New circuits are firing in my head

I’m convinced the broiling heat and searing sunlight I endured for nearly 5 hours during last month’s Boston Marathon short-circuited some of my circuitry. I mean, what else could have brought on my new attitude toward marathons?

Old way my mind worked: Train hard–including speed work, tempo runs, marathon pace embedded in long runs–so, come race day, body can try to hold hammer down the whole way. (Or break down trying.) Scenery and party atmosphere overlooked or ignored.

New way: Consider adding to the next training cycle one day per week of “choose the workout based on mood,” whether it’s a bike ride, 3rd morning of boot camp, hill repeats, or maybe even return to rowing. Do all requisite training with usual enthusiasm, but maybe not bust a hump several times/week. Choose next 26.2 based on wanting to take in the sights, sounds, and wonder of a city (actually two–Minneapolis and St. Paul) because I didn’t get enough of on a recent weekend visit.

One of the many grand homes I hope to run past this October

While I was running Boston, an idea flashed into my mind: “This should be my last marathon; end on a high note.” For the rest of the week, as I drove 1,000+ miles from Connecticut to Georgia, I couldn’t think of a single 26.2-mile race I wanted to run. A week later, Dimity and I touched down in the Twin Cities, and all that changed. As she and I drove toward the expo of the Get in Gear race, I wanted to hop out of the car and run for miles along the lovely River Parkway. The next evening, a friend and mother runner, JoAnn, drove me past jaw-droppingly gorgeous homes in St. Paul, telling me ever-so-casually, “You know this is part of the race course of the Twin Cities Marathon,” and, “The Twin Cities Marathon goes right down Summit Avenue.” Finally, the next morning, Dimity and I ran with some gals around Lake Harriet, and I was enchanted by the interconnected lakes, which–you guessed it–are part of the TC Marathon course.

I was left thinking: I want to come back here and do a long run here. And that’s how I’m thinking about Twin Cities Marathon–a 26.2-mile tour of two lovely cities. I now have an overwhelming desire to do a marathon based on the setting and surroundings, not nailing some time on a clock. (Like I said, I think my competitive brain was fried in Boston!)

Add to this: I continue to glow over my 4:43 finish at Boston. It was my slowest marathon time by more than a half-hour, yet based on my effusive, deep pride, you’d think I’d qualified for the 2012 Olympic Team. While it was an oppressively hot day, on the playback of the experience on my mental flatscreen, it’s the crowd support and enthusiasm that jumps out. The generosity of proferred bags of ice and the graciousness of spectators who scooped up cubes to put them in my outstretched hat. The joyously rowdy (and probably drunk) Wellesley, B.U., and B.C. students. The throngs of cheering people lining the straightaway to the finish line.

Whatever is at work here, I agree with my good friend Ellison who has seen me through the training of my last three marathons, who emailed me, “I love your attitude!”

Tell me how your approach to races has changed–or if it hasn’t.

What we--and the Boy Scouts--recommend for dealing with your period on race day. (Get it..."be prepared.")

One of my favorite anecdotes in Run Like a Mother: How to Get Moving–and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity is from Megan, who tells of getting her period on marathon morning. She was so ticked off, she pushed hard enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon. (Nicely done!) It’s happened to us all: You train your butt off for a race, then Aunt Flo shows up for the ride. No fun.

Given that we are pretty much in the height of training and racing season, I figured it was time for some tips for dealing with running on the rag–or how to avoid it entirely. (An obvious warning: TMI ahead!)

-Shorten the string. Women have complained to us about chafing from a tampon string. (Yeah, we hear it all–we love nothing better than a good overshare!) One mother runner, Christine, told us cuts it shorter so that no string hangs outside her body. I took to knotting my OBs and snipping the string–then wondered why it took me 20+ years to figure out that simple trick. Another chafe-avoiding tactic we’ve read about online: Liberally apply BodyGlide to the string hanging outside your body.

-Investigate the Diva Cup, a menstrual cup used in lieu of a tampon or pad. One can hold the flow for up to 12 hours so bring on that ultra or 70.3 race. (Like the next option, this one isn’t for the squeamish.) Another mother runner Christy Zuzelo is a fan; here’s a post she wrote about it.

-Go with the flow. Monica complained about the discomfort of wearing a tampon on a long run (we didn’t ask for any more details–had something to do with, um, drying her out). So when she runs long, or races, on lighter flow days, she pulls the plug right before she starts running (and wears black bottoms so any spotting isn’t visible). Not an option for neatniks, but when you figure your capris get pretty nasty with sweat, little blood isn’t going to make that much more of a mess.

-Consider changing the timing. You can’t rejigger the day of a big race, but you can alter the date of your period, if you’re on birth control pills (or the patch or the ring). Instead of taking the placebo pills for a week, start a new pack instead; this will make you skip a period. Our favorite mother runner OB/GYN, Amanda Hurtubise, recommended this one, saying, “Any nurse at your trusty OB/Gyn’s office is an expert at this–call her for further instructions if this doesn’t make sense.” For a longer-term solution, you could also look into Seasonique, a birth control pill that makes a woman only have four periods a year, or an IUD.

-Pop pills. Dr. Hurtubise gave us this news-to-us suggestion. “For women who are not on hormonal contraception a great trick is, ‘scheduled ibuprofen.’ Take 600-800mg three times a day, 1-2 days immediately prior to and during the period. Non-steroidal anti-inflammatories (NSAIDs) constrict the blood vessels to the uterus and can significantly decrease menstrual flow. The key is to take it consistently 3x daily prior to and during bleeding. It won’t work if just taken haphazardly. This trick will also help with any cramping.”

-Don’t forget supplies. Pack some spare tampons in a baggie and stash them in a pocket or hydration belt. Also, learn from a gross-out tale from Jennifer, who got her period as she jetted off for the Goofy Challenge at Walt Disney World. In the excitement of back-to-back races, she “lost a tampon in my innards.” (Yikes!) She visited the doctor, who told her the case of the wayward tampon was not uncommon. Lucky for Jenn, it emerged on its own nearly three months later. (If tampons could talk….)

Now, it’s your turn to overshare: What are your tips for dealing with your monthly visitor during a long run or race?

Stay tuned to find out why Lady Gaga is illustrating my race report

Having my playlist perfectly match my race–picking up as I speed up, providing motivating lyrics when I’m lagging, pumping me up for a final finish push–makes me almost as giddy as executing a great race. Yesterday I nailed it–the playlist part, anyway–at the Heart Breaker Half in Portland. My time goal was to finish closer to 1:50 than 2:00, but that didn’t happen: I finished in 1:57:58 (sigh: getting older is no fun!). Yet I’m proud of how strongly I ran from start to finish, especially up a 2-mile climb, then pushing to the very end. The Marathon: Own It plan from Train Like a Mother: How to Get Across Any Finish Line – and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity called for 20 miles yesterday, so I slowly ran 3+ miles from our house to the start, then the same route home, calling it good. Here is the race via a few song highlights. (I’ll post the full playlist, along with a real race pic, later in the week–I’m running on fumes right now.)

Start: “Telling the World” by Taio Cruz
Given that my eyes are focused on the Boston Marathon and that this half-marathon was prep for it,  I wasn’t feeling very “emotionally connected” to the halfsie. Yet as racers in red tees, compression gear, and funky knee socks surged en masse in the first  hundred yards and Taio serenaded me with the uplifting lyrics of, “Every part in my heart I’m giving out/Every song on my lips I’m singing out/Any fear in my soul I’m letting go,” my heart soared. It was game on, and I was filled with a deep love of the scene as it was unfolding. (Fine, shoot me, but sappy sentiment flows as freely as sweat when I run.)

Nearing Mile 2: “Faster” by Matt Nathanson
I vowed to start out at a conservative pace, so instead of following the title of the song, I honed in on the refrain, “you make my heart beat faster,” reminding myself this was a chance to warm up.

Mile 3: “Tonight’s the Kind of Night” by Noah and the Whale
Mile III  is where I switch from warm-up to race pace. Rather than risk going into overdrive with a similarly themed song–”I Got a Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas–I opted for a tune from a band I only discovered last week. My optimism for a speedy time was fueled by the lines, “Because tonight’s the kind of night/where everything could change.” (Okay, so it was morning…and maybe Noah was trying to tell me I could have a craptastic race instead of a fast one…but like I said, I was in full-on Optimist Mode.)

Nearing Mile 5: “Mr. Know It All” by Kelly Clarkson
The racers were well spread out by this point (the race had fewer than 500 participants so it never qualified as “crowded), and I was running on my own for more than a mile. But I caught up to a loose cluster of about seven racers as we ran through an industrial stretch. One fella didn’t enjoy being “chicked” (passed by a woman), so he immediately sped up and re-past me. Well, that move was successful for about, oh, five steps, at which point Ms. American Idol crooned, “Baby, you should know I lead not follow.” Grrrrrl power!

Past Mile 7: “You and I” by Lady Gaga
Stay with me on this one: I’d past the halfway point, but I knew two of the most notorious uphill miles in Portland lay directly ahead. As Stefani Germanotta (a.k.a. Lady Gaga) started singing about her busted, long-term relationship with someone from Nebraska, a vivid image of my younger daughter, Daphne, in her Nebraska sweatshirt shot into my mind. Suddenly the grammatically incorrect “you and I” became Daphne and me, running side by side. My whole body, including my feet, felt lifted up by love for my dear daughter.

Closing in on Mile 10: “Cheers” by Rihanna
Focusing on the climb made the music a bit of a blur–other than Jessie J directing, “everybody look to the left, everybody look to the right” in “Price Tag”–but when Rihanna and her backup boys started toasting each other, I felt they were celebrating my climb. I’d passed several runners, and managed to not let my per-mile pace drop more than about 30-40 seconds. My exuberance even bubbled over: When a woman with a thick, blonde braid, who I’d been tracking for miles, slowed to a walk, I encouraged her to, “stay strong,” and when another one surged past me, I told her what, “a great hill cimber” she was.

Having 3.3 miles of almost all downhill sure gave me a good feeling

Mile 11.5: “I Like It” by Enrique Iglesias
This was the start of the most money set of gun-for-the-finish songs. Mock me all you want, but I love this song and how it never fails to rev me up. By this point of the race, we’d been cruising steadily downhill for more than a mile and a half, and the course was starting to level out somewhat. Just ahead the blonde I’d urged on at the end of the climb was slowing again. As I came up on her, I yelled out, “Braid, come on: Stay with me to the end.” Hmmm, bossy or helpful? I meant for it to be the latter, and she kept up with me for about a half-mile. But then my booster-rockets were fired up by…

Mile 12.35: “Good Feeling” by Flo-Rida
Too perfect! If there’s one song that gets my juices flowing more than “I Like It,” it’s this club mix. The feeling felt especially good because the course started to slope down again, boosting my pace.

Miles 12.88: “What Doesn’t Kill You (Stronger)” by Kelly Clarkson
By this point, my mind is being blown by the perfection of the playlist–which was good because it made me concentrate on something other than my lungs about to burst and my heart pumping overtime. I honed in on her words, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger/Stand a little taller [I straightened up my back, dropped my hunched shoulders, tightened my core]/Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone/What doesn’t kill you makes a fighter/Footsteps even lighter.” I needed my footsteps to feel even lighter, as a little dip turned into a quick climb before a final turn to the left. Then, helllllllo, finish line!

While we recommend a tune-up race, we don't recommend a tuning fork in a tuna fish (or vintagage REO Speedwagon albums)

As I detailed last week, my training for the Boston Marathon is percolating nicely. And in two weeks, I’m going to sample that brew (to carry out the coffee analogy) by doing a local half-marathon. As anyone who has ever trained for a race knows: It’s one thing to cover a set training distance or nail a tempo pace for, oh, four miles, but it’s another thing entirely to taste success and pride on a race course. Enter: a tune-up race. That’s a race embedded into the build-up toward a goal race–such as a 10K as you train for a half-marathon, or a half-marathon in your journey toward a full one–that allows you to gauge how well your training is going. Unlike a goal race, a tune-up race isn’t something you train for; it’s something you add into your training. Personally, I’m doing a tune-up race because I feel I haven’t pushed myself hard in a half-marathon in more than a year, and I want to see if I can still turn it up to 11, so to speak.

Before I start telling you more about tune-up races, let me offer this disclaimer to any now-fretting newbies out there: There’s no need for a tune-up race for your first 5K, 10K, or even longer races; in fact, there’s no law that says anybody has to do one. They can just be a good idea if you’re looking to race faster than you have before, or if you are particularly nervous about covering a longer distance.

Since my tune-up race, Portland’s Heart Breaker Half, falls on a day when my training calls for the plan’s second (of three) 20-mile runs, I turned to the awesome coach who created the plan, Christine Hinton, for advice on how to tweak my training. (FYI: You’ll be reading a lot more about Christine in the coming weeks, as she’s the coach/mother runner/ultrarunner who designed eight of the nine training plans in Train Like a Mother: How to Get Across Any Finish Line – and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity.) While I was at it, I asked her a bunch of tune-up questions, some solicited via Twitter, to enlighten you. Here goes:

Is there any circumstance during training when a runner should try to “make up” some distance on a race day? Like if she’s training for a half-marathon and “only” races a 5K on a day when her plan calls for a 12-mile run?
Yuppers! I am a big fan of the “supported long run.” One of my favorites is incorporating a 5k in to a long run: I’ll run the course once as a warmup, then race it, and finally again as a cooldown. Sounds daunting, but it’s actually a lot of fun, plus you don’t have to carry your own water. The shorter the race, the harder you can run it and include it in a long run. And the miles don’t have to be exact: running part of it hard can count for a mile or two.

Should you taper at all for a tune-up race, or just do regular plan then bust out the race?
When a race is used as training, I don’t typically incorporate a taper. Again, the length of the race plays a role here. If you are running a half hard, you may want to ease up on your training a few days beforehand. But nothing as long as if it were your goal race. For a half, you may want to skip your tempo run the week before, for example. Listening to, and knowing, your body is important. If you are an older or less-experienced runner, you may need to cushion your race a bit more with easy or rest days. The bottom line is you will not lose any fitness, or mess up your training, by adding a race in and decreasing your other runs to accommodate.

Me in a tune-up race when I nearly PR'd...but check out the questioning look in my eyes

If you’re looking to PR in your goal race, you should really race the tune-up one, right?
Yes. But realize that, in the midst of training for another event, you will probably not be in peak fitness. That doesn’t mean you won’t PR in the race, it just means you still have some improvement from future training to consider, which will show itself on goal race day. We just have to be careful of recovering from a really hard race effort. Better to take a few days easy, miss some of the planned workouts, recover, and pick back up where you are, than to stick to every workout, do or die, not recover, get hurt, and spiral down.

If your tune-up race time ends up being slower than you like and you’ve still got, say, two months before the race, should you try to get in another run a month before your target race, or no?
Another race?  Hmm….Sometimes it can be good for the confidence, but in general I would say no, let it go. Racing is great but you don’t want to be doing too much of it in a training cycle. Analyze why it was slower than expected–weather, the race course, your health? Perhaps your expected time goals are too fast and need to be adjusted. Maybe your fueling/hydrating, needs to be reviewed. You can often learn more from a race that didn’t go as planned, than one that went perfectly: Use that info to do well in your goal race.

How close to the goal race can you go? If, say, Lisa is running a half in October, how late can she do a 10K?
Depends on the goal race and the race you are incorporating into training. Here’s a chart from TLAM to help you out (FYI: Our Finish It plans are about, um, finishing the race, whereas Own It plans are aimed more at setting a personal best.)

So, mother runners, tell us: Do you do tune-up races, or just keep your eyes on the grand prize, your goal race?

I have no pictures of me running, so just visualize me on this course.

This morning, Ben sauntered into our bedroom around 4:50 a.m., when I had the alarm set for 5:10 to get ready for the Denver Rock ‘n’ Roll Half-Marathon. The day was already starting out with hard choices; do I just get up and sacrifice 20 minutes of “sleep” and let him have my warm spot, or do I try to get him back in his own bed–or worse, sandwich him in between us? (Read: I reel from the stench of his urine-soaked Pull-up while he kicks me in the back?)

I get up. Dang him.

I watch an episode of Fashion Hunters on Bravo–only thing on that isn’t an infomercial–eat my banana, English muffin with almond butter, please-let-me-poop steaming latte, gather my goods, and head over to the race. My car thermometers reads:

It didn't read flatbread crackers--though I love these--but it did read 34 degrees.

Brrr. Get really worked up about wondering if I should bring my gloves with me to the starting line. No, I finally decide, I won’t need them, so I check them. Walk away for about a minute, stick my hands into my capris and realize, yes, I want them. So I retrieve checked bag and gloves and recheck. Get to the starting line, and burn about 100 calories shivering. Seriously freezing.

Pre-race, I talked with Brianna, my coach about my race goals and pacing strategy. My biggest goals: race a smart race, and finish strong. Pacing-wise, she wanted me to start at the back of the 2:10 pacer so I’d go out with three 10:00 minute miles–and not fly-and-die, as per my usual M.O.–then slowly reel, via miles that were 5 seconds or so faster that the previous one, in the 2:05 pacer.

I selectively forgot this bit of advice, and lined up in my assigned corral, where the 2:00 half-marathon and 4:00 marathon pacers were also standing. The 2:05 and 2:10 pacers were quite a ways behind me. I didn’t want to burrow my way back into the crowd, so told myself I’d just go out at 10 minute miles, despite the fact I was in a corral with speedsters and I had nobody, except my wishy-washy self, to hold me back.

Our corral started moving up to the starting line, and I realized I was being an idiot, repeating the same mistakes I’ve always made (and for paying for a coach and not taking her advice). I found a little peninsula of space between two fences, so I wouldn’t trip any runners, and waited for pacing peeps to creep up. I fell in behind the 2:05 guy, because he–smart pacer he is–was running 10:00 miles. His strategy, which he announced: start slow and get faster. There’s a novel idea. He also mentioned a 2:05 is about 9:32 splits. Got it.

I hung with that group for two miles, which was a practice in self-restraint. The first mile has a nice, let-’er-rip downhill, and to look at my Garmin, hovering around 9:57, felt like making chocolate chip cookies and not eating any dough: no fun.

But my running was easy and light, and I was definitely not going out too hard. Win. Then my third mile clocks in around

And I freak a little. 9:30′s have been, putting it mildly, hard for me sustain during this training stretch, so I pull back and let the pacer and his little 2:05 stick bob on ahead and decide to run my own race. If pacer boy is still in sight around 8 miles, I’ll make my move to rejoin him. So I put on the cruise control, telling myself I’ll keep my miles between 9:35-9:45 and enjoy the race.

Briana told me to take something at every aid station; the cold doesn’t let you feel dehydration, which is an issue for salt-lick sweaty me, as well as hot, humid temps do. Since I’m totally buying in, I do this even though I’m not thirsty: water at some stations, Cytomax at others, three GUs around 30 minutes, 70 minutes, and 100 minutes. I really didn’t want the last one, but SBS considers the third and final GU her secret weapon, so who was I to rebel?

Around Mile 7, I take off my gloves. I liked the symbolism: I’m taking my gloves off, my race is starting. Derobing is s a trick I use when I’m doing a tough workout like speedwork: I’ll wear two layers on top until I’m at least 60% through the workout, and then shed one if the temps call for it. The chilly feeling of crisp air on previously sweaty parts gives me a little mental boost.

So I’m all fresh-handed and 4:10 marathon pace group swallows me up. Cool, I think, I’ll jump in with these guys: if this pacer is like the other one, they’ll be running 9:40′s since it’s only Mile 7 of the marathon. I speed up to hang, and…

My Garmin shows a split faster than it takes to marinate something using this very useful gizmo.

Like 8:45. For at least a quarter-mile; it’s not just a temporary glitch. I let them go, and feel sorry for the runners in his group. My new, improved smart-pacer self knows that’s really fast to be going when you’ve got 19 more miles to go.

I resume my own race, but feel a little weary. I see the 2:05 group at two turn-arounds, and they’re not out of range, but I’m not sure I have the juice to get to them. A 10:0o+ mile–my first of the race–from 10-11 does my spirit no good, even though it was a decent uphill. Then all of sudden, I pass my sisters-in-law who notice me before I see them. Five minutes later, I see Grant, who I didn’t expect to see (cold temps + bored kids = no show). “Where are the kids?” I, always the mom, ask. “Right over there,” he yells, “See you in a bit.” I head into Cheeseman Park for a few miles.

Amanda Upson spots me twice in Miles 11-12.5, and I get a “wide back” directive from Pilates maven in there too. Then I see my kids, and the sound of their yelling voices is, unlike most times, so appreciated. Plus, I’m not dragging, like I was in this four-miler (Illustration A), which was the last time they saw me running. In fact, I’m feeling and looking strong; something both Amanda and Grant comment on post-race.

I finish feeling springy–a downhill last mile will do that to you–and cross the line in 2:05:32. (The 2:05 pacer was a little faster than he wanted to be, he told me post-race.) I think that’s my slowest half-marathon ever, but I’m totally cool with that.

Why? It’s my launching pad for runner Dimity 2.0. This version of  me can actually pace myself; can run a negative split by a minute; doesn’t hurt much, save one tweak of her right glute that she’s icing as she types; and runs her own race so that she doesn’t burn out and need to walk, save the aid stations, which, btw, she uses liberally.

I’m sure, like any upgrade, a few major bugs will quickly let their presence be known, but she’s installed and there’s no looking back. Excited to see what she can do.

We’re in the thick of racing weekend–Portland, Long Beach, and Chicago were also awash in runners this weekend–so if you raced there or anywhere/any distance, how was your pacing? Your race?

Maybe it's time for a little more education.

Nashville seems like it was months ago–since I’ve been home, I’ve sat on the sidelines of a soccer field for about six hours, finished two work assignments, celebrated my 39th birthday, made 10 school lunches and cleaned up too many puddles of dog urine, compliments of my aging dog that has a bladder infection—-so I won’t bore you with a full race report.

But I will say this: I, as usual, went out way too fast and couldn’t hang on.

I threw in the birthday line above to slyly reference how old I am. To modify a phrase I say at least daily to my kids, I should know better. I should know that the human body can’t do something it isn’t trained to do. I should know that the “wow, this feels amazing!” sensation–the sky is blue, the hill is down, the race is new, I am fast–that gets me to about mile 2 doesn’t last for 11.1 more miles, despite my always thinking it will. I should know that 20 minutes does not a 2-hour race make.

Alas, I do not.

In other words, I suck at pacing. I fly and die. I guess I could look at it optimistically: I have so much faith in myself, I think I can keep up 8:15 miles for a half-marathon, despite having never come anywhere near those splits for the past year. Or I could look at it realistically: I don’t have the mental control to physically hold myself back at the beginning, nor do I have the mental toughness to physically push myself at the end. Either perspective ends the same: namely, walking way more in the second half than the first, and watching my formerly low splits blow up like a pregnant woman.

I’ve got another shot at the 13.1 distance on May 21 at the Ogden Marathon. The time between races isn’t  long enough to, thankfully, have speedwork pay off, but it may be enough time to amass a thimbleful of race smarts. So I set out to try something novel for me on Saturday: a negative split, or when you run the second half of your race or run faster than you run the first.

I didn’t want my Garmin; instead, I wanted to rely on my (non-existent) sense of pacing and the mile markers on the path, which I’d clock with my trusty Timex. I planned to run somewhere between 6 and  8 miles on an out-and-back course; I’d keep the pace steady and doable on the way out, and when I turned for home, it would be time to let ‘er rip.

So I start, and of course, the first mile always feels great. I run the first mile in just under 9:00. (My time in Nashville was 2:02, or about a 9:20 pace, so–surprise!–I’m going out too fast again.) I consciously slow down, which is as easy for me to do as changing a flat tire on the minivan or making bread from scratch. Which is to say, not in my wheelhouse of skills; I usually just slam on the brakes and walk when I can’t run anymore.

But I do think slow and steady–I’m aided by a bland Fresh Air interview–and at 35 minutes, my half-way point, I stop, suck down a Lemon Sublime GU and put on some tunes to propel me home.

I set out, guns blazing. Probably running a 7:xx minute mile. Definitely cannot hold it for more than 800 meters or so. Despite being fairly smart in my pre-children year, the fact I’ll be running for about 35 minutes simply does not register in my admittedly now less-sharp brain. I feel so good right now! What’s three more miles!? My  first mile back clocks in around 8:20. Great on one hand–always nice to see low numbers–but really, not so great. My only goal is to come in under 35 minutes on the way back, not send myself into anaerobic shock.

The next mile? Oh, a 9:30 or so. Dang it. D.A.N.G. IT! And, to add insult to injury, I’m wiped. I stop my body and my watch (yes, that’s cheating), adjust my playlist and catch my breath. I set off again, and keep asking myself, “Can you run a little faster? Just a little faster?” Not Kentucky Derby fast, but just a small nudge up my speedometer. My legs respond accordingly, and I hit stop on the Timex at 1:09:04 to finish my run.

I ran a negative split by 56 seconds.

It was far from a perfect exercise–I actually cheated twice on the way home–but I think I felt more proud of that run than I did of my half-marathon effort. I did what doesn’t come naturally to me, and tasted success; that combination, whether it’s starting running, hitting a new distance, or trying to coax your body to run slower or faster than it wants to, is always a tasty boost to the ego.

Let’s hope there’s another bite waiting for me in Ogden.

When I get to the top, I will feel like a rockstar. And that's the truth.

Mount Taylor Quad. T: 3 days and counting.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous for a race. I am confident I can get up and down the mountain, but how long it’ll take me is up for debate. How much hurt it’ll inflict on me is an even bigger enigma. I sweat just thinking about it.

I have an 8.5-hour drive from Denver to Grants, New Mexico, on Friday. In other words, I have a whole freakin’ day for all my neurosis to marinate and psyche me out and make me want to turn the old Odyssey north and bail. So this morning, I came up with this (not totally original) race plan.

I am devoting each of the race’s 8 segments to somebody, thereby taking the pressure off of me.

Piece one: a 13-mile bike uphill.
Well, actually, this one goes to me. Here, I am going to catch my breath, not worry about everybody flying by me. This is where I reassure myself it’s going to be a long day and that I’m strong enough to handle every step.

Piece two: a 5-mile run uphill.
This one is for the writer of this post. I have been in touch with her regularly, and am thrilled to report not only did she sign up for her first marathon, but her words were sent far and wide, and she has reached out to other victims who are considering running for healing. This is where I remember how powerful sweat is for the spirit.

Piece three: a 2-mile cross-country ski uphill.
This part has me freaked out the most–it’s 1,200 feet of climbing, which I’ve never done on skis. So this is for Lookout Mountain, Deer Creek Canyon, the Holly Hills, the hill repeats under the chairlift, the Gauntlet at the gym, the incline button on the treadmill and all the other hills I’ve climbed in preparation for this race. This is where I’m not allowed to doubt myself.

Piece four: a 1-mile snowshoe uphill.
This has to be for my Grantie;  he has been my own mountain/rock through this training. He’s easily toasted 200 waffles for the kids’ breakfasts while I was running or biking. More importantly, he has cheered me on even when I don’t deserve it. This is when I forget when he asked, “Do you think you’ll finish before dark?,” and instead, just remember his love and support.

Piece five: a 1-mile snowshoe downhill.
This is for all of you, our awesome RLAM tribe. I’m going to open up my stride, and let it rip. This is where I remember that I–and we–simultaneously chose to challenge ourselves and to enjoy the ride.

Piece six: a 2-mile ski downhill.
This is for my mom, who enrolled me in ski school at age 4. This is where I am thankful I can do a killer pizza wedge.

Piece seven: a 5-mile run downhill.
This is for my dad, with whom I had a complicated relationship and who died in 1999 from, among other things, Lou Gehrig’s disease. For some reason, he has been on my mind quite a bit during long workout sessions lately, so he gets to run with me. This is where I am grateful for my legs, my muscles, my body, my life.

Piece eight: a 13-mile bike downhill.
This for my kiddos, who would love the ride down as much as I think I will. This is where I coast and smile.

So I should be set, right? Pretty much, but if any of you happen to be climbing a hill on Saturday between the hours of 9 and 3 MST–please don’t let me be climbing for more than six hours–I’ll happily channel your vibes that help me defy gravity.

Had to use this cheesy friends photo because Courtenay and I never pause to snap a pic when we're together.

I can hardly wait for this coming Sunday: My best friend from high school, Courtenay, and I are going to run the Philly Half Marathon. She summed it up perfectly in an email: “It feels like waiting for Christmas when I was a kid.” Because we live on opposite sides of the country, this is a rare opportunity to be together. As soon as I told her I was promoting the book at the Philly race, she signed up to run it and booked us a hotel room for the weekend. We get to spend a whole, glorious, kid-free weekend together. I’m giddy with excitement…yet twisted with indecision and guilt. You see: I’m wavering whether or not to run the race with Courtenay or not.

A marathon-runner-turned-triathlete, Courtenay is a dedicated athlete. She’s trained more diligently for this half than I have. (Given how frackin’ long it’s taken me to recover from my 10/10/10 marathon, I’ve logged a single long run—14.25 miles on Saturday—and no speed sessions.) Yet she insists she can’t run a sub-2:00 half. I suspect she’s sandbagging, but obviously we won’t know for certain until race day. We’ve talked on the phone about our expectations for the race, and she insists I should run my own race. She says we should start together, then meet each other after the finish line.

In my gut, I know that plan makes the most sense: At Portland Marathon, I found it difficult (and distracting, quite honestly) to stick with a running partner who I knew for a fact could run at my pace. In Philly, the race course will be more crowded and less familiar, in addition to the question of do-able pace. So, yes, logic tells me running separately is the way to go. Yet in my heart I worry I’ll be missing out on a very special opportunity—the chance to run next to a person who ranks in my top 10 list of Folks I Most Love on This Planet. And, for what? To maintain my sports-ego of running every race to the best of my ability? To avoid making Courtenay feel “guilty” for holding me back? To brag about my results on Facebook?

I’ve been mulling over this decision for weeks, yet writing about it makes it seem like such a trivial, almost idiotic thing to debate. Heck, at times I think we should just ditch the race and have a leisurely, mimosa-fueled brunch instead. (Huh, Court, whattaya say?!?!) I’d love to get your thoughts, chicas, so I can throw those into my decision-making hopper.

In the meanwhile, yesterday I took a step toward alleviating a smidge of my guilt: I made a hip-hop-happenin’ half-marathon playlist, titled BFF Half Marathon, burnt the songs onto CDs, and Priority Mailed them to Court. If we end up running separately, at least we’ll be together with our tunes.

We can all shine like stars on race day if we honor the taper

Yesterday I started off my taper for Portland Marathon (10/10/10) with an, ahhhhhh, rest day. Obviously the length of a taper varies by the race distance: You don’t take a marathon-rest of two weeks before your 5K. But a few rules do apply no matter what length race you’re doing.

Respect the taper. Just like rest days: You’ve done the hard work, now give your body a break to synthesize all the training and grow stronger.

Don’t make up for lost (training) time. If you had to miss a few days because of a biz trip or a week due to illness, now is not the time to make it up. At this point, you can only drain the system, not bolster it.

Don’t reacquaint yourself with the couch too much. Tapering does not mean it’s time to watch all six seasons of “Lost” to find out what all the fan-frenzy was about. You need to scale back on the distance but still interject some intensity, such as five 100-meter strides at the end of an easy run or do a scaled-back track workout. But no hill repeats: They beat your legs up too much.

Forego embarking on other big projects. Cleaning out the attic, putting up storm windows, and spearheading the classroom gift-wrap sale will tap your energy more than you’ll realize…until mile 17.

Be borderline obsessive about washing your hands. Many runners swear they always get sick during the taper, so take precautions to prevent it. Like right now I’m all about not touching door handles in public (I’m bumping a lot of doors open with my bum or shoulder) and steering clear of sick people.

Trim your social calendar, when possible. In the two weeks prior to a marathon don’t host a baby shower for your neighbor or take the family to Disneyland for a long weekend. (Yes, Julie D., I’m eyeballin’ ya…)

Stockpile sleep. It’s like money in the bank: Try to go to sleep 15 to 20 minutes earlier a few nights in a row until you are hitting the hay a full hour earlier than usual. (Tell your hubby it’s only temporary…)

Eat and drink with an eye toward the big day. Being well hydrated isn’t just about downing some Gatorade en route to the race. In the week leading up to a half- or full marathon, you should be taking in enough fluids so that your pee is pale-lemonade yellow. It helps to munch on salty treats, too, like pretzels or soy nuts.

Skip anything new. This is not the time to suck down a new supplement; start taking the stairs instead of the elevator; try a new brand of socks, shoes, or sports bra; take up cyclocross racing; or go gluten-free. Stick with what has been working for you. Heck, don’t even switch shampoos!

Remind yourself why you signed up. In between driving carpool, writing quarterly reports, helping with spelling homework, and potty-training, give yourself a few short reprieves to tell yourself why you are racing. And to quote the power word of new momma (and top U.S. marathoner) Kara Goucher: Believe.

Two reasons why this won't work for me: 1. I don't pace myself and 2. A 3:30 marathon? As if.

My classic race pattern, no matter if the race is a 5k or 26.2:

Mile 1: Wow. I feel amazing. I can’t believe I feel this good. I’ve got this thing. In the bag. I can keep this pace up for __ miles, no prob.

Halfway point: Really, only halfway? Not sure I have another half of a race in these legs. Why do they hurt so much? And why am I breathing so hard? And why have my splits crept up by 35 seconds?

One mile from finish: Racing sucks. Running sucks. Garmins suck. Especially mine, which is clearly not synchronized correctly. Because my splits are  a minute slower than they were at mile 1.

Finish line: Thank God.  Thank God. Thank God. Never doing that to myself again. Next time, I’m going out slower. Next time, I will run a smart race. Next time, I will realize that there’s ___  more miles after the first euphoric mile.

Until, of course, I don’t. I swear, there’s a better chance of my kids getting along for one entire day–no she’s touching me; no he took my toy; no don’t look at me–than of me negative splitting (running the second half of a race faster than the first). Just not gonna happen.

Even though it’s most noticeable at races, pacing doesn’t just apply to events, of course. That sequence–feel great, feel decent, hang on, die–pretty much applies to every run I do. I’m getting better at warming up (read: walking while I get my Nano secured to my arm and find the exact right song), but once I push on the gas pedal, it usually goes to the floor. And then my tank incrementally–and inefficiently–gets used up until I’m empty and slow. You’d think after 20 years of running and writing about pacing, I’d learn. Then again, expertise doesn’t count for much. Don’t believe me? Ask BP.

I’m not the only one with a pacing problem. On our Facebook page yesterday, Kate wrote:

I am looking for some advice about improving my 5k times. Inevitably during a race, my first mile hovers around 8 to 8 1/2 minutes, my second mile more like 9 and my third mile is closer to 10. I’d like to be more consistent. For training I do one night a week of interval speed training with a running club in my area and usually two to three runs on my own varying from 3 to 5 miles each. I don’t need to be a speed demon, but would like to clear 27 minutes each race. Any suggestions on how to make my mile times more consistent?

So the topic for today’s Hump Day Giveaway is pace, a topic that applies to all runners: new or experienced, competitors, just-let-me-finishers or never-gonna-racers. How do you pace yourself? Are you a one-speed wonder? Do you fly and die? Do you actually have discipline to hold yourself back? What mistakes have you made–and possibly repeated? When has your plan come through? Do you use a pace band? I could ask and ask and ask  questions like Amelia does (her latest 10-times-a-morning whine: Whhhhhyyyy can’t I wear flip flops to camp?) but suffice it say, give us some insight into your perspective–or lack thereof–on pacing.

Funky Keens made from recycled rice paper. Wonder if they could make some out of old pace bands.

For your expertise, you may win your choice of a pair of Keen shoes. Which is the perfect footwear for summer, since they demand just one pace: slow. As in strolling farmer’s market slow. Or watching the sunset slow. Or splashing through streams slow.

So what advice on pace do you have for Kate? For your fellow mama runners? For yourself?