If You're Running Through Hell, Keep Going

What does it take to be a successful thru-hiker or marathoner (which I'm not yet, but well on my way toward)? It's a mixed bag of characteristics, but I've realized a couple of things that work for me, and seem to be part of my nature, are a willingness to suffer (happy suffering, as Willow would say) and a short memory. Case in point, this weekend's 18 mile hilly as all get out long run.

Thursday prior I felt really fatigued and took a 1.5 hour nap (one of my favorite perks of freelance/contract work) then slept 10(!) hours that night. Friday I started to feel the beginnings of a cold - itchy/scratchy throat, sinus drainage, and by evening, sore throat. Now my Thursday fatigue made sense, but this did not bode well for the next day's long run. I did what I could to take care of myself - neti pot, EmergenC, salt water gargle, and hoped for the best.

Saturday morning I got up early enough to repeat the neti/gargle regimen. Long runs have entered the realm of "I've never run this far before" and this is my first marathon, so my sense of discipline and my fear of not being fully prepared for the race have me really committed to the training schedule. It also means long runs take on race morning excitement and energy. Which may explain why I felt a little better Saturday morning than I did Friday night. Still, I halfway hoped I'd see my coach early in the run and that she'd send me home when she heard I was nursing a cold. No such luck, but by the fourth mile, I'd mostly forgotten about it. That's not true. Every time we approached a water stop for the first 3/4 of the run, I hoped my coach would be there. When she wasn't, I reasoned that I didn't feel that bad, so I kept going. Willing to suffer in pursuit of a goal.

So, the run had quite a few long, steep hills, but two days later, I only remember two of them, and my general reaction is "those weren't so bad." Granted, it helps to have a frame of reference that includes plenty of Wilke and Hill of Life repeats, plus any number of mountains and the entirety of southern Maine on the Appalachian Trail. They provide points of comparison (whether or not accurate) from which I can tell myself "if you did X, you can certainly do this." Looking back at the entirety of the run, the only reminder of its difficulty is the soreness in my quads, which I'm still feeling today. Mentally, I'm still thinking, "that wasn't so bad."

The two things I most want to remember from this run are the sight of a majestic buck standing on the lawn in a residential neighborhood - so still I first thought he was a lawn ornament - as we ran by. And that I did it.

Here's the elevation profile from the run - doesn't look that bad, right?