Facing the Wall

The wall I face when running on the treadmill in the garage.

If you’ve ever ventured into my office at Granite United Way, you’ve probably noticed a fairly large collage on my office wall. It’s a combination of famous quotes, children’s art, family and staff photographs, and reminders of humorous situations. It’s my version of “give a penny, take a penny,” where staffers add to and take from the wall as they’d like, with the idea that it is a source of motivation for our team.

Hidden from the view of almost everyone else, I keep a second inspirational wall, located on the inside of my garage door. This is the wall I face every time I get on the treadmill, a wall I’ve faced many, many times during this chilly training season. It’s an eclectic collection of pieces, including a quote from Socrates, a verse from Psalms, and even one slightly profane reminder, all to keep me focused when my mind and body begin to veer off-course.

This weekend, I faced another wall. For most marathon training plans, the 20-miler marks the longest distance a runner will undertake during their preparation. Most runners experience “the wall,” or their mental and physical breaking point, somewhere around this distance. So, this weekend, I faced the first 20 miler of my Boston training.

In many ways, the timing of this run was less than ideal. It fell just 2 days after Gwen had a robust set of 6 month vaccinations, leaving her sore and irritable. Sunday marked the beginning of Daylight Savings Time and a full moon, robbing us of an hour and leaving me with a confused and overtired toddler.  With cold temperatures, strong winds, and a late season Nor’easter headed our way, the odds were stacked against me. So I made a somewhat bold decision: I’d face my 20 mile wall while facing my garage wall. That’s right… nearly over 2.5 hours of running on the treadmill.

While treadmill running offers a flat running profile and a buffer from the weather, it absolutely has its downsides. Staring at a digital readout of your constant progress while the rest of your view remains the same is daunting. Potentially more challenging is the “ease of bailing” factor, as one can end a run by simply pressing a button, unlike the logistical challenges of stopping out on the road. Thus, I still felt incredibly accomplished when I saw the display finally read 20.00.

A long shower, two heart-shaped PB&Js (thanks to my husband), and a tall glass of chocolate milk later, I faced yet another wall, one that reminds me why I keep running. My dining room wall is covered with Grant’s artwork, along with homemade signs that my husband and Grant make after each of my long runs. Over the last few weeks, when I’ve felt like my running progress has stalled, this has reminded me who is watching.

In the end, there will always be walls. That’s inevitable. The choice we have is how we face them.

My husband's delicious creation.

Inspirations from my family

Within the Sound of Silence

For those who read Friday’s post and are wondering how I faired in my first music-less half marathon, the wait is over.

Despite sunny skies, the temperature at the start line hovered at just 19 degrees, with a wind chill of 4. It was so much worse than I’d anticipated when I registered a week ago, worse than I’d written about just 48 hours before the race’s start. If I heard one more person attempt sarcastic optimism about the weather, I probably would have really lost it.

A personal record setting 104 minutes later, it was over. I’d finished the race without my trusty playlist, only slightly worse for the wear.

Running thirteen silent miles gives you a lot of time to think, especially when you can’t sing along with Madonna. So, for your reading pleasure (or horror), here are some of my thoughts from the road:

Mile 1: I wonder when I’ll be able to feel my nose again. Should I be worried about that? Forget runner’s knee or plantar fasciitis… What about frostbite?

Mile 3: Check out the numbered parking spots. I could correlate these to historical events. Oh, the year I was born. The year my parents got married. Kennedy’s assassination.
(I’m a former history teacher. This went on for a while.)

Mile 5: Water stops are super scary today. What if I spill on myself? Then it would freeze. I’ll opt for dehydration.
(I’m not saying this was a logical set of plans.)

Mile 7: Over halfway and last of the hills. And there are jambalaya leftovers for lunch. Let’s get this thing done.
(I make a seriously good jambalaya. The anticipatory excitement was entirely appropriate.)

Mile 9: 4 miles to go. At 8 minutes per mile, that’s 32 minutes left. At 90-100 paces per minute, I could just count 3,200 paces, and I’ll be done.
(I proceeded to count to 500. I’m not kidding.)

Mile 10: Look, the ocean! Oh, the “ocean breezes.” How is it that I’m running in a circle and facing a headwind the entire race?

Mile 12: One more mile until beer! Oh, wait. I gave that up for Lent. What was I thinking?

Finish line: Phew. Check that box.

What’s next? My first post-baby 20 miler!

When the Plan Doesn’t Work

I talk a good game. I make great training plans with color-coded spreadsheets. I prepare a week’s worth of semi-healthy meals every Sunday. I monitor the wear and tear on my shoes. I track my caloric intake. I take a multivitamin.

But sometimes, it all falls apart.

Last Saturday, I set out to run 18 miles, and I returned home after just 4, knowing my legs just didn’t have enough juice.

The next morning, I bravely headed out again, only to stop after 8 miles. I was hungry, thirsty, disappointed, and mentally exhausted.

After a hot shower, a tearful texting conversation with a friend, and a toddler-led session of block tower construction, I devised a new strategy. This weekend, I’m racing, hoping that a half marathon with about a thousand New England runners along the ocean will rejuvenate my running soul.

This is going to be rough. The fact that the weather is predicted to be a chilly 35 degrees with “ocean breezes” is magnified by the race’s worst rule: No earbuds, which means there will be no music to drown out my thoughts that tell me I’m not going to make it.

Marathon training, like so many other things in life, isn’t just about how perfectly we build or follow the plan. More often, it’s about how well we adjust when things don’t go as planned. There is comfort in the expected, the intended, the known. For Type-A data wonks like me, knowing when to read the situation, follow your intuition, and try something new is downright terrifying.

So here I am, leaning into the unknown and unplanned. It’s going to be cold, breezy, and quiet. It’s just me and my shoes, hanging out outside my comfort zone, hoping to quiet my doubt and reclaim my running confidence.

Stay tuned!