When the Going Gets Tough
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
On Sunday I headed out for what I expected to be a really fun and enjoyable 12-miler. The sun was shining, and I was just back from a week-long tropical vacation where I did little else but sun myself, read, and drink. Even though I managed to fit a couple of workouts in during vacation, they were by no means strenuous and I was looking forward to doing my first long run of the year on fresh legs.
My 12-mile route -- from my condo, up East Washington, around the Capitol square, down West Wash, around the Arb, and back -- is also one of my favorites. I have fond memories associated with it ...one particular one was knocking off a comfortable, and fast, run after work and before going out for drinks on a Wednesday night about this time last year. I was looking forward to the same feeling on Sunday: cruising along on auto-pilot, no fatigue, easy-breezy.
My Sunday run was anything but. From the first hill to the last, I felt as though I could barely catch my breath. My legs wouldn't find a rhythm. I was struggling with a 9:30-10:00 pace...badly. And then -- then! -- I started to overheat. Goosebumps, chills, woozy-ness. Ugh. Double-ugh.
This was not supposed to happen. I had fresh legs. I was excited about this run. And for the love of all that is holy, how can you overheat in MARCH?!?
I've had trouble with the heat before. And if by "before" you're guessing my entire life, you'd be correct. I don't sweat as much as a normal person, and as a result, I seem to get a lot hotter a lot faster. From horse shows to road races to track meets, it's always been a bit of an Achilles heel for me. To this day, I have no idea how I survived -- much less finished (and finished in time) -- last year's Mad City Marathon.
So it shouldn't have been much of a surprise to me on Sunday when I started feeling overheated. But I just couldn't rectify the fact that it was still March with the fact that I was having trouble with the heat.
I kept apologizing to my two running compadres because, frankly, all I wanted to do was walk. All I could conceive of doing was walking. "It's not even that hot out," I kept saying. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not even that hot."
It was embarrassing, frustrating, and by the time we finished, miserable. I had a splitting headache, chills, and nausea.
As I lay on the floor of my condo, stretching and icing my knees -- and trying not to throw up -- I was vindicated, just a little, but the nightly news. Turns out that the high on Sunday was close to 80 degrees -- an all-time high for that day in Madison's weather history. I guess it was that hot.
Even so, the frustration lingers still. I've yet to have a feel-good long run this year. Maybe it's due to the gruelling Saturday workouts (usually a long -- 3 to 4 hour -- bike ride and swim) and Sunday-morning barn chores that leave my legs feeling like they're encased in concrete. Maybe it's because my long runs of 2006 never really felt as good as I remember them in hindsight. Maybe it's both.
So, I'm trying to adjust expectations. But it's both hard and scary. What if I'm not training enough? What if I'm overtraining? And fear of all fears -- the one that I've now started to have nightmares about -- what if I miss the cutoff times on September 9th? Gulp.
Panicking about my preparedness, I've decided, will get me nowhere, though. So I've been doing some (up to this point not-very-effective) self-talk: I'm a strong athlete. I'm working as hard as I can. I'm allowed to have off-days, and the fact that I do doesn't make me a wimp. And, my favorite -- I still have an entire five months to devote to training and preparing.
Stuart Smalley-esque? Perhaps a bit. But when the going gets tough, the tough get desperate. Here's to hoping self-affirmations do the trick...
Posted by Erin 10:17 AM