Solitary Confinement: A botched training program, an injury and mental anguish leading up to my best marathon

I'm a chatty person. So when I am quiet - it's certainly a sign that I'm struggling in some way. My blogging hiatus has been a product of this. I have had so many thoughts swirling in my mind the last few months, I just couldn't manage to put them in a clear, communicative pattern. I apologize for that - I've had people ask me many questions about marathoning lately and I planned to blog on certain topics. But I just needed to retreat into myself for a while.

Last November I had an extremely disappointing marathon in Philadelphia, after training the hardest I ever had - aiming to solidly break 4 hours. Immediately afterward, I went into fighter mode. I hate missing goals and the disappointment that comes with it. Lucky for me - there was another goal right around the corner. My running friends and I had a goal of running 6000 miles in 2016, but the week after running Philly our team record keeper suggested that we had a good attempt, but weren't going to make it. One of our friends had been out of commission basically right after we set the goal - so we had to make up for most of her miles among us. I couldn't wrap my brain around another failed outcome. I texted them and encouraged everyone to push - that we could do it...we WOULD do it. To my surprise - everyone jumped in. Everyone put in extra miles and we hit 6000 miles running together the week before New Years - and celebrated with a delightful brunch. It was so fun and rewarding.

Our crew. I can't imagine my life without these women!

Unfortunately, pushing myself almost immediately post-marathon caused that hamstring and piriformis to start flaring. So, while I loved the challenge, it really wasn't great for me physically. And, now...I had to start training again. Because another little thing I did in my anger post-Philly was sign up for a spring marathon. I started regretting this very shortly after signing up. In January, during one of my every-six-week Dr visits, I conceded to go to physical therapy to address this lingering injury. The problem was - I couldn't get in until mid-April. Three days before that spring marathon. So, I decided just to train as much as I could and see where it took me....

It took me to a pretty ugly place. None of my friends were training for any specific race, so I had to do my speed and tempo runs on my own. Because it was winter, and I don't run alone in the dark, this meant these workouts were being done early, in the dark, in my garage on my treadmill. Staring at a wall. For up to 11 miles each session. It was misery and my mental state was suffering. My oldest daughter was having to get ready for school on her own some days, because I wasn't done with my workouts when she was getting up at 6:40am. I was feeling guilty and questioning if I had crossed over from being a role model for the girls to being a bad mom.

I would get off this thing, a dripping sweaty mess and whisper "I hate you..."

My leg and butt were burning, and I was hating my workouts. But I was knocking them off, one at a time through February, March and April. Quietly - without really telling anyone about this coming race. My silence was two-fold. Partly because I needed to be alone with my thoughts and I just didn't want to talk about how my training was going and what I was aiming for, etc. And partly because I wasn't sure if I was going to actually go and run it. I knew I was pushing a little harder than I should and that any given week, I might realize I was over the line and abort the mission. It really was a week to week decision.

I was using Hanson's Marathon Method for the second time...and I was a little less than 6 weeks out from my race day when I started seeing Facebook posts from friends about tapering for Boston. Tapering? My race was right after Boston. I wasn't even close to tapering. My stomach sunk. I was off. I got out my book and the calendar and confirmed - instead of having 5 1/2 weeks to go, I only had 3 1/2 weeks. I thought I was entering my toughest 2 1/2 weeks of training but suddenly I had to skip them. It was another blow. I talked to my husband more earnestly about stopping my training and backing out. He encouraged me to just run it. His reasoning was that even though I might not be in my best shape, I would no doubt finish and it would be my 10th state if I ever decided to run all 50. That was compelling enough to keep me in. I decided to stick with it and just adjust my goals.

I determined that my three goals were:
1. Stick with the 3:50 pacer through the halfway point.  I had been able to get through about 10 miles each run before my injury was very painful. I was pretty confident I could manage this.
2. Pending how I felt at the halfway point, try to break my 30K (18.6 miles) time during a marathon. I reasoned that if I improved my 3rd quarter performance, that could really motivate me for the fall when hopefully I'd be healthier and in a better position to push for a PR.
3. Try to run slow versus walk when I had to back off my goal pace. This had nothing to do with a "running" goal. I was travelling to this race by myself and wanted to get back at a decent time. It was a two hour drive from my home, and I didn't want to drag this thing out!

Race weekend I was pretty calm. Saturday evening, our family went to see the symphony "Star Wars and Beyond: The Music of John Williams," something I had been anticipating for months. I didn't really think about the fact that I was going to be driving til midnight only to get up and torture myself the next day.

After the concert, I kissed my kids and husband goodbye, read a few sweet encouraging texts from my running friends, and started the drive down towards Toledo, still pretty melancholy. About 30 minutes from my hotel, I heard the song "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen on the radio. What were the odds? That song is a classic race day song that blares over speakers nationwide before runners toe the line. I got a little teary eyed. I love race day and I associate that song with all the warm and fuzzies that go along with it. Then, about 10 minutes later, I changed the channel. And it came on....again. I swear to you in this moment, something changed. It was a sign. I felt sure this was a sign.

The last few months had been rough. I didn't feel good and I screwed up my training plan for the first time ever. But that was behind me. I forgot about it all. It was almost...race day!! And baby...I was born to run.