervous now about the actual trip and making sure I am prepared. I bought some extra Gu packets today and tonight I will start packing.

The good news is that the weather should be perfect on race day - cloudy with a high of 60 and a low of 48.  The bad news is that there is a chance it may rain every day for my post-race Block Island vacation, which really sucks.

This is really it. Friday morning, I am picking up my friend, Lee, and we will be on our way.

The end of training

The last day of hill sprints (almost three weeks ago), brought welcome relief.

The last long run was anti-climactic and discouraging.

The last tempo run was disappointing.

The sudden boost of speed and spirits over the weekend did much to brighten my outlook on an ending that had become increasingly disheartening.

Even though I tried one more time to do a pace run (7:01) for my three-miler yesterday, I ended up going too slowly (7:12) from pushing through the wind.

Still, I had that renewed and hopeful spring in my step today as I did my last speed training session. It was a short one, so I wanted to make it count - four 400-meter (one lap) intervals on the track, each with a jogged lap afterward, bookended by an easy mile, for a total of four miles in around 30 minutes.
The speed intervals were incredible. The goal was 1:28 for each. My times were 1:25, 1:25, 1:25 and 1:23 (!). Each time, I got that old feeling from way back of being Superman, flying instead of running.

The race is Saturday and there are no more training runs of any substance in the next four days. Just three miles tomorrow and three on Friday.

And for the first time in more than two weeks, I feel as if I am ready. Really ready. Gansett Marathon, here I come.

A boost of confidence

For two weeks, I slogged along with flagging confidence and unsteady training. This weekend, it finally turned around. Yesterday, I ran a four-miler that was supposed to be at race pace (7:01) and I killed it at a 6:43 pace. While that seems like an accomplishment, going too fast on a pace run can be just as detrimental as going too slow. It could lead, as it has twice for me, to doing the first half of a marathon too fast and losing steam at the end. Today, was my eight-mile "long" run (it's not that long, but I was to treat it as my usual long run - comfortable and steady). I decided to take another shot at race pace, to really get it right. Up and down the hills into and through Garret Mountain Reservation in Woodland Park, I gave some extra effort on the inclines and eased back on the declines, trying to keep it the pace consistent. The whole time, I was singing along with the likes of Phish and Prince on my iPod, in order to keep myself and my breathing in check (the idea being that if I am huffing and puffing while trying to sing, I am going too fast). I thought I nailed it exactly. It felt right. To my surprise, I finished at 54:31 - a 6:49 pace. Too fast again. But if anything, this means that my starting pace at the marathon next week can be slower than what my body may instinctively want to do. As long as I take control of that, I can end up with a negative split and, possibly, a PR. One week to go and feeling much better.

Much needed rest day?

This morning I did not need to wake to my alarm because it was the one blessed day per week that I do not run, so I was able to sleep until 8 a.m.

When I woke, feeling refreshed, I thought to myself, "Ahhh, a much needed rest day."

Then I thought to myself, "Really?  Much needed?  I ran, what, 30-something miles this past week?"

And so I continued to beat myself up for a while and thought more about how I am so not ready for the Gansett Marathon, which I will be running in nine days.

In 20th-anniversary cassette news, I decided to digitize the tape recording of my 4/1/1992 performance by my first band, Another Sleepless Night, while getting ready for work this morning.  Next on the list is the Phish show from 4/16/92.

Running on empty

Ugh.  Today I attempted a short tempo run - 35 minutes, starting slow, building to 10K pace for a mere six minutes in the middle, then slowing back down again to finish. I felt as if I was pulling a sled of bricks while trying to run the fast part. It just was not happening.

Ten days until the Gansett Marathon and I am fizzling out.

On a positive note, I received my cassette player via FedEx on Friday and was happily converting Phish's shows from 3/21/92 (Chestnut Cabaret, Philadelphia, PA), 3/24/92 (Flood Zone, Richmond, VA) and 3/25/92 (Trax, Charlottesville, VA) over the weekend.

These shows include a very early version of "Weigh" and the soon-to-be-rarity "Take the A-Train" (3/21/92), an insane performance of "Brother" with Carl Gerhard providing a frantic trumpet solo (3/24/92), and the "white boys attack" bit in the vocal jam of "You Enjoy Myself" (3/25/92).  This was also part of the brief period when Jon Fishman's intro music was "Cold as Ice" instead of "Hold Your Head Up" and he played that strange sounding Bag-Vac instead of his usual Electrolux. The boys definitely sounded fiery in these performances, though that is no surprise - they were playing small clubs, but were on their way up.

The taper continues and I feel less confident than ever

With less than two weeks to go until race day, I feel like it is all unraveling. This is not the way I had hoped my training would conclude.  Last year, I felt strong, ready. This time, I was feeling better than ever right up until the final 20-miler. It was a bomb from which I have not mentally recovered. Physically, I guess I am doing alright - my four-mile runs have been at around a 6:45 pace and my 13-mile run on Saturday was at a comfortable but relatively slow 7:21 pace. I know I should not be targeting marathon pace on my long runs, but I feel like I need the work; like I have not sufficiently trained, despite all the effort I have put in thus far. Simply put, I am nervous. The Gansett Marathon on April 14 will be my sixth so I should be over this feeling, but the jitters keep on coming.