20 miles-- my longest run ever (and the longest blog post, too)

This 26 year old body has officially reached a level of achievement previously unknown to me... and most of my other sane friends.  I ran 20 miles yesterday.  TWENTY.  2-0.

My legs?  They are tired.  Exhausted.  Worn out.  

Judging by my hobble today, you'd guess I have the hips of someone the age range of 70+ and the back to match it.  

The arches of my feet are sore like I never thought they could be.

I think that a toe on my right foot is slowly separating itself from my body.

You would also think that I haven't eaten in a week because I am absolutely FAMISHED today.  Perhaps it's due to the 2800 calories that I burned yesterday.  Yes, I think that I'll attribute my insatiable craving for EVERYTHING towards that.  Case in point: someone halfway across my office made Cup-A-Soup (guilty pleasure for sure) and I can smell it.  And I want it.

So yea-- my 20 miler is done.  I'd love to say that it was glorious and fantastic and pain-free, but I would be lying through my teeth.  I had initially planned to run Saturday morning and had everything prepped and laid out Friday night.  To give you an idea of what "prepping for a long run" entails, allow me to share my process with you:

Lay out clothes:

Nike hat

UA Capris

UA long sleeve shirt (to wear under my lovely BCH Miles for Miracles singlet for the race)

Sports bra

lululemon running socks (the infamous $7 per sock pair)

Brooks Adrenaline shoes

Charge gear:

iPod

Garmin

Phone

Gather/prep gear: 

Fill and chill two 2-liter bottles of water

iPod armband + earbuds 

SPIbelt 

Gu Chomps, 3 packs
Body Glide 

It is nuts.  So I got all of this together Friday night, laid it out, ate my pasta dinner and headed to bed around 11.  I set two alarms: 3am and 5am, because guess what I do at 3am every Long Run Eve?  I wake up and eat peanut butter toast with a drizzle of honey, a dash of sea salt, and a banana sliced on top, obviously!  Can I just pause for a moment to say that as enjoyable as it may sound to snack on peanut butter at 3am while blearily watching an episode of Friends (late night on Nick at Night!), I'm so over this.  Anyways, wash this mess down with a liter of water, and head back to bed.  5am comes to soon and I inevitably snooze it out for another 5-10 minutes.  Climb out of bed and gear-up, leaving the apartment by 5:45 at the very latest.  

(Sidenote which might be entertaining for those readers who know BGK): 

Three weeks ago when I woke up for my middle-of-the-night breakfast, someone was still awake playing video games.  As I pulled the bread and toaster out, Brian looked at me, at the bread, at the toaster, and at the clock.

B: What... are you doing?  Do you know it's 3am?
K: Yes... I'm eating breakfast.

B: Yea... do you know that it's 3am?
K: Yes, I have to eat my breakfast now so it digests and settles before I run at 6.

B: Huh.  Do you do this every weekend?
K: Yep.

B: You did this all summer, eating toast at 3am?  And turning lights and the TV on.

K: *blank stare in his direction*

B: I had no idea.

Welcome to the world of living with someone who sleeps like the dead.  

Once I was in the car and driving towards Scituate, I started to not feel so hot.  And it was raining.  AND it was humid and muggy outside.  I've gone into all of my outside runs with the mindset of running through any/all weather conditions, knowing that anything can happen on race day, so I kept on.  Feeling a bit better, I drove the route that I'd planned, parked at the King's (hi Bill & Kathy!), and geared up.  As much as I tried to positive self-talk myself into this run, I made it about half a mile before I realized there was no. way. that my body was going to tolerate that run.  The humidity combined with my long sleeve top was suffocating, and I felt dizzy, nauseous, and kind of floaty, so I turned around and walked back to the car.

It was NOT an easy decision to make.  There may have been tears, and I was just angry at myself as the NEGATIVE self-talk now set in:

"What if you feel this same way on race day?  Are you going to quit then?"
"Only an idiot would wear a long sleeve shirt. You've lost your mind."

"Everyone knew you were planning on running 20 today.  What will THEY think?"

And then I sat back down in the car, dried my tears, and blasted "Dog Days Are Over" on repeat while I drove to Panera to pick us up a very early breakfast.  I dropped my stuff off in the apartment, grabbed my Kindle, and did the hour of XT that was scheduled for Sunday while watching "Love Actually" on the elliptical.  Post-shower and getting ready (thank God for a good hair day), we were off to Salem for a wine festival, which was exactly what I needed.  Following the ideal pre-long run dinner of margherita pizza, I was in bed and blissfully asleep by 10pm.

Wouldn't you know that everything happens for a reason?

Sunday morning I did the same routine, only later (and with POSITIVE self-talk.  Yea, I talk to myself a lot. When you're alone with your thoughts for 3+ hours, something's gotta occupy your time).  Brian was going to be gone golfing and watching football all day, so it was the first weekend where I had an entire day to use however I wanted, so I opted to start my run as close to the start time for my marathon wave as possible (10:55am).  I woke up around 7, ate my breakfast, drank water, ran the dishwasher, changed the sheets, watched a little TV, and got myself ready to leave.

I'd found a trail around a 1.6 mile looped path about 5 minutes from our apartment that's all nature-y and water-y and with a park ranger station with a water fountain and bathroom-- perfect.  The weather was so much cooler and breezy, the sky was a gorgeous bright blue, and as I ran along the trail, leaves were drifting down out of the trees.  I may or may not have been singing "What A Wonderful World" to myself:

Don't be jealous.  It was approximately two laps later, when I'd hit only 5 miles, that I realized the novelty of the pretty scenery wore off and that it was going to be a really long freaking day.  It was also tough because I usually run with my Camelbak water backpack which holds 2 liters of water and drink constantly during my long runs, but I knew I wouldn't use it for the marathon and wanted to get used to having to stop for breaks, so I'd left my water in the car, which was about a 3 minute walk off of the trail, so I kept having to start and stop my watch AND start and stop my body.  Of the things I've learned with this training, one of the most important is that it's almost always better to just keep moving because once you stop, your legs feel like cement blocks... and the pain sets in.  If you keep moving, you can remain blissfully unaware of your self-induced torture.

I could tell that I was definitely getting dehydrated.  In retrospect, partaking in a day of wine the day before a 20 mile run wasn't the best idea, but I drank close to 4 liters of water from the time we got in the car until before I left for the route Sunday morning, so in addition to the 3 liters I was drinking throughout my run, I thought I'd be okay-- not so much.  There were definitely moments of feeling a little blurry.  I chose to go with the "Smart Runner" conscience versus my "Stubborn Runner" conscience and slowed down to walk a bit, eat a few Chomps, and get my bearings.

By the time I'd reached 16 miles I was battling with myself.  I was exhausted but knew that I'd run 18 before and was completely fine, so it was a mental block, not physical.  The time was also wearing on me-- with all of the starting and stopping my watch, I was getting close to having been at the park for 4 hours.  Even though all of my runs were perfectly on pace, and I'd only been running for 3 hours, which was exactly where I needed to be, factoring all of the time I had to take a break and get my head together added A LOT of time. Since I was running so late and wasn't yet finished, I had to cut my run short to take the car back to the apartment for Brian, so he could drive to Part 2 of his day.

The walk back to the car, with my legs shaking, dirt all in my socks and shoes, grimy salt and sweat on my face, and knowing that I still had 4 miles left to run, was the longest walk of my life.  I bought a Coke at the Park Ranger Station and GLORY BE, nothing has ever tasted so good.  I knew I needed sugar in my system and FAST, and thankfully it worked.  Brian headed out the door as soon as I got there, and I knew I had to as well or the last 4 miles weren't going to happen.  I grabbed The Savior (my Kindle) and headed to our gym in hopes that the last half of Love Actually would canvas my pain/misery and just GET ME FINISHED.

The Dancing Prime Minister
Love Actually — MOVIECLIPS.com

This scene may have replayed 2 or 6 times.  

It was hard.  The last 4 miles SUCKED, big time.  That whole keep running, don't stop thing I mentioned before?  Yea, practice what you preach, Katie, because OH MY the pain.  And tired.  By that time, I'd been in some sort of forward motion for the last 6 solid hours and was just... done.  When the distance finally changed over from "3.99" to "4.00" I left the treadmill, walked back to the apartment, and BAWLED.

I did it.  I freaking ran the longest run of my life.  It may have taken me forever and been painful and tear-inducing and exhausting and mentally trying, but I DID IT.  There's this symptom of Crazy Runners Syndrome where you get so used to your mileage numbers being so crazy that you just get used to it, so the "wow" of running so far had dwindled down to me.  At that point, it was just part of my pain for training for the marathon.  But then, THEN... the texts started.  The texts and the phone calls and the "Likes" on my Facebook page and the messages of encouragement and support and it made it all very real.  I'm teary just writing about it now because y'all, my people, are such a big factor in me having it made it this far with such a positive outlook.  

Once I hobbled up the stairs to our apartment, a flood of thoughts hit me:
1. NEED FOOD.
2. NEED ICE BATH.
3. GET SHOES OFF IMMEDIATELY.
4. NEED WATER.
5. LEFTOVER PIZZA.

A mere 3 minutes later, I was blissfully sitting in my ice bath, eating cold leftover frozen pizza and guzzling my recovery drink.  Since I had the rest of the afternoon to myself, I put on my most comfortable clothes and retired to the couch for a marathon of Sex and the City reruns.  It was blissful.

As I hobble around the office today, I feel appreciative of yesterday's run.  There was a definite mix of highs and lows while I ran, which I think is normal.  I'm also sore as all get out today and am taking Advil like it's my J-O-B.  As stressed as I was yesterday, knowing that I finished and that the marathon will be only 6.2 miles more than what I achieved is both encouraging and unsettling at the same time.  I know that I can do it, but it's going to be a hell of a lot of work to get to that finish line.  

I'm as prepared as I'm going to get, and now it's all about the taper, resting my legs and icing any pains as much as possible.  

We have a big team dinner in Boston this Thursday, Brian's birthday is Monday, and then my family flies in next Thursday-- needless to say, I'm so excited for the next two weeks!  Two weeks from today, Brian and I will be driving back from Connecticut only I'll have a new accessory around my neck and I can guarantee I'll be decked out in NYCM gear because I will have FINISHED the marathon.  Amazing stuff, folks.