My First Long Training Run & Other Thoughts On Running

I figure I better get this in quick before the really important posts on IMLP hit the webwaves.  I have been doing long runs on Saturdays, but this one was organized in Central Park by the NYRR.  You had a choice to run anywhere from 6-20 miles.  Coach had me run 11.  As you know, the heat across most of the country has been Africa hot and NYC, while not getting hit for the same duration of time as the midwest, did get some of it over the weekend.  

Friday we broke records with a reading of 104˚F in Central Park and a heat index of 115˚F.  Simultaneously, this past week I have been living in the House of Plague.  My poor kid had a fever, yet again, of 103˚ for the third time in a week; some crazy virus going around.  My hubby was also out of commission with similar fever and migraines.  I faired the best with a just a 24-36 hour fever, but cramping that lasted a few days longer.  Nothing worse than having fever when it is like Hades outside.

Saturday I got up at 5:30 AM.  The run was scheduled to start at 7:00.  At 5:30 it was 85˚F with 75% humidity already and I was drenched with sweat by the time I walked over to the start 40 minutes later.  NYRR had sent out an email letting us know they were closing the run down early at 9:30 because of the heat advisories and air quality warnings, so they started on time.  They had 5 aid stations and added three misting stations which were pretty lame, but one.  They had ambulances around and lots of volunteers along the course.  They also had us pacing :30-1:00 slower than whatever pace we corralled in.  

Coach told me to get in with the 10:00 pace crowd.  She has a lot of faith in me.  I've been ridiculous slow in my aerobic base training.  Granted, she told me to just do what I could having come off being sick, but add the heat to it an it was a struggle all the way around.  Of course, that's not saying I would have done any better if all things were normal.

The first lap (6 miles), This guy in a green shirt kept sticking with me and when he was a bit ahead of me he would look back and then fall back with me.  He finally admitted he was using me as his pacer.  Flattered as I was I was sure he would regret it later.  He eventually outran me in the second loop (5 miles), then I saw him lining up for a third loop of 4 additional miles.  Nice.  

My miles looked like this:

1: 10:06 HR 150
2: 10:21 HR 160
3: 10:27 HR 162
4: 10:40 HR 166
5: 11:23 HR 166
6: 10:58 HR 164
7: 11:51 HR 164 (after mile 6 they regrouped us to start the second lap)
8: 11:54 HR 162
9: 12:23 HR 164
10: 12:54 HR 163
11: 11:37 HR 165 (2:04:33)
Did another .17 miles, course differential from

I really, really did not want to keep going after mile 7.  I was so miserable, so hot, so tired.  I walked every aid station to make sure I was staying hydrated plus one cup over my head.  I thought for sure I would just give up before mile 9.  I swore I would not be able to finish.  Next thing I knew I was at mile 9.  Oh well, only 2 miles left, I might as well finish it, right?  I was dragging ass by now, I was so hot and I felt a little chilled and goosebumpy.  I know this is not good, but it wasn't that bad so I pushed on.  I admit I walked a couple of times in the last 2-3 miles and walked the last hill.  My Garmin was counting off the miles before I got to the mile markers and I thought I will just bail when it tells me I have hit 11.  Oh, what the hell, I might as well finish it.....11.17 miles by my Garmin.

What was going trough my head on my run:

I am disappointed I couldn't maintain a 10:00 or even 10:30 pace.

I am so slow.

I want to quit.

I am so hot.

I cannot run a marathon, what was I thinking.

This is going to be a miserable failure.

Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I must look like a dying woman out here.

I cannot wait for this to be over.

I know....the evil inner voices of negativity.  In the end about the only thing I was proud of was completing 11 miles in those conditions, even if it wasn't pretty or fast.  I felt like I conquered 'something', although I don't exactly know what that is.  

I get really excited sometimes about running.  I feel really positive and happy.  I feel like I am making progress.  Then I have a shit run or a crap run test, I see the pace, I keep time and then the realization that I am not better, not faster, not good at it sends me straight to the bottom floor.  And yet, here I am.  still getting up and doing it.  I ran this morning for an easy :50 with strides and it was fine.  Of course I didn't check my HR, my pace or anything; just ran by feel and ran most of it barefoot.  I was happy again.  It's a real struggle for me mentally; wanting so badly to just let my run be what it is and be content vs. putting in the time and the effort to be faster and better despite the disappointments.  C'est la vie.