Weeks Sixteen- Eighteen: Taper Madness

It creeps up on you with slow boiling precision, awakens you in the middle of the night whispering strained nonsense into your muscle fibers, force feeding you caffeinated air, your corneas following an imaginary ping pong game played between two nipple chafed marathon zombies dropping out at mile 24. Your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty and no medication seems to be able to fix, what can only be described as TAPER MADNESS!

After successfully running 20 miles, my training schedule requires me to put on the brakes for the remaining 3 weeks until the marathon, reducing my mileage significantly each week, resting my body and preparing for the final 26.2 miles. These are my taper down weeks, and as they might appear to be getting easier physically they are testing my mental endurance. Just ask Hannah who, like the angel she is, has had to put up with my shifty eyed uneasiness.

The "madness" begins when you find yourself with more time on your hands then usual because of the reduced mileage. With that extra time many find themselves working on there passions, or spending more time with their loved ones. I on the other hand made a list of ways my marathon dreams would be shattered during the race ranging from a blister on the 7th mile to being mauled by an escaped Bronx Zoo black bear on the 22nd. Others included:

1. Falling into a pothole while daydreaming about the newest Twilight movie.

2. Grabbing poison instead of gatorade not knowing that my nemesis was working the water station.

3. Laughing at a t-shirt that read, "Our sport is your sports punishment," and then tripping on a discarded sign reading, "Pain is just weakness leaving your body." (Damn you, clever runners!)

4. While getting my picture taken by an onlooker, discovering my true passion as a fashion model and dropping out.

5. Coming in second.

6. Spontaneous combustion.

7. Running next to a man who looks just like me, realizing he's my long lost twin and stopping for coffee mid-race to discuss his thoughts on investing in my new small business idea of cereal flavored milk.

The madness then continues with a bit of obsessive behaviors. I have frequented weather.com so many times I think I could be a meteorologist. ("The weather on sunday calls for partly cloudy sky's, chance of rain 30%, highs in the low 60's. Back to Peter with the Sports...) I've have been re-reading my marathon book looking for inside tips, freaking out about my fundraising, trying desperately to rid myself of this cold, and feasting on unhealthy dessert foods like a freshly dumped high schooler. In this increased anxiety ridden state, my social skills have also suffered leaving me reduced to limp handshakes and turrets intrusions- SHITFUCK COFFEE! Is there any hope?

Well it seems that a trip to the Fitness Expo has me cured. I am officially in the marathon, with my bib #54730 E to be worn on my Fred's Team jersey. I have trained over 4 months, running hundreds of miles, going through two pairs of shoes and boxes of pasta. I drank a fair bit, but kept it under control... for the most part, and am in the best endurance shape of my life. I am ready!

Now if only I can remember on sunday to turn back the clocks, wake up at 4:30am, meet my team at 5:30 for a picture in Time Square, properly stretch, eat a filling meal, not over hydrate, maintain a healthy pace, stay focused, listen to my body and remember my training, then I should be ready for 26.2. (phew)

Wish me luck and I'll see you at the finish-FUCKBATS!-line. oh no.

Week Fifteen: 20 Mile Haikus

Run over the bridge

The beginning of the trek

A beautiful start.

IT Band holding

A swig from my Gatorade

An old woman farts.

West side highway story

Up to 105th

Halfway feels so far.

Hi wobbling legs

What do you say we get through

No problem Andy.

Joy washing over

I have just finished 20 miles!

Hips and knees angry.

3 more weeks until the Marathon! The 20 miles is the longest I will be running until the big race even though the marathon is 26.2 miles long. The last six is going to be pure will.

Week Fourteen: The Asian Rubdown

I was determined to fix my left leg with a sports massage and Jane's Apotherapy and Massage was my destination. I'm a newbie to the world of massages, having only experienced one while staying in Dublin, an ambient waterfall of soft rubs and sweet accents, and I had a feeling this was going to be a little different. When I got there I was greeted by an asian woman standing about 5' 3" who looked me up and down like a hawk stalking her prey. I had the option of a swedish massage or a deep tissue massage and after she used the word "fix" in referring to my leg if she performed a deep tissue massage, I was in. She asked 1-4, 1 being the area that hurt the most, what I wanted fixed. I started with my left hip (1) and worked my way down to my left calf (4.) She told me to undress and left the room with me in it, hoping this modern day witch doctor could cure me of my ailments.

A day later my left leg looked like it was laid out into the sun like a strawberry popsicle. Holy crap she kicked my ass! She pummeled my leg like a seasoned octagon fighter placing my muscles into quiet submission, using a skipping rock shaped instrument to dig into the depths of my aching muscles and tendons. She kept saying "good boy" in broken english and for a moment of biting pain I pictured the confessions she could get out of people during such pleasant torture.

The redness was said to dissipate and I ran two days later feeling a definite difference. The massage in combination with an IT Band strap that I ordered for my leg made my next long run so much smoother.

I'm Back!

20 miles next week

Week Thirteen: Injury Report, "Put a steak on it!"

(Click to make larger)

It was a bad week, plain and simple. After completing 16 miles two weeks ago my left leg was feeling some serious pain along the outside part of the thigh down to the knee. I ran the half marathon as well but felt something off, days after the race. On tuesdays I was back on the road for a 4 mile run, but the second I started moving I felt a pain behind my knee going to my left thigh. This was in combination to a soreness from my achilles up to my calf, also on my left leg. I turned around and headed back to the apartment with some questions for the interweb.

Possible problems:

Hip Bursitis
Inflammation of the bursa over the outside of the hip joint, so-called trochanteric bursitis, can cause pain with hip movement. Treatment of hip bursitis is often effective, but the condition has a problem of coming back and sometimes becoming a persistent problem.

Iliotibial Band Syndrome
The iliotibial band is a thick, fibrous band that spans from the hip to the shin; it lends stability to the knee joint, and is attached to muscles of the thigh. ITBS is caused when the band becomes inflamed and tender.

Achilles Tendonitis

Achilles tendonitis is a painful condition of the tendon in the back of the ankle. Left untreated, Achilles tendonitis can lead to an increased risk of Achilles tendon rupture.

I figured I had a combination of a slight IT Band strain, and achilles tendonitis, though after watching an episode of CSI miami, I thought I might have been poisoned by a night club owner who injects his victims with a venomous syrum that brings on paralisis. Hopefully I can rest and get past this hiccup.

Week Twelve: Philly Half (Pint)

I was in corral 16, slowly moving up with my group to the start line, a little nervous, but excited for my first race. The man next to me reassured me that this was going to be a walk in the park, an odd choice of words, but calming none the less. Discarded clothes lined the sides of the road as people shed their warm-ups and I could only figure that this would be a great day to be homeless. And I was off.

I was running in the Philadelphia Half Marathon, the only race I am participationg in before the NYC Marathon. I had to be up around 6:30 to make it to city hall for a 7:45 start. I got off the couch I was sleeping on and walked blindly to the kitchen of my friend's apartment to figure out what the fridge had to offer in hangover remedies. Yup, rule #8 Don't drink alcohol before a long run, was virtually ignored the saturday before the race when I met with Pat and Greg, my Philadelphia boozom-buddies. We embarked on an afternoon of beer flights and buffalo wings, exploring bars and restaurants, telling myself that I would need to stop around 10pm and turn to water for the rest of the night. It was rounded to 10:30, then 11:00 as I stumbled to the couch to sleep, Pat on the floor next to me, Greg walking to another bar.

Miles 1-3 proved to be cleansing as I gulped down water at my first official water station and along with the cool air and company of other runners moved passed the slight hangover and into committed running mode. We ran through the city proper until about mile 5 when we branched out and followed a beautiful river in a more rural area. Placed throughout the race were raised stages where local bands played cover songs and original music to fuel our run. After consuming a great deal of water before and during the race I did find myself in need to go to the bathroom (#1) around mile 8. "No problem," I said as I veered off into some woods along the side of the road only to trip on a raised root and nose dive into the dirt below. Luckily I was wearing like most people, the orange ING marathon shirt that was given during the fitness expo the day before, and therefore could not be singled out after the race as the guy who 'face planted it' while trying to take a pee. (Karma perhaps?) There were just enough supporters scattered throughout the race to keep a positive momentum in my head. I rounded the last bend back around city hall with a slight stiffness in my left leg, unrelated to the fall, but pushed it through the last 100 meters. Pat and Greg showed up to support and I crossed the finish line at 2:14:44.

Yay!

I will definitely do a few things differently come the Full marathon like revoke friend privileges from Pat and Greg and get a decent nights sleep, but I'm successfully one step closer to the big show with little over a month to go.

Week Eleven: Mile High Club

She was sitting next to me gazing into my eyes. I leaned over, caressed her hair, and promptly stood up. She followed behind me rubbing my leg as I made my way down to the bathroom. I told her she had to be as quiet as possible.

She, was a stray pit bull that had been following me for the past few blocks and I, just finishing my run, was walking to a park bathroom to wash my hands. As far as flying, the last time I was on a plane I sat next to an obese woman with a knack for clearing her throat like a miner with black lung while continually sucking on lemon drops, neither of which led to any flying forays. On the ground however, I did manage to increase my mileage to a best ever 16.

The run took about 2 hours and 45 min, and left me feeling sore enough that I was "forced to watch" So You Think You can Dance from my couch. My legs are taking a beating on the concrete and I think I'm starting to feel signs of wear. I am due for a new pair of running shoes soon, which might help with the cushioning. Next week I am off to Philadelphia for my first race, a half marathon. It will be interesting running in an event where I don't have to find a vendor to provide water for my soggy cash. Until then, the sky's the limit.

Week Ten: The Marathon Runs

Warning: The post you are about to read contains graphic content, viewer discretion and spastic colons be advised.

Coming off the halfway point I have seen and experienced quite a few things during my training, but nothing in my Marathon for Dummies book warned me about this most recent event. During one of my midweek strolls over the Williamsburg bridge I caught a case of the BG's or as anyone who knows how to gross me out with the full version, Bubble Guts. Yes, I was mid bridge with last nights chicken quesadilla fighting to see the light of day and no bathroom for the next mile.

The night before, was a normal affair, failing a crossword puzzle with a beer in hand and hoping the Yankees would contract ebola before the playoffs. I ordered dinner from a local spanish joint, one where personalizing your meal is a choice between red and green sauce. Devouring the dish was no problem and I had just enough room in my stomach for a night cap of Frosted Flakes before bed. I had planned to run before work the next morning but forgot to set my alarm so I awoke later then expected with a sense of urgency to get my run in time, throwing some clothes on and rushing out the door. A mile in, I was aware that I had skipped the all important morning meeting with my friend John, but I was feeling pretty good and kept on trucking to the base of the Williamsburg Bridge passing some morning commuters on their bikes (cheating much?) and made my way up before hearing the dreaded rumbling sound in my stomach, similar to the idling of a 18 wheeler or a quiet thunder foreshadowing inclement weather. The steady climb up the bridge was then again disrupted by a series of muffled internal cries, like a man being held under his will in a trunk of a car. The running slowed to a walk and I assessed my situation. Continue to walk with clenched determination until I reached Manhattan, or run and risk pulling a Paula Radcliffe all over the bridge. I pictured a doctor in a delivery room yelling at me, "Either way you like it it's coming out!" The rumbling continued and I knew I had to let some of the quesadilla back into the atmosphere. Like a trained assassin putting a silencer on a gun I squeaked a few brow arching gems and continued. Around the top of the bridge my threat alert had turned from Amber to Red, and I picked up my pace. My facial expression must have been an obvious indicator of my troubles, cause I caught a pitied glance from a woman who obviously had previously gone through a similar affair, but had taken her time this morning primping her hair, eating breakfast and relishing in her morning BM. Damn you I thought as I stumbled like a wounded soldier down the back half of the bridge. I was getting closer. I could see a row of fast food restaurants about 500 yards away and spastically kept my pace. I tried to will myself to salvation, muttering positive reinforcements out loud; "You can do this, you are a strong person, this is nothing, just a little pain, all part of the process," but the conversation quickly turned to "Please don't shit your pants!, for the love of god hold it in!" I crossed into Manhattan territory and waited for traffic to pass as patiently as a man can be before having a quesadilla baby and darted to McDonalds thinking I was in the clear only to have the restroom occupied. I rushed past Burger King fearing the same and made my way into a local pizza place. Using the bathroom required a purchase and I bought a water with a sweat infused dollar bill. The man behind the counter reluctantly gave me the key probably figuring he had just enabled some strung out addict safe haven for a quick fix. But screw him. I had made it, key in hand, nothing to stop me. I opened the bathroom door and went in.

I had that meeting with John that morning, a very long one, and ran home with a smile on my face like boy acing a school exam only I don't think I'm gonna put this victory on my refridgerator... just a blog.