Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | November 30, 2012

A New Marathon Term: The BBQ

I’ve always been a fan of the Boston marathon. For most of my adult life, I lived or worked near the marathon route, and I was a dedicated spectator. Race day was always a big deal, even for us spectators. We’d have the TV on to watch the race begin out in Hopkinton, and then make our way to the course in time to see the pros come speeding through, followed by wave upon wave of amateur runners.

I was always amazed and inspired, not so much by the elites, but by the people in the back. The guys running in kilts, the women dressed like Wonder Woman, people in Elvis costumes. Some years, I had friends running it, and I’d stand on the road, eyes scanning the crowd of faces, yelling and screaming when I finally recognized someone.

I never, however, not for even a minute, thought about running it myself. I didn’t consider myself “that kind” of runner. I was simply not a marathoner. Just like I wasn’t, say, an astronaut or a an Olympic figure skater.

Then some friends tricked me into running the Chicago Marathon in 2009, and boom! – I was a marathoner.

But still.

I was a slow marathoner. A five-hour marathoner. A back of the pack runner. I knew Boston had qualifying standards (except for Charity Runners, who are exempt) and although I didn’t know what the standards were, I knew they were out of my reach. Qualifying was a pipe dream, a fantasy, like winning the lottery or discovering royal lineage.

One day, purely out of curiosity, I looked up the Boston Qualifying (BQ) times. I laughed out loud. I’d have to cut nearly an hour off my time. And then, just to make matters worse, the Boston Athletic Association (the Gods in charge of the Boston Marathon) tightened up the qualifying standards, shaving off five minutes.

As I posted on Twitter, my BQ time went from “impossible” to “impossible minus five minutes.”

Boston qualifying times vary by age and gender. For my age group, the original BQ time, before they changed the standards, was 4:00. The current BQ time is 3:55.

This year, much to my surprise, I finished the Chicago Marathon in 3:58.

Suddenly, I feel like I need to re-evaluate that “impossible” declaration.

I like to think that in a way, I actually did have a BQ time. I just posted it after the standards were changed. Had I run it before the new times went into effect, I would have made it with minutes to spare.

So, I started to tell people that I attained the “classic” BQ time, like Coke Classic. Then my friend Molly came up with a better moniker: since it was before they changed the standards, it was a “before” BQ time. A BBQ.

Now I just have to put some hot sauce on that BBQ and speed up a little. Can I pull it off? Probably not, but I might as well try.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | November 27, 2012

Guilt is a Better Motivator than Glory, And Other Lessons from the Chicago Marathon

(Yes, I know, it’s a little late to post a write-up about the Chicago Marathon, since it was nearly eight weeks ago. But I still haven’t gotten around to taking down last year’s Christmas lights – and now I don’t have to. So procrastination isn’t necessarily a bad thing.)

Lessons Learned from the Chicago Marathon

1) I Need to Get Sponsored by an Oatmeal Producer

In the days leading up to the 2012 Chicago Marathon, I did two things: I hydrated until I felt my eyes float and I ate more oats than a thoroughbred at Churchill Downs. Oatmeal with maple syrup. Pizza made with oat flour. Oatmeal with peanut butter. Oats and cherries baked together.  Oats, oats, oats for breakfast, lunch, and sometimes even dinner. I think Bob’s Red Mill should take me on as their first sponsored athlete. Fueled by Thick Rolled Oats!

2) I Can’t Get Anything Done the Week Before a Marathon

I thought I’d accomplish a lot while tapering. After all, I wasn’t doing crazy long runs. I wasn’t even sleep deprived from those early morning weekend runs. And yet I did nothing other than sit in front of the computer, staring at Weather.com, hitting “refresh” over and over and over again. Take it from me: this is not an enjoyable way to spend time.

3) If You’re Going to be Miserable, Drag a Friend Along

In the weeks leading up to the marathon, I’d started doing some of my long runs with my pal Kevin, and we’d came up with some vague race strategies: we’d start out with the 4:00 pace group and try to hold on. At the time, I was thinking I’d be lucky to break 4:15, so 4:00 seemed optimistic. As the race got closer, however, I gained some confidence.

Then, at the Marathon Expo two days before the race, I decided – in a burst of irrational exuberance – to sign up with the 3:55 pace group. I texted Kevin and told him to do the same. He was reluctant.

“Are you sure about this?” he kept asking. Sure, I’m sure! Granted, it was ambitious, but what the heck? We’d go down in a blaze of glory!

And so we came to find ourselves on race morning lining up behind the 3:55 pace leader. As we stood beside our aspirant peer group, I recognized the folly of my optimism. The people surrounding us were younger, fitter, had legs like cheetahs and zero percent body fat. I was out of my league. At least I had Kevin with me, since misery loves company.

I stood in the chill looking up at the Chicago skyline, surrounded by thousands of fit, young runners and felt inspired to compose a Tweet. “I am never, ever doing this again,” I typed. “And this time I mean it.” Our wave moved forward, and we were off.

4) Guilt is a Better Motivator than Glory

We clung to the 3:55 pace group leader. Within the first mile, Kevin and I met Tim, a runner from Michigan who was also hoping to break 4 hours. Tim, like us, wasn’t sure it was entirely feasible, and, like us, he was a few years older than the buff post-adolescents nearby. Kevin, Tim and I bonded together over our shared optimism and self-doubt. We stayed with Ben the Pace Leader and held on for dear life.

Around the 6 mile mark, I realized it was time to choke down an energy gel, so I stopped to grab some water. The pace group kept going, right down the middle of the road. I walked while downing the gel and water. By the time I looked up, the pace group had gotten ahead of me.

They seemed so very far away, on the other side of a wall of runners. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to catch up. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Wouldn’t it be better just to plod along at my usual snail’s pace? More relaxed. More enjoyable. Less effort. Like sirens on rocks, I could hear vague voices in my mind saying “Just let them go, just take it easy, who cares about your finish time?”

Then I saw Kevin looking over his shoulder. He leaned over and said something to Tim, who also began scanning the runners nearby. They were looking for me! How could I leave Kevin like that? I’d harassed him into running with the faster group. It wouldn’t be right to ditch him. Guilt washed over me, and then it kicked my butt into gear. I had to catch up!

I ran over to the side of the road, hopped up onto the sidewalk and sprinted up the side. I passed the sea of runners and cut back in, weaving up to Kevin and Tim. “I’m here,” I said, wheezing. “Right here.” And we stayed together for another 10 miles.

5) It’s When I’m by Myself that I Become a Loser

I’m not quite sure when I lost Kevin, but I think it was between mile 16 and 17. At some point, I looked over my shoulder and noticed that he wasn’t there. We’d made a pact that we’d start together but not hold each other back, so I didn’t drop back to look for him. I continued on with Tim and Ben the Pace Leader. Then, soon, Tim was gone, too. It was just me and Ben, plus a few random stragglers.

“Must stay with Ben, must stay with Ben.” At around the 18 mile mark, it was time for me to have another energy gel. As usual, I had trouble washing it down, so I took an extra cup of water at the aid station. I finished off the water, tossed my cup and empty gel pack in the garbage and started to run again.

But when I looked up, I couldn’t see Ben. Where was that little 3:55 sign?? I spotted him up the road, maybe 50 feet.

It might as well have been 50 miles.

Must catch Ben. Must catch Ben.

I didn’t, however, have the energy to sprint. Unlike the first time I’d lost the pace group, motivation eluded me. Ben, after all, didn’t care if I was running with him or not. I had no sense of obligation – no guilt. So instead of going faster, I just maintained the gap, figuring I’d catch up at the next water station: if Ben stopped for water and I ran through it, I’d catch him then.

By the time we got to the next water station, just after mile 19, I was still roughly 50 feet behind. But Ben didn’t stop. He ran right down the center of the road, maintaining his pace. Shoot.

I had to pick up speed if I wanted to catch him. I tried to make up some ground as we rounded the corner at mile 20. But Ben was still ahead, and starting to slip away.

The awareness of the moment became clear. This is it, I thought to myself. This is how it happens. This, right here, this moment, this gap, this failure to catch up is what causes me to not make that 3:55 finish time. This is it.

I kept Ben in sight through miles 21 and 22, hoping that I’d get a second wind. As the course hit a small decline to pass under a railroad bridge, I thought “I’m gaining on him!” And then the road bottomed out and I hit the incline back up to street level. You’d have thought I was climbing Everest. Ben and his little 3:55 sign faded into the crowd. I was all alone, surrounded by strangers.

6) The Last Few Miles are Never Pretty

The last four miles of the race were ugly. Fortunately, the good weather prevented some of the really unpleasant stuff I saw during my last marathon, the over-heated 2010 edition. But even with the cooler temps, people were falling apart. Walking, sitting down, lying on the ground, dry heaving. Every time I someone in front of me stopped to walk, my will faltered a little more.

I knew I’d lost the pace group, but I refused to walk. I had to break 4:00. I tried to figure out my pace and finish time, but the math got blurred in my head. All I could do was keep running.

As I hit the straightaway on Michigan Avenue, all the sounds and peripheral images faded away. The only thing I could see was the pavement, my watch, and the mile marker signs, which seemed to be getting farther and farther apart. 800 meters, a sign finally announced. An eternity passed. 400 meters! I ran for what felt like at least 5 miles and then saw the 200 meters sign. Please, oh please, let it end. And then finally, the finish.

7) I Understand How Two Opposite Emotions Can Coexist

As I crossed the finish line, I understood, with new appreciation, the meaning of the word ambivalent. To say I had mixed emotions would be an understatement. I was thrilled, shocked, surprised and over the moon that I had finished in under 4 hours. My time was 3:58:01, over 55 minutes faster than my previous marathon. I had exceeded my expectations – smashed them to bits, in fact.

And yet. I had missed my Boston qualifying time by just over three minutes. A total of 181 seconds. Count ’em. The equivalent of a commercial break on TV. The time it takes to make a piece of toast. Shorter than most YouTube videos. Less than one song on my ipod. In marathon times, it’s the blink of an eye.

And yet. I’d finished in under four hours, something that until a few weeks earlier, I would have declare an absolutely impossible goal.

I started crying. For what I had gained. For what I had narrowly lost. For reaching an impossible goal and just barely missing another. For my sore, bloodied feet. For being lucky enough to not have anything worse than blisters. For hitting a milestone. For hitting it all alone – a moment of pride, and a moment of sadness.

8) The Faster People are Quieter

As I got my emotions under control, I became aware of how peaceful and quiet the finisher’s chute was.

I’m used to finishing farther back in the pack, when there is much whooping and hollering and people dressed in costume and generally having a good time. But up here, with the sub-four hour people, it was more sedate. The air was filled with nothing but the soft rustle of the warming blankets draped around the finishers.

I pulled out my phone to share the good news online and saw that my tweet from the start – the one vowing to never do this again – was sitting there, unsent. A connection error. I smiled. I knew I’d be doing it again after all. That technology fail prevented me from making a liar of myself. Again.

Kevin texted a few minutes later to tell me he had finished, and we planned to meet in front of the Art Institute to head back home.

9) Personal Accomplishments are Worn on the Inside

I left the finish area as a sub-four hour marathoner, something I’d never thought I could be. I felt like a champion as I headed away from Grant Park, leaving the spectators and the runners and the cheering and the crying behind me. Then I turned onto Michigan Avenue and became just another person in the crowd.

But inside I thought, “3:58. Imagine that.”

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | November 10, 2012

Running with Boys, or How an Independent Woman Needed Guys to Help Her Run a Marathon

Yes, yes, I’m finally getting around to writing about this year’s Chicago Marathon. Granted, the race was over a month ago, but sometimes it takes me a little while to digest things. Besides, a one-month delay isn’t so bad. It took me almost a year to write about my first marathon. So, like a June bride who writes her thank-you notes in December, I feel like I’m both behind and ahead of schedule.

Perhaps my procrastination is fueled by embarrassment, because in order to write about the 2012 Chicago Marathon, I have to admit how close I came to not running it at all.

I signed up for Chicago 2012 during the one week registration was open back in February. I hadn’t run it in 2011 and was very pleased with that decision. But for some reason, I got swept up in the “Sign up before it sells out!” hype. I didn’t want to get shut out of the race only to regret it later. (Let the record show that I’ve never, not once, been sad about being shut out of a race. In fact, only the inverse is true, since I routinely register for things and immediately regret having done so.)

And so I found myself clicking “Register Now!” and viola, I was signed up. Then I promptly forgot all about it. Denial is a powerful force.

As summer rolled around, it was time to start “training” and I realized what I’d done. I was facing weeks of daunting runs that I’d have to slog through by myself. I had no running partner or training group of any kind. And I was miserable.

I managed to get through July, but by the beginning of August, I hated my long runs. I was sick of every song on my ipod, sick of every thought in my head, sick of myself. Anything over eight miles and I was ready to hurl myself in front of a passing car. While my legs were getting stronger, my resolve was getting weaker.

I kept cutting my runs short. My training plan would say I should run twelve, but I’d do only ten. Or eight. Or six. One day I set out for a 10-miler. I ran 2.5 miles, stopped, turned around, and walked home, crying. Dear Chicago Marathon, I quit. Have fun without me.

But then something happened. Two things, actually. Or more precisely, two people.

The first was that I heard from my Twitter runner pal Dan who was training for Chicago 2012, his fourth marathon. Although he ran regularly with the CARA Niles group, he’d suffered an injury and hadn’t been able to stick to the CARA training schedule. He was doing runs on his own – slightly shorter than the group was doing – until he could build his mileage back up. He asked if I wanted to do some runs with him.

Dan has always shown such determination in his marathon training – read his inspiring story here – and I didn’t want him to have to suffer through training by himself. So I started running with him.

Around the same time, I saw a friend and neighbor who had run the marathon a few times in the past. “So, Kevin,” I asked him, “are you running the marathon this year?”

“Well,” he replied, “I’m signed up for it, but I’m sick of doing those long runs by myself.”

Cue the sound of angels singing.

So I started running with Dan and Kevin. Sometimes I’d run with Kevin on Saturday and Dan on Sunday. Sometimes vice versa. For my weekday runs, I was still on my own, but the shorter runs didn’t bother me. It was the long ones that I dreaded.

And yet suddenly they were enjoyable. OK, maybe that 16-miler that Kevin and I did when it was brutally hot and we were both under-hydrated wasn’t exactly enjoyable. But the miles no longer seemed quite so tedious. And most importantly, I was getting them done, instead of cutting them short, like I’d been doing in the past. I was running longer distances, at a faster pace, with no mental anguish. In fact, as the weeks went by, I started to (gasp!) look forward to my weekend runs.

Some weekends I even logged back-to-back long runs, such as covering 14 miles with Kevin on Saturday and then running 13 at a half-marathon with Dan on Sunday.

In August, I had been determined to quite, but by September, I was confident I could tackle the marathon distance again. I had no idea what my time might be when I crossed the finish line, but the most important thing was showing up at the start line. Thanks to two fabulous guys, I managed to do just that. What might happen during those 26.2 miles, however, was still anyone’s guess.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | October 8, 2012

RIP RunStreak

The RunStreak died peacefully at home on October 8th, 2012, due to natural causes following a 3-hour and 58-minute battle with 26.2 miles. It was 425 days old.

The RunStreak was born on August 10, 2011. It accomplished many things in its short time on earth, most notably PR’s at every distance, including numerous 5ks, 10ks and half marathons. Its most recent accomplishment was a 55-minute PR at the Chicago Marathon on its final day.

The RunStreak minimum was one mile per day on “rest” days, but most days were at least 5k. The moniker “Today’s 5k” was frequently used.

During its early days, the RunStreak basked in beautiful fall weather and it gained strength quickly. By the time the challenges of winter arrived, it was robust and seemed like it might last forever.

Its first significant threat was damage from the hills of the Seattle Half-Marathon in December of 2011. The following day, it took the RunStreak nearly 15 minutes to hobble/jog one mile. Fortunately, the RunStreak quickly bounced back to its consistent self.

The RunStreak survived and even thrived in the following months in spite of the cold weather. Sleet, snow, and sub-zero temperatures never seemed to dampen its spirit and will to live.

Its most serious threat came following a trip to California, where due to jet lag and time constraints, it was almost completely forgotten on April 26, 2012. Fortunately, that nagging feeling “I think I forgot to do something today…” kicked in at 11PM. One mile around the neighborhood in the darkness saved it at the last minute.

In addition to being accompanied by some fantastic PR’s, the RunStreak also resulted in a year of stellar health and no injuries. While it’s impossible to say if the RunStreak alone is responsible, it certainly deserves at least some of the credit.

The RunStreak was going strong right up to and including the 2012 Chicago Marathon. Alas, it gave all it had. Although the RunStreak was a fighter, it was no match for the damage inflicted by running 26 miles at a 9-minute pace. But if the RunStreak had to die, doing so in order to accomplish a sub-four hour marathon, with a PR of close to an hour, was a noble way to go. It’s what the RunStreak would have wanted.

The RunStreak is survived by stronger legs, a renewed love of running, and an appreciation for the benefits of getting outside during bad weather. If there was one thing that RunStreak taught us, it’s that getting out the door is truly the hardest part, but the rewards once on the road are immeasurable.

The RunStreak will be missed. In lieu of flowers, please consider donating miles to the RunStreak of your choice. Donations of Advil are also gratefully accepted.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | October 4, 2012

The Chicago Marathon is Making me Crazy

The Chicago Marathon is on Sunday, and although I signed up with the caveat that I would not run if the temperature went above 80, it looks like there will be perfect weather at the start. Sunny. Temps in the 40s, maybe low 50s. Can’t get much better than that.

So why am I freaking out?

Maybe because I have no idea how I’m going to do and the uncertainty is messing with my mind.

First of all, tapering always makes me a little crazy. For those who are smart enough not to run marathons, tapering is the period of time, usually about two weeks, before a big race where you cut back on your effort to let your muscles recover and get ready for the big day. For me, it means no more long runs and, alas, none of the stress release I get from those runs.

So, instead of spending this week blogging about my summer races as planned – taking all my notes and pictures and turning them into nice little posts – I sit down in front of the computer and within a few minutes start to freak out. Who cares about a race I did back in July? All I can think about is Sunday, SUNDAY, SUNDAY!

What am I going to wear? Should I check the weather forecast one more time? Will the course be really crowded? Will I crash into a runner who stops to walk right in front of me? Will I trip on a pothole? Will my toe, still not fully recovered from the nasty blisters I got at the Chicago Spring Half, actually shear right off my foot in the middle of the run? And if so, can I finish the race while trailing blood through the streets of Chicago?

I’m more nervous about this race than any other race to date (ok, other than the Half Ironman, but that’s because I thought I might actually DIE doing that one).

In theory, I should be confident. While the road to get to this week has been filled with ups and downs (and hopefully blog posts about them will magically write themselves soon), my training for the last 8 weeks has been right on target.

And yet I have no idea what to expect.

The pace calculator on my phone says that based on the Chicago Half that I ran a mere four weeks ago, I should be able to do 3:55, which also happens to be my BQ-time. The McMillan calculator, however, says 3:58. The Running Times pace calculator says 4:00 flat. I say they’re all nuts. The optimist in me thinks 4:08. The realist in me says 4:15. The negative whiner in my head says “Who are you kidding, you’ll be lucky to break 4:30.” Based on my 800-meter intervals, Bart Yasso would say I could do sub-4. Paul Ryan says I can do 2:50-something. Kip Litton says I’ll be the overall female winner.

I’m driving myself mad.

I have visions of being locked in an institution in a straight jacket, sitting the corner rocking back and forth, staring at the wall while mumbling splits and distances and paces and goal times.

And all this anxiety for what? So that I can push myself in Chicago to get a qualifying time for California International Marathon, which I can then run to try to get a qualifying time for the Boston Marathon? A marathon to run a marathon so that I can run yet another marathon, even though I’m not sure I even like running marathons?

When they certify me as insane, I think I’ll have to concede that they are right. Or that I’m just a runner. We’re all a little insane.

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