In the end, I think we ended up riding over 30 miles for 3 hours. I was exhausted. The endorphins wore off, and my legs began to scream at me. But I stifled them with a veggie burger and an enormous pile of baked beans. Best. Day. Ever.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Cross-training is my friend
I love running. That is no secret (clearly). But sometimes I like to do other activities to avoid burn-out. Namely, I love to ride my bicycle (or any bicycle for that matter). I especially love to mountain bike. It is thrilling and gritty, and muddy and bloody. Boise's weather has been shit lately, but the other day it was actually DRY and 70 degrees. What a perfect day for a ride! I rode out to Lucky Peak Reservoir with Chuck and Danny to ride what Chuck called a "fairly easy trail". Chuck lied.
Please note the mud and loose rocks. This was actually a semi-rideable section of the trail. Much of it was a 'stream' of run-off with huge ruts. I fell off my bike 6 times. I was bleeding. I was muddy. I worked my ass off to keep up with Danny and Chuck. Sweat was dripping in my eyes, and my hamstrings were on FIRE.
See? I'm smiling. This was after crash-and-burn #3, I believe. It felt soooo good to have the sun on my skin. I was completely elated, despite my bleeding legs. I was so high on endophins, I couldn't feel pain anyway. We reached the top of the trail and relished in the view of the Owyhee Mountains and the miles and miles of the Oregon Trail.
Ahhh, the descent. I'm a huge weeny, and I squeezed my brakes the majority of the way down. But I don't think I stopped smiling once. We rode through puddles and flew around bushes. I was so exhilarated, I never wanted to stop!
In the end, I think we ended up riding over 30 miles for 3 hours. I was exhausted. The endorphins wore off, and my legs began to scream at me. But I stifled them with a veggie burger and an enormous pile of baked beans. Best. Day. Ever.
In the end, I think we ended up riding over 30 miles for 3 hours. I was exhausted. The endorphins wore off, and my legs began to scream at me. But I stifled them with a veggie burger and an enormous pile of baked beans. Best. Day. Ever.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
16 miles: 16 minutes
I've done it! I've discovered the perfect ratio for long-distance success. And its so damn easy to remember, even your fuel-starved brain can pull it off. 16 miles on the roads/trails= 16 minutes spent in a frigid ice bath. And I'd say, that between the two, sitting in an ice bath for 16 minutes was definitely the more impressive accomplishment of my Sunday morning.
I managed to run 16 decent miles (8:30 average pace) after a night of indulgence in wine AND beer (I have such a hard time saying no to either- long run or not). Only toward the end of the run did I begin to feel that threatening ache in my cheeks (the other cheeks) that no amount of stretching can soothe. I knew what had to be done- but I didn't WANNA!!!
Here's the thing about ice baths: they're unpleasant. In other words "they hurt like a bitch". I'm sure if anyone were stand on the other side of the door and listen to me getting into an ice bath, they would think they were hearing a horrible account of S&M.
So why do I do it? The answer is simple. I do it because I enjoy walking without feeling like there are 2 daggers shoved in my ass-cheeks. Ice baths are a miracle. And its possible to make them infinitely more enjoyable by taking a few simple comfort measures. I give you exhibit A:
(Yes, I look like a huge gomer). But notice my down-jacket. Notice my stocking cap. Notice my piping hot beverage- all crucial elements to the perfect ice bath. On this particular Sunday, I also indulged in Pandora Radio (specifically Dave Matthews Band Radio) to pass the 16 minutes. (Please note: to avoid soaking your warmest winter jacket, remember to fashion it into a midriff-baring jacket by rolling it up).
The initial entry into the tub is unspeakably terrible, but after a minute or 2 it is possible to quiet your screaming, profanity-stricken mind and focus on your beverage and the music. And there I sat- 1 minute for every mile I ran. And then I took a hot hot shower.
Its like I tricked my legs into forgetting they ran. I woke up yesterday and bounded down the stairs. I even ran 4 miles followed by some weight training. All of this made possible by: ice baths. Its a 1:1 ratio that can really save your (running) life.
I managed to run 16 decent miles (8:30 average pace) after a night of indulgence in wine AND beer (I have such a hard time saying no to either- long run or not). Only toward the end of the run did I begin to feel that threatening ache in my cheeks (the other cheeks) that no amount of stretching can soothe. I knew what had to be done- but I didn't WANNA!!!
Here's the thing about ice baths: they're unpleasant. In other words "they hurt like a bitch". I'm sure if anyone were stand on the other side of the door and listen to me getting into an ice bath, they would think they were hearing a horrible account of S&M.
So why do I do it? The answer is simple. I do it because I enjoy walking without feeling like there are 2 daggers shoved in my ass-cheeks. Ice baths are a miracle. And its possible to make them infinitely more enjoyable by taking a few simple comfort measures. I give you exhibit A:
(Yes, I look like a huge gomer). But notice my down-jacket. Notice my stocking cap. Notice my piping hot beverage- all crucial elements to the perfect ice bath. On this particular Sunday, I also indulged in Pandora Radio (specifically Dave Matthews Band Radio) to pass the 16 minutes. (Please note: to avoid soaking your warmest winter jacket, remember to fashion it into a midriff-baring jacket by rolling it up).
The initial entry into the tub is unspeakably terrible, but after a minute or 2 it is possible to quiet your screaming, profanity-stricken mind and focus on your beverage and the music. And there I sat- 1 minute for every mile I ran. And then I took a hot hot shower.
Its like I tricked my legs into forgetting they ran. I woke up yesterday and bounded down the stairs. I even ran 4 miles followed by some weight training. All of this made possible by: ice baths. Its a 1:1 ratio that can really save your (running) life.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Run, Fatgirl, Run
The other day I experienced something I like to call the "fat kid with asthma" phenomenon. The feeling is pretty self explanatory... I woke up at about 3:30 pm after working a night shift and decided I should probably do a short run before going back to the hospital (even though I desperately didn't want to). I tied my shoes as slow as humanly possible and wandered aimlessly around my house in an attempt to delay the inevitable. After wasting a good ten minutes, I finally forced myself out the door.
A little ways into the run I could feel my legs rubbing and my lungs burning... I looked down at my trusty Garmin... much to my dismay, I had run less than a mile. There it was- the "fat kid with asthma" phenomenon. It had appeared at a rather inopportune time; less than a mile into a 4 mile run. Once the phenomenon sets in, it is nearly impossible to shake. I was breathing hard and could feel every single extra pound on my pathetic body. Miserable. So there I was... an endurance sport enthusiast, who couldn't even manage a 4 mile run. I was even forced to do the unthinkable. I had to WALK. The horror!
So why is it that I can run 14 incredible miles one day, and fail to run 4 the next? The world may never know. "Fat kid with asthma" days are completely disheartening. There have been days (and even weeks) of the phenomenon when I just wanted to give up running entirely.
But then the skies open up and the running gods smile down upon me...
Today I woke up early (disgustingly early- I'm still readjusting from the night shift), ate breakfast, and went out for a morning run. This run was the antithesis of the '"fat kid with asthma" phenomenon. Instead, I felt like a super model on the runway at fashion week. I was rockin' my short-shorts, and I was FLYING. I ran 8 incredible miles, and even snuck in a 7:48 min/mile split!
The moral of this story: some days I feel like a fat kid. Other days I don't. Sometimes on the worst of runs, my greatest accomplishment is making it out the front door. A bad run is better than no run. And that's the truth.
A little ways into the run I could feel my legs rubbing and my lungs burning... I looked down at my trusty Garmin... much to my dismay, I had run less than a mile. There it was- the "fat kid with asthma" phenomenon. It had appeared at a rather inopportune time; less than a mile into a 4 mile run. Once the phenomenon sets in, it is nearly impossible to shake. I was breathing hard and could feel every single extra pound on my pathetic body. Miserable. So there I was... an endurance sport enthusiast, who couldn't even manage a 4 mile run. I was even forced to do the unthinkable. I had to WALK. The horror!
So why is it that I can run 14 incredible miles one day, and fail to run 4 the next? The world may never know. "Fat kid with asthma" days are completely disheartening. There have been days (and even weeks) of the phenomenon when I just wanted to give up running entirely.
But then the skies open up and the running gods smile down upon me...
Today I woke up early (disgustingly early- I'm still readjusting from the night shift), ate breakfast, and went out for a morning run. This run was the antithesis of the '"fat kid with asthma" phenomenon. Instead, I felt like a super model on the runway at fashion week. I was rockin' my short-shorts, and I was FLYING. I ran 8 incredible miles, and even snuck in a 7:48 min/mile split!
The moral of this story: some days I feel like a fat kid. Other days I don't. Sometimes on the worst of runs, my greatest accomplishment is making it out the front door. A bad run is better than no run. And that's the truth.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Wonderful Wednesday
Wonderful Wednesday is the not-so-aptly named Wednesday workout I partake in during periods of arduous marathon training. Wonderful Wednesday is the brainchild of my mother and her friend Sue (whom I refer to as Mommy #2). Essentially, Wonderful Wednesdays involve either hill repeats or Yasso 800s (more on that later), well before the sun comes up. You've probably already realized that the name Wonderful Wednesday does not actually reflect the quality of the day. In summary, Wednesdays suck. This morning was no exception.
My alarm sounded at the unfamiliar hour of 4:50 am. I mindlessly lumbered out of bed. With eyes still closed, I pulled on my running tights, long sleeves, and reflective vest. Despite the premature start to my day, my stomach growled. I downed a Scott's Loaded Granola Bar- literally the most delicious granola bars I've ever tasted in my life. Gone are the days of choking down energy gels and chews- Scott's Granola Bars (namely the Trail Runner bar) are my favorite running food. I hesitantly slunk out the front door and was slapped by the freezing pre-dawn temperatures. I met my mom and her co-worker/friend Joni (fellow "committed" runners) for this early morning milieu. The start button on my Garmin sounded the commencement of this Wednesday's journey.
We ran 7 miles, including 5 Yasso 800's. Yasso 800's are the creation of ultra-runner Bart Yasso. They are a series of 800m (half-mile) intervals with time specific goals. For example, say your goal is to run a 3 hour and 40 minute marathon (my goal), you should aim to complete each 800m interval in 3 minutes and 40 seconds, jog/recover for another 3 minutes and 40 seconds, and repeat. Ideally, a person eventually does 10 Yasso 800's in one workout. Sick. Each 800 is less than pleasant if you really push yourself... which I did. One hour and four minutes later, my run was over and the sun still wasn't up. I enjoyed a cup of tea and greek honey yogurt with chopped almonds as a reward.
You might wonder why I choose to partake in an atrocity like Wonderful Wednesday? And the answer is... I don't know. Seriously. But I do know that I love the feeling of flying down a dark, silent road, and knowing that I've accomplished a small feat before most people have woken up. Its empowering. And it brings me back Wonderful Wednesday after Wonderful Wednesday.
My alarm sounded at the unfamiliar hour of 4:50 am. I mindlessly lumbered out of bed. With eyes still closed, I pulled on my running tights, long sleeves, and reflective vest. Despite the premature start to my day, my stomach growled. I downed a Scott's Loaded Granola Bar- literally the most delicious granola bars I've ever tasted in my life. Gone are the days of choking down energy gels and chews- Scott's Granola Bars (namely the Trail Runner bar) are my favorite running food. I hesitantly slunk out the front door and was slapped by the freezing pre-dawn temperatures. I met my mom and her co-worker/friend Joni (fellow "committed" runners) for this early morning milieu. The start button on my Garmin sounded the commencement of this Wednesday's journey.
We ran 7 miles, including 5 Yasso 800's. Yasso 800's are the creation of ultra-runner Bart Yasso. They are a series of 800m (half-mile) intervals with time specific goals. For example, say your goal is to run a 3 hour and 40 minute marathon (my goal), you should aim to complete each 800m interval in 3 minutes and 40 seconds, jog/recover for another 3 minutes and 40 seconds, and repeat. Ideally, a person eventually does 10 Yasso 800's in one workout. Sick. Each 800 is less than pleasant if you really push yourself... which I did. One hour and four minutes later, my run was over and the sun still wasn't up. I enjoyed a cup of tea and greek honey yogurt with chopped almonds as a reward.
You might wonder why I choose to partake in an atrocity like Wonderful Wednesday? And the answer is... I don't know. Seriously. But I do know that I love the feeling of flying down a dark, silent road, and knowing that I've accomplished a small feat before most people have woken up. Its empowering. And it brings me back Wonderful Wednesday after Wonderful Wednesday.
A Complete Running History of Maggie (Abridged)
I have been running since... forever. I'm going to assume I was 8 or 9 when I first ran the "Capitol Classic"- an epic mile-long race that started at the Capitol building, cruised Capitol Boulevard, and finished with a grueling climb to the Train Depot. (Sidenote: I have learned that this race, now named the St. Alphonsus Classic, BEGINS at the Depot so kids don't have to run up the hill... and we wonder why obesity is an issue in this country!) At the finish line I received a free cup of TCBY yogurt, and decided that frozen yogurt was totally worth the run. I was hooked.
I kind of always figured that everyone was a runner. My earliest memories are of being woken up by my grandparents on a Saturday morning, and being driven to the finish line of a race to cheer for Mom and Dad. Completely normal. Totally awesome excuse to drink an Italian soda. Moral of this story: my addiction runs in the family. I blame my parents.
My running resume is fairly short (future aspirations considered), but I think the running community accepts me as their equal. My first half marathon was the Race to Robie Creek, labeled "the toughest half marathon in the Northwest". I desperately wanted to walk around mile 5 (mind you, the first 9 miles are uphill), but my mom warned me, "You'll never forgive yourself!" so I pressed on. I was exhausted. I was a cripple. I was ob-sessed. I ran another Race to Robie Creek and dropped 10 minutes from my original time. I ran a couple other half marathons. Then I ran the Nike Women's Marathon, where I told my friend Bryn that I felt like I was 'bearing children from my legs' (subtlety has never been my specialty). I ran the Portland Marathon. I became a "Single Track Superstar" by running 25 trails around Boise (I did it for the free T-shirt). I even dabbled in triathlons- as I am an avid swimmer and cyclist as well- so I tried the Boise Ironman 70.3. It was... alright. There was too much crap to buy and too many preparations to consider. I'm more inclined to put on a hat, lace up my shoes, and run out the front door. Running is low maintenance- like me.
So as you can see, I love to run. I am certainly not built to run. I don't have long legs and washboard abs. Oh no. I love cookies. And cupcakes. And I run so I can eat them. I run for exhilaration. I run for beer. I run to evade obesity. I run for adventure. I run because I'm fairly certain that running parallels the meaning of life.
I kind of always figured that everyone was a runner. My earliest memories are of being woken up by my grandparents on a Saturday morning, and being driven to the finish line of a race to cheer for Mom and Dad. Completely normal. Totally awesome excuse to drink an Italian soda. Moral of this story: my addiction runs in the family. I blame my parents.
My running resume is fairly short (future aspirations considered), but I think the running community accepts me as their equal. My first half marathon was the Race to Robie Creek, labeled "the toughest half marathon in the Northwest". I desperately wanted to walk around mile 5 (mind you, the first 9 miles are uphill), but my mom warned me, "You'll never forgive yourself!" so I pressed on. I was exhausted. I was a cripple. I was ob-sessed. I ran another Race to Robie Creek and dropped 10 minutes from my original time. I ran a couple other half marathons. Then I ran the Nike Women's Marathon, where I told my friend Bryn that I felt like I was 'bearing children from my legs' (subtlety has never been my specialty). I ran the Portland Marathon. I became a "Single Track Superstar" by running 25 trails around Boise (I did it for the free T-shirt). I even dabbled in triathlons- as I am an avid swimmer and cyclist as well- so I tried the Boise Ironman 70.3. It was... alright. There was too much crap to buy and too many preparations to consider. I'm more inclined to put on a hat, lace up my shoes, and run out the front door. Running is low maintenance- like me.
So as you can see, I love to run. I am certainly not built to run. I don't have long legs and washboard abs. Oh no. I love cookies. And cupcakes. And I run so I can eat them. I run for exhilaration. I run for beer. I run to evade obesity. I run for adventure. I run because I'm fairly certain that running parallels the meaning of life.
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