The week started out terrible with a rushed 4 miler on Monday. Lisa had to work a tad late. I was busy getting something ready for dinner that could be easily cooked. I went with Fajita Burgers, very spicy and very good. (Fajita Burger Recipe) I needed to get my run in, eat if I go back in time, and head out for an eight o'clock rehearsal. I headed out the door for the run with no prep and I could feel it from the start. My legs didn't loosen up until the 3 mile mark, but I did get home in time for a nice burger and rehearsal went well.
A brief word about privacy
I need to address something that came up jut before this terrible 4 miler. We all have moments when our actions demand privacy. I don't refer here to moments when others should give one privacy, but rather, moments when one should excuse themselves. Lisa was telling me of her day as I hurried to changed into running gear. Feeling short on time I dropped trow and slathered on the Pro Glide. Lisa was mildly disgusted by this site and let me know that this was something I should never again do in front of her. This is probably common sense to most, but if like me you are a lack wit, please take heed of the following advice. Anti-chaffing cream should be saved for alone time. Excuse yourself form the presence of a loved one before application. If at a race, go to a Porta-Potty.
Tuesday's run was worse. There was a steady rain all day. Sharon held up to her end of the Tuesday Switch and came over so I could do my 9 miler. I had missed my Hill work with the Hellgaters due to rehearsal the previous night so I routed in the same 3.5 mile loop into my nine. The steady rain was actually refreshing, what sucked was the steadily progressive pain in my lower left shin. It felt like a bruised knot was trapped under my shin bone. I got five loops around the hill before I stopped and tried to work out the kink. I did one more loop and decided to cut the hill portion of the run. The achy shin was taking a toll on my form and by the time I headed into the return leg of the run my right knee started hurting. I cut another mile off the run and headed home. My nine had turned into a plodding and painful seven. The next day my shin hurt even more. The more I walked the more it hurt, and I do a lot of walking at work. The Wednesday workout was canceled. Thursdays are a scheduled rest day, giving me two days to recover. So I devoted Wednesday and Thursday to heavy icing, bitching and moaning. I don't know how effective the icing was but by Friday the bitching, and especially the moaning had worked wonders on my shin. I was ready to take on 18 miles and garner a new PR.
Friday was early for all in the Galaites household. Lisa needed to be out the door before eight for a 9 AM meeting. Ella and I usually arrive at day care around 11:30, but left with Lisa so I could have a shorter day of work, allowing me to get 18 in before dark. By three o'clock I was back in Queens and running toward my first 18.
lack wit |lack wit|
verb [ trans. ]
to be without or deficient in the ability to accurately discern appropriate moment for anti-chaffing cream application, or map a running route : daddy legs is a lack wit for spending hours mapping a run but only hit his target milage by accident | he is a lack wit for applying Pro Glide to inner thighs in front of his wife | Daddy Legs is lack witted for signing up for a full marathon.
The run started off well for no other reason than my shin wasn't hurting. Although the first few miles of a long run are always annoying due to the sound of sloshing water. After a mile or so the sloshing fades to white noise and becomes the promise of tepid refreshment. I plotted the run along 37th Street knowing there would be stops and starts, especially at the BQE (Bronx-Queens Expressway) overpass at Hoyt Ave and Astoria Blvd, thinking it would help control my pace. I start every long run with the mantra "run your easy runs easy". But 18 miles isn't easy, it's incredibly hard, so I should take it easy. But I didn't, I took it hard. Because as I stated earlier I am a lack-wit. In addition to not taking it easy I threw in a little extra distance. Instead of turning on Hazen and heading over to 19th Ave, I crossed over Hazen and ran up to 81st Street and looped over to 19th. My instinct not to trust my instincts proved to fortuitous as it actually brought me to the 18 mile mark. I did map out the run before hand, all I can say is please refer to lack-wit above. The most notable land mark in this area is Rikers Island, one bridge I hope to never cross. The 20th Ave running path is sandwiched between the Terry Gilliam-esque Con-Ed plant and a long row of storage units, it's not a scenic leg but offers a wide path with no interruption from 31st Street to Shore Boulevard, and about a quarter mile 2% rise. This area is also the meeting grounds for every driving school in Queens, from high schoolers to truckers.
Going Up?
The Park is probably the best area to run in Astoria. It has a lot of uninterrupted paths, rolling hills, a track, several water fountains, and two bathrooms. The only other route that rivals Astoria Park is the perimeter run around Roosevelt Island. It was the Park leg of the run when I pulled off for the first of many stops for cold sips from a water fountain and to stretch my legs, and one potty break. I was hoping the stretching would put some spring in my legs. I felt plodding the whole run, uncontrollably slow rather than purposely slow. The plodding feel got worse as I made my way around Roosevelt Island, stopping three times. THREE TIMES! I've only run once with Lisa specifically because she likes to take walk breaks during her runs. My two day bitching/moaning fest obviously did not have the recuperative effects I had thought. Completing the perimeter of Roosevelt brings you just under the Roosevelt Bridge. There are two options for getting up to, and over the bridge. Option One, the one I have taken the many dozens of times I have run this route, is to take the winding stairs. Option Two, the one I have hitherto sneered at, is to take the elevator. I took option two and the 60 second respite it offered was about 700 seconds too short.
The next stop is Broadway
As I exited Roosevelt Island I was entering mile 15 of 18, or mile 1 of the three mile toddler drag. It felt like Ella and one of her friends latched on to a leg each and demanded I drag them to the finish. (Ella is my beautiful sweet pea and the friend being dragged along would probably be her pal Ethan, whom she refers to as "My Ethan". The weekend before my longest run Lisa and Ella went to a birthday party for Ethan's little sis Samantha, referred to as "My Samantha", when Ethan and Ella weren't seen for a few minutes Lisa popped in to check on them. The two were on the bed pretending to be sleeping. The pain I was feeling during that 18 miler will seem like a walk through the park compared to Ella's teen years.) I had to talk myself out of quitting. To do so I didn't give myself inspirational words of motivation, just the horrible truth that 26.2 will be the same kind of hurt, except for longer. So I plodded on toward the Pulaski Bridge, the very same bridge that sent me into Brooklyn a year earlier and my first ever endurance run. The bridge was my turn around point, I paused to stretch and steel myself for the last mile. I dragged the toddlers back up Vernon Boulevard and turned onto 31st Ave, the sweet, beautiful end of my run. An end that came sooner than I had mapped. At 11th street the hurt overtook my will. Amazingly the little extra I had tacked on at the beginning of the run gave me exactly what I needed to reach my 18 mile goal. I pulled off to get some chocolate milk and a sports drink before heading to 31st street to catch the N train home. There was little I could do to protect my fellow passengers from my smell, 18 miles is going to produce some stink. I was polite enough to keep my arms pressed against my sides so they would not get a whiff of the pits, but thats all I could do. At least I had the decency to be embarrassed by it.
The 18 hurt, but next time it will hurt a little less. The week itself was bad in regard to workouts, mileage and weather. But 18 miles is in the book and that feels great. Next week I hit peek mileage; 5, 10, 5, and 20. So here's my question, Should I call the 20 miler 'The Andrew Jackson', or something else?
OUCH! You can see the run by clicking this link.
Milage: 18 Time: 2:51:15
Pace: 9:30 (plodder)
Feeling: Get off my leg Ella. You're too heavy!
I need more explanation of what exactly Pro Glide is. I'm familiar with Astro Glide. Perhaps they're the same product in different packaging. It's funny to read your description of reaching the end of the "warm-up" portion of your run, those same landmarks were known as "the turn around and run home" point in my own Astoria runs.
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