The Anti-Taper: Updates and Insights

I’m running a marathon in 10 days.  I ran 9 miles this morning because I’m sticking with this anti-taper thing.  It’s like “What Not To Wear,” but for marathon training.  Only it has nothing to do with what I’m wearing.  Though this morning I was both sort of overdressed, and also wearing all black in pre-dawn hours.  But no one has given me a $5000 Visa gift card to be used on future marathon registration fees, nor ambushed me at work with hidden camera footage of me sucking wind during mile repeats.  This is actually nothing like “What Not To Wear” for marathon training, then.

Moving right along, I've gathered some thoughts on the anti-taper, which I will list for you below:

1.       I can’t decide if the highly uncomfortable piriformis pain I've had for two days is a result of taper pains despite the fact that I’m not tapering, like my right ass check somehow knows I have a marathon in 10 days, or the result of not tapering itself, and instead continuing my practice of running and then not stretching and then sitting at a desk for 10 hours.  Either way, it’s awesome.

2.       I bumped into Abbe and Baker in Central Park this morning and decided to run with them.  I told them proudly that I’d been sober for 2 whole days.  First, Abbe challenged me: “ Weren't you drunk texting me 2 days ago?” Yes, I was.  And that was 2 days ago.  I've been sober since then.  Then Baker asked if by “sober” I meant “I've only had one drink per day,” which I didn't even realize was an acceptable definition of sober.  The answer was no, I actually have had zero drinks per day for 2 days.  Then they congratulated me.  We’re celebrating by going out for beers tonight.  That’s a true story. 

3.       Race day is now in the long range forecast, and in the grand tradition of marathoning, I’ll now check it every 2 hours for the next ten days.  Right now it looks awesome: high of 51 and mostly cloudy.  Can’t wait for next Thursday, when surely I’ll be looking at wind and snow.

4.       When you make a big production over your anti-taper strategy and then take an “unplanned rest day,” you don’t get to use “but I have a marathon next week” as an excuse.  The jig is up – you’re just lazy.

5.       I have not had the typical ravenous pre-marathon hunger (Taper Worm).  This is likely due to the fact that last week was Thanksgiving and I’m still sweating out flaky pastry crusts and not to the fact that I’m not tapering.

I’ll continue to update you regarding this highly scientific study into the effects of the anti-taper on the marathoner.  You must be on the edges of your seats…

Monday Wrap Up: On Sacrifice

Being a marathoner inevitably involves sacrifice.  Missed dinners and parties, nights in, and early mornings are all par for the course.  But last night I encountered yet another sacrifice.

I returned to the city in the afternoon, laden with clean clothes, cranberry sauce, and a brand new pair of Kinvaras, thanks to Black Friday sales (and by "Black Friday sales" I mean "my dad").  I unpacked my apartment and, hungover and tired, felt I needed to do something productive.  I hammered things.  I screwed things (heh).  I vacuumed things.  And then I went to put away all these tools and discovered to my horror a cockroach in my closet.

First, I panicked.  I seriously, SERIOUSLY hate cockroaches, which is a shame when you live in New York.  Then, I called Abbe and Baker for advice.  Baker has put so much thought into cockroach-slaughtering that he penned an entire blog post about it here, but I'll summarize my plan of action and reveal that I decided to go with the so-called "Crime Scene" method, with a twist.  Fearful of getting into a crouch and extending my arm towards this prehistorical monstrosity where it might have the opportunity to GOD FORBID touch an exposed part of my flesh, I grabbed the nearest pair of sneakers, which THANK GOD were not the aforementioned brand new pair of Kinvaras, and stomped the life out of this vile animal while screaming "GET OFF MY LAWN!" Clint Eastwood-style.




(I'm pretty sure that's not acting and Clint Eastwood really is a kooky old racist.)

After I was sure the intruder was dead, I cleaned up in the most logical way possible: by throwing out the sneakers I used to stomp him.

Moral of the story: you really should have several pairs of sneakers in your active rotation, but not for the reason you think.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 37.  I considered running short and easy Sunday to push me over 40 mpw, but I really did have about 90 beers at my reunion, and stayed out until 4am, and I think I got my heart rate up sufficiently during the home invasion.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: Remember how I was in the habit of going dry for a month before a marathon?  Me either, because I've been blacked out basically since I started training for this one.  Okay, just kidding.  A lot of my Thanksgiving break was spend playing Trivial Pursuit with my parents and running and being a designated driver, but plenty of it was also spent drinking a lot of beers.  Like, 20 of them.  At least.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, Peak Nut Brown Ale, Saranac Pale Ale, Saranac IPA, Narragansett Lager (Christ, this is bad, but I needed some hair of the dog, and any port in the storm, right?), and about a million Bud Lights and Stellas.  Untappd also indicates that 6 days ago I drank some Founders Dirty Bastard, but I cannot for the life of me remember where that was. Maybe I have been blacked out...  Anyway, my sister and brother-in-law also sent a Thanksgiving care package to my parents' house, which contained several 22 oz bottles of a variety of Oregon beers.  I haven't tried any yet, and Dad if you're reading this and drinking them without me, I'm feeding Jingles to a fox next time I'm home.

Define "Week"

I woke up this morning close to paralyzed as a result of yesterday's yoga class. My body is like "please go back to the city where you're lazy; I can't take this multisport shit you're throwing my way." But as I mentioned last week, I'm anti-taper for Rehoboth, which meant I had another long run ahead of me today.

Well technically I could have had it ahead of me tomorrow, except that tonight is my ten year high school reunion and I earned at least 65 additional beers through yoga yesterday, on top of the expected 30 required at these types of events, so I couldn't imagine I was going to be in a position to run 20 miles on Sunday morning. So, paralysis and all, I ran 20.3 miles this morning.

When the week is said and done tomorrow, I anticipate having run a bit more than 40 miles. Respectable, but by no means the mileage required to race the marathon. But in the seven day period spanning from last Sunday through today, I've run 58 miles - a peak week.

Basically what I'm saying is, those 95 beers tonight are going to taste awesome.

Trots and Detoxes

True story: I'm sitting on the deck at my parents' house right now, drinking a beer in the warm(ish) sunshine, surrounded by the bounty of nature.

I'm also accompanied by a can full of semi-solid fat that dripped off last night's dinner. Is today awesome or what?

I trust you had a nice holiday, offered thanks to our servicemen and women, watched 10 solid hours of football, didn't bring shame upon your family, and unbuttoned your pants at the dinner table. I know I did. My Thanksgiving began with a local Turkey Trot with my dad. We've not run this race before, but I found it online and it did not disappoint.





The race was "2.5 ish" miles long. There was no timing system. There were no bibs. Registration cost one can of food. Costumes (Thanksgiving-related or not) were encouraged. There wasn't even a starting or finish line - we hung out in someone's driveway until the people in front of us started moving and we figured the race was underway. If you are looking for a competitive Turkey Trot in Fairfield County, CT next year, this ain't it. But we had a great time.

Following the feasting, at which turkey is the least enjoyable part of the meal, no offense Mom, and can you please make Parmesan Brussels sprouts at every meal, thanks, and the football watching and the alcohol consuming, I woke up this morning for an hour long "Detox Flow" yoga class with my high school friend, Denelle. She moved to Boulder a few years ago, became a yoga instructor, and posts pictures on Facebook doing yogi toe locks on top of mountains that make you want to find any sharp or heavy objects in your windowless cube and end your life. Billed as a way to get over our gluttonous Thanksgivings, I was looking forward to her class. And possibly taking over her life.

I warmed up with a run, then got in the car and headed down to Healthy Fit, a women-only gym near my hometown. I've never worked out at a single-sex fitness facility before, but to be honest, I don't know that I'd be welcome on a regular basis, if we're gender stereotyping, because I'm the one who gets asked at New York Sports Club to stop screaming at the television while I'm watching football on the treadmill. Anyway, I guess if single-sex facilities will make people more comfortable and therefore more inclined to work out, I'm all for it, but I know a few dudes who were disappointed to miss Denelle's class. Because they've also seen those Facebook pictures, and she's really bendy.

Moving on, I arrived at the gym, at which I am not a member, and was allowed to participate in Denelle's class free-of-charge, so thank you Healthy Fit. I didn't have a chance to look around too much, but the studio we went into was bright and spacious, and there was new and plentiful equipment for us to use (someone forgot her yoga mat...) A few other friends and classmates were in the class, so we chatted for a bit, mostly about Saturday's 10 year high school reunion and how detox yoga was just an excuse to get awkwardly intoxicated at that event. Soon enough, we got down to business.

Denelle introduced herself and talked a bit about her training, and then started us off with some breathing and chanting. Score, I can definitely do this.

Fast forward 45 minutes and I'm engaged in my fourth round of warriors, sweat dripping onto my mat, feeling entitled to drink at least 65 beers at the reunion, because Denelle means business. The poses individually were all doable (just pass me like 3 more blocks and my runner's hamstrings over here will just make a little modification, thanks), but linked together, it was a great workout. Denelle was patient and informative, offered corrections or modifications if you needed them, and didn't judge me for the fact that yes, seriously, this is as far as I can bend over. Added bonus: during corpse pose at the end of class, she came around and pressed on our shoulders and stretched our necks and it was delightful.

In summation, I should probably stick to the office life in New York, because my two brushes with the Boulder fitness scene indicate I'm woefully under-prepared for it. That said, if you're in Boulder, I can't say enough good things about yoga with Denelle. Go to a class.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some congealed fat to deal with. What an awkward segue...

An Update

Holy shit, my legs are tired.  

Sunday Wrap Up: In Defense of the Non-Taper

My next marathon is three weeks from yesterday.  As such, this morning I ran almost 21 miles.  By all accounts, I should have returned home and cracked a beer to celebrate the start of my taper.

But I didn't.

Okay, I did crack a beer.  And a Diet Coke.  And a glass of water.  I'm really particular about what drinks I have on hand when I'm recovering from a run, and when I'm recovering from being drunk.  Both involve alcohol.

Drinks and football.

Anyway, while I did celebrate the conclusion of my long run as proof that I've still got it (sort of...), I'm not toasting the taper because I don't intend to engage in one.

Let me interrupt myself again to reiterate: do as I say, not as I do.  By all accounts, the taper is a crucial part of training for a successful marathon.  But those are the same accounts that also tout the importance of speed work and 50 mile weeks, and I haven't exactly been accomplishing either of those this season.

I've already written off Rehoboth as a training run for my spring ultra (thereby making this THE LONGEST RACING SEASON EVER, which I'm sure is going to turn out to be great for my issue around getting my shit together and actually training...).  So why not use next weekend, and the weekend after that, for that matter, as training runs as well?  Even if this turns out to be the worst idea ever (likely), so long as I eat the awesome gnocchi bolognese I had today again after all my future 20+ milers, I'll do this shit forever.

Number of Miles Run This Week:  31.  Another terrible marathon prep idea I've employed is making these long runs as miserable as possible.  I ran 20.6 miles today and didn't eat anything.  I had 2 Gus with me, mind you, and I was tired and hungry, and I picked a brutally hilly route, but I told myself  that if I was not going to be racing a Fall marathon, I might as well take the time I should be spending getting ready to ace that marathon teaching my body to survive for longer without fuel.  I'm not entirely sure why, because the last ultra I ran was sort of a moveable feast and at no point was I not chewing food, let alone forced to survive without fuel, but I'm not an exercise scientist. Anyway, starving myself through almost 3 extremely hilly hours could have influenced my feelings around the aforementioned gnocchi bolognese, but holy shit, that was good.

Places I wanted to kill myself included: miles 1-5, mile 13, and miles 16-20.6. 

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 8. Part of my low mileage and lack of blogging this week, in addition to my lack of drinking, was that I was afflicted with a migraine on Wednesday afternoon.  I only get them about twice a year, and I don't wish them on my worst enemy. Thank goodness I was on the mend by Friday night, because I went out to 124 Rabbit Club, which was full of weird hipsters but also a great beer selection.  

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Bud Light, Avery Ellie's Brown Ale, Sixpoint Bengali IPA, Saranac Pale Ale, Saranac IPA.

Now, who has some ground beef and tomato sauce they can bring over here?

Tuesday Wrap Up: On Runger

Something amazing happened on Sunday.  No, it wasn't that the Giants forgot to go to Cincinnati and instead sent a 53-(wo)man roster from the Sisters of the Sick Poor to play the Bengals (though that did happen and it was amazing, in the "I am amazed that things are this bad" kind of way).  Nor was it the fact that, having stayed out drinking beers until 4am on Friday night (er, Saturday morning) and attending a particularly hard SoulCycle class, I had very little motivation to leave my apartment at all for the rest of the weekend (though that did also happen, and I had to place a phone call to my parents in Connecticut to get someone to tell me to put on my damn shorts and just get my running over with so I could be home in time for football).  No, the amazing thing that happened on Sunday was that I ran long enough to be hit with runger.  This is huge.

Runger itself actually sort of sucks.  It sneaks up on you in a moment of weakness: the post-run shower, perhaps, or just as you've settled yourself down in compression gear on the couch.  And then, with a vengeance, runger hits and I MUST HAVE ALL THE FOOD RIGHT NOW.  True story: I almost murdered the delivery man from Burger Heaven on Sunday afternoon because it took longer than 4 minutes for him to bring me lunch.  Then he arrived with a cheeseburger and curly fries and I murdered those instead.

Anyway, runger itself is not a new or special phenomenon, and I've written about it before.  But Sunday's bout of runger was noteworthy because it meant I ran enough to have it at all.  I'm rather embarrassed to admit this, but Sunday's 18.3 miler was the longest I've run since April.

To be clear the run itself was not amazing.  In fact, it was rather unpleasant.  By mile 7, I had hit the wall.  By mile 13, I was standing at a water fountain outside the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, looking up the East River at the Queensboro Bridge, which was like a mirage in the distance, thinking "I cannot believe I have to get all the way up there. Why in God's name didn't I bring a MetroCard with me?"  But in the end, it was run, and that's the important part.  

Mostly because it means that I probably still actually have the ability to run a marathon, which I can't even believe is something I had to confirm, but that's the predicament into which I've gotten myself.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 28.  Um.  Moving on...

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week:  Let's say 12.  I mean roughly 6 of those were huge German steins, which surely should count as more than one beer, but in terms of vessels holding alcohol, I'm saying 12.  I should start drinking directly from the keg and counting it as 1 beer...

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: So fun fact: I don't really like German beer.  Okay, that's not especially accurate.  I don't really know German beer.  So when I go to a place like Loreley, which serves only German beer, I'm sort of at a loss.  I drank a Bitburger, which I think is a Pilsner, and some Spaten, which is a Lager, and both are fine if totally boring.  Don't the Germans have any hops?  Should we give them some, as a gesture of diplomacy?  I didn't see that in any party platform last week... Anyway, other beers included 21 Amendment's Live Free or Die IPA (I bought that specifically for election night, because I am a loser), Goose Island Pepe Nero, and Hop Ottin IPA by Anderson Valley (not to be confused with Hidden Valley).

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go run off the aforementioned cheeseburger and curly fries, which I followed 2 hours later with dinner of chicken and sweet potato fries.  Which lead to yesterday's bacon, egg, and cheese, and then mac and cheese.  That's the problem with runger. I tend to overdo it.

The Moral Fiber of Running

I'm something of a political junkie (or procrastinator at work, and somehow Politico and Nate Silver found their way into my daily rotation of websites... either way). This election was certainly a long, contentious, and nerve-wracking one, both in terms of the presidential and congressional candidates, as well as several ballot initiatives.  Where ever you fall on the political spectrum, I think we can all agree that there is going to be a dearth of political pandering, fear mongering, fact twisting, and mountain-out-of-molehill making in the coming weeks.  I, for one, will not stand for that. I need to have something to analyze, fret about, and weigh in on.

Ta-dah!  Here's an issue that we as runners may be forced to confront if our collective morals continue to crumble:

Before you know it, perfect strangers will be forcing their mid-run hand holding on us.  ON OUR CHILDREN!  THEY MUST BE STOPPED!

Monday Wrap Up: Back On Our Feet

Slowly but surely, those of us who are able are getting back to normal here in NYC.  For example, I spent yesterday running long, and then drinking beers and watching football and falling in love with my local bartender.  Standard.

Just a girl, a beer, a lip gloss ring, and a juke box.

It seems I also lost a bet and had to take a shot...

But then tonight, as I left my office, where I'd been able to work for the first time in a week, I stepped out into a very dark, very cold evening.  And while I could return to my warm and dry apartment uptown, thousands still cannot.  So I burst into tears, right there walking up Lexington Avenue.  This is not, to be clear, standard for me.  This is important.

If you live in the NYC-area, go stand outside right now.  It's fucking FREEZING out there, right?  Please consider doing something to help out those who don't have the option to warm up back in their apartments with their delivery pizza (which is what I lived on last week during the storm).  You surely have the internet and can find out where to donate or volunteer on your own, but here are some links I've used:

• Occupy Wall Street ties aside, I've found Occupy Sandy has the most comprehensive listing of volunteer and donation needs.  
• Some specific organizations I personally have supported in the wake of the storm are The Ali Fourney Center, which provides services to homeless LGBT youth and whose building was destroyed last week, and Gay Men's Health Crisis*, which serves nearly 100,000 hot meals annually to low-income HIV-positive New Yorkers.  In the wake of the storm, some of those walked from the Bronx and Brooklyn to GMHC's headquarters in Midtown for a meal. 

Look, I don't mean to get all emo and whatever, and I promise I'll return to the usual drunk antics and crude sexual innuendo soon, but the notion of moving on with my life when my neighbors can't has really impacted me today.  Well that, and also the idea that, for the first time in ten consecutive days, today I won't be getting drunk.  

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 32. Yesterday I ran 15 miles (hey!  Look at me!  I did a legitimate long run!), down the East River from my apartment, through Battery Park, up the Hudson, and into Central Park.  Thousands of would-be marathoners were out, many of them running supplies down to the Staten Island ferry, or dedicating their miles (and their dollars) to the Mayor's Fund.  Hundreds more stood in Central Park, cheering runners on and handing out water.  I personally was anti-NYC Marathon this year and felt the cancellation was appropriate, but the spirit of community I saw among those would-be marathoners and their supporters yesterday was truly inspiring.  Sorry, I got emo again there...

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week:  I wasn't exaggerating; I have had at least one drink every single day since Thursday, October 25th.  I have no idea how many beers that amounts to, but suffice it to say that when one can't go into the office and decides to work from a bar with two-for-one beers at happy hour for 3 days, I know it's not a small number of beers.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Brooklyn Lager, Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA, Goose Island Pepe Nero, Maine Beer Company Mean Old Tom Stout, Guinness, Uinta Wyld, Bud Light, Stella... the list goes on.

Anyway, thanks for reading.  We now return to your regularly scheduled dick jokes...

*Full disclosure: I used to work to GMHC.