Log #39: The Running Gods Hate Me

Ya know, I should have seen this coming. I've had some incredible runs lately, and reading through my past logs I can tell that I became cocky. I began to disobey the cardinal rule of marathon running: Respect the Distance. I decided to try and up my pace, I quit worrying so much about my diet, I would do cross-training exercises that technically I wasn't supposed to.

I got greedy.

Yesterday, the Running Gods put me in my place. Basically, I got my ass handed to me like a red-headed step child.

I woke up, got prepared for the task at hand, and then took pause. Did the watermelon sherbet I had last night contain any dairy in it? I went and checked the freezer.

Oh shit.

I figured that it might turn out to be a problem, but since I was friggin' Superman it wouldn't matter. I was going to kill this run. Since my girlfriend had an audition in the afternoon, she couldn't make the run with me so I carried my own water in my trusty belt pack. It didn't even occur to me that the extra weight could affect my times.

So what did I do next? Well, I just went ahead and started out my first mile at 8:12

The 3:30 marathon pace plan called for 9:00 miles, the 3:20 plan called for 8:40's. Keep this in mind.

My next 9 miles or so were at 8:00 or under... I was FLYING. I felt awesome, the tunes were rocking in my iPod, and everything was peachy.

And then.... mile 12. The first rumblings of sherbet in my stomach. I ignored the rumblings, and they stopped after a bit. My legs began to feel a little lacticish... if I may coin a term. They burned in my calves and hamstrings, and started to feel heavy.

By mile 14 I realized what was happening, but it was too late. I had gone out WAAAAY too fast in the beginning, and now I was going to pay for it. By the grace of God I was right next to a port-a-john when I felt the sherbet make a very convincing argument that I should not have eaten it the night before. Let me tell you... legs cramped, smelly port-a-john, sweating all over... ugh... so unpleasant.

The last 6 miles were a combination of pain, agony, and chafing. I cursed myself for being so dumb in the first part of the run. I made such a rookie mistake starting out too fast, and now I was 6 miles from home and miserable. The only thing that got me through it was the knowledge that the next time I did 20 miles I would be better prepared and know not to be cocky and think I can just DECIDE that I'm in good enough shape to run a minute per mile faster than my program says I should go.

Mile 20 was the longest mile. I ran it in 8:40, but it felt like it lasted about 20 minutes. The lactic acid in my legs made me feel like the lower-half of my body was about to explode, and my adrenaline had run out long ago. When I finished, I swore I'd learn my damn lesson and run smarter from now on.

This morning, I feel about as crappy as I thought I would. My legs are a mess, I feel tired and beat, and I know that tomorrow I will be cross-training, not doing a speed workout. Well, live and learn. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Respect the goddamn distance!!!

My little bro had issues as well this weekend, so go check out his blog. It's called "Run Fasterest," and it's linked over on the sidebar.