On March 2, 2008, I ran the Los Angeles
Marathon, at age 41, after an adult life as a couch potato. And since I'm a big
believer in sharing the wealth, now I'm going to share the secret of
marathoning over 40 with you.
DAY ONE
Say yes to your friend who asks you to
run RELAY FOR LIFE for the AMERICAN CANCER SOCIETY. You agreed to do it because
it sounded fun at the time, but as the day approaches, ditching this for a
movie sounds better and better. RFL, in case you didn't know, is a 24 hour
relay at a local high school track, the idea being that each team has a number
of members walking (or running) around the track for 24 hours, since cancer
never stops either. Since you haven't exercised in maybe a year, you decide
just to walk and meet up with an old friend who agrees to circle the route with
you. While catching up, you're having such a fun conversation that when she
says "hey, do you want to train for the Los Angeles Marathon with
me?" you say yes, because, hey, this relay thing is fun and you aren't
really paying attention. How hard could it be?
DAY TWO
It is now August, a couple of months
after RELAY. Your friend calls to tell you that you both need to register for
Aids Project Los Angeles, the organization training you to run the marathon.
She ends up not being able to go the meeting with you so you cheerily head
downtown and are surprised to find that you need to give them a $75
registration fee. Oops. Then the bright-eyed administrator tells you that
you'll need to raise $1500 before January. AND training is three times a week,
twice on your own and once with the group. It becomes increasingly apparent
that you've never run a marathon before. Now you remember that another friend
suggested you train for a 5K and you weren't really focusing on the difference
before, but now you've learned that MARATHON means 26.2 miles and that 5K is
only 3. You didn't know that before. But what the hell, you need to get in
shape so you sign all the forms and wait for what happens next.
DAY THREE
Today is orientation at a running store
in Santa Monica. You and your friend head out to see what's in store for you.
Apparently $200 worth of must-have running shoes is what's up. And you really
do need special shoes, tailored to your feet. Otherwise you'll have scores of
foot problems, blisters and worse. But you're not spending money on a sports
bra - you hope the old one you've used for the past years will last just a
little bit longer. So you sit and listen to the NIKE sales pitch (you don't know
much about running yet but you do know you don't need a special timed musical
device in your shoe). It's inspirational to listen to current and former
athletes and then the actual clients of the AIDS program you are running for -
so there is a good cause in all this and you really will be helping people
after all. Maybe this won't be so bad. After some carbs you both head back
home, ready for the very first day of training.
DAY FOUR
Today is your first day at Griffith
Park, the official training site. They tell you that you will be running three
miles and that you'll be timed and placed in the appropriate running group.
This is the first time you hear about pace groups and walk/run ratios. They are
training you in what's called the Jeff Galloway method, from a Marathon Guru
who devised a way of running with paced walking breaks to conserve energy,
enabling the runner a burst of energy at the end (try it, it works!) You lope
around the L.A. Zoo and the Gene Autry Museum and it's not so bad. You have
your IPod and it's not too hot, so you finish up in just under an hour and they
tell you to go to the 15 minute pace group next week. That means you'll run a
mile in 15 minutes with a 2:2 ratio (run 2 minutes/walk 2 minutes). Huh, wait
till you tell your friends you're "in training".
DAY FIVE
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. This is the
worst idea you've ever had, you've never been so miserable in your entire life.
Good GOD, why did you agree to do this?!! A week ago they told you to come to
the 15 minute pace group so you dutifully showed up (early Saturday morning!)
and met your fellow runners. One of them is a former ice skating champion and
all of them look lean and fit. Uh-oh. The Pace Group Leader (PGL) starts you
all out walking for 2 minutes and then you have to run 2. Then walk 2, then run
2 and you realize that your shins feel weird, which you later find out are
called shin splits. It's agony. You get slower and slower and the Designated
Driver (DD), the one who stays behind to make sure the laggers are taken care
of, does indeed stick with you, as you get more and more upset. It's the
longest day of your life. Everyone told you that the timing day, the 3 miles,
would be the worst day, but they are stupid. Today is the worst. You can't ever
imagine going 10, 12, 20, much less 26.2 miles. You just want to die. The
earlier the better. Finally, finally, finally you end up back at the training
site and you beg the coach to put you in a different pace group. You end up
email/stalking him with every neurosis you can think of. There's a reason he
won't give out his phone number.
DAY SIX
So the next week you come back to the
training site in spite of your misgivings and they let you into the slower pace
group. Now instead of 2:2, you are 1:4 (or as it turns out 1:3) running/walking.
Fine. But then they send you up this ENORMOUS and tortuous hill. When are you
going to get a break? Your shin splints are worse and you are the very last
person in so you cheat a little and don't stop at the rest stop so that coach
won't catch up to you and make you ride the ride of shame back to the site. But
you do learn some things. Shin splints happen with new runners and last a few
months. You can fight them by icing your shins for 20 minutes, resting 20
minutes, icing again another 20 minutes, resting, then icing a last 20 minute
set. TWICE A DAY. You can do some exercises too, anything with your ankles,
like calf raises, since they engage the shins. Don't put the ice bag directly
on your skin, use a towel. Eat a lot of potassium (like a hell of a lot of
bananas). You are also learning about how runners eat. You MUST eat before a
run, but nothing heavy. You find out what your stomach can tolerate and it
seems like oatmeal and a banana in the morning is the way to go. And you make
sure you are hydrated (clear urine, especially before a big run). Once you
begin running, you lose salt and sugar so you bring runner's bars and gels and
the all important GATORADE. Pretzels are a great source of salt too, about a
few miles in and you are told to eat something every 45 minutes and keep
hydrating (just don't overdo it). Your stomach will tell you what you need.
DAY SEVEN
The next week you think maybe you are
getting the hang of the studying part (you are reading Jeff Galloway's
MARATHON). You've learned about chafing, which is where your clothes rub
against you with the constant moving and makes you raw. You buy sports gel
(never use antiperspirant, it doesn't work for running) and you put it
everywhere that might have friction. In addition to that, your stomach goes up
and down while moving, so you are very susceptible to nausea but you think you
finally have that beat. The actual running still sucks. And you're expected to
do runs on your own twice a week (30-45 minutes each), in addition to the long weekend
run! Definitely hard to get so early, on a Saturday, no less. You hate the
coach. And your fellow runners. And the volunteers. And anyone who doesn't have
to run on Saturday mornings. Sigh. A typical training regimen may go like this:
3 miles, 6 miles, 10 miles, back down, back up, building your mileage, until
one week you find yourself running 12 miles (12 MILES? That's a Half Marathon!)
You watch SPIRIT OF THE MARATHON and cheer along with everyone else in the
theater and you begin to realize what an emotional accomplishment this will be
in the end. You hope.
DAY EIGHT
You wake up one morning panicked about
the fundraising. You have to raise $1500! Your family and friends have of
course given you some here and there but that's not going to bring you to your
goal. In panic mode, you ask your marathoner friends and they make some great
suggestions: fundraising events like wine and cheese receptions, donated
theatrical shows (i.e. the actors give you the ticket proceeds) and maybe some
corporate sponsors. Some of these events pan out, some don't. But due to the
surprising generosity of mere acquaintances and even strangers, you end up
making your goal before the deadline and then some. Whew! By the way, if you
are running with a charity group, they will happily guide you.
THREE MONTHS IN
You've been doing this for three months
now and the actual Marathon still seems years away. You're not really going to
run 26.2 miles are you? You secretly think that's all malarkey but that doesn't
stop you from bragging to everyone about it, pointing out all your blisters and
hitting people up for money. Everyone seems to want in on it and you start to
feel just the tiniest bit pumped up about it. Your training group turns out to
be comprised of a nice group of people and at first you were always, always,
always the last one in but gradually you've kept up the pace and come in with
the Pace Group Leader by the end of the run. On short runs. On long runs you
still want to die. But at least you are getting to know the fine streets of
Burbank, Glendale and Toluca Lake. There is a cactus garden you are way too
familiar with. Same with the bathrooms at Carl's Jr. and Kinko's. And no matter
how many times you go up that stupid hill in Glendale, it never seems to be
getting any easier. But somehow your shin splints are going away. That's
progress, right?
DECEMBER
Christmas rocks because now you have all
these out of town family and friends who haven't heard every excruciating
detail about your training yet. In fact, you drag some of them with you to a
running store for your next pair of shoes since (as you wisely tell them all),
your old shoes have worn out and you should always replace running shoes every
three months. You ask the sales clerk at the running store a bunch of questions
about pacing and running so he knows you know what you are talking about (but
still doesn't care). You are excited to be fit for a new pair, even though they
look exactly like your old pair. Now you just need to concentrate on running,
you tell your family, because you have made all the money you need to. And then
some. Did they want to hear more about it - because you'd be glad to tell them!
While on vacation, you arrange to run on your own, measuring distances in your
car. You've got your pack with all the vitals - asthma inhaler, gels, water,
GATORADE. You've even impressed yourself.
TRAINING RUN
For some reason, your training group
thinks it's a swell idea to do a "practice marathon". Meaning 26
miles. This is the stupidest idea you've ever heard of but since Jeff Galloway
does it, you all have to as well. You get up SUPER EARLY Saturday, before the
other groups, because, as they tell you ever so diplomatically, you are in the
slowest pace group. It's damn cold but you arrive cheerful and remain so - for
about 2 miles. Then you lose your sense of humor. You discover that on long
runs, it only takes about 10 miles (yes, you can now run 10!) before you slip
into a murderous rage and want to take out anyone who dares speak to you.
You've read online that this is actually normal and that you need to take some
breaks, get some of that sugar and salt back. Your teammates know better than
to try to engage you in conversation at this point. On the "practice"
day you are at mile 17 before you completely and utterly give up. If they make
you go one more friggin' step, you will seriously have to hurt someone. The
coach swings by to pick up the stragglers and offers some annoyingly cheerful
words which you ignore. He really should stop talking now. You slink home to
sit alone in the dark.
TAPER MADNESS
You were half kidding when you bitched
to people about the ups and downs of marathon training but when you actually do
research on it you discover that there really and truly is a thing called Taper
Madness. Because of the intense training you've undergone now (when all is said
and done, it ends up as 6 whole months!), your body has gotten used to the
endorphin rush and the steady climb of mileage. So as you get closer to the
actual D Day, M Day, the Marathon capital "M", you ease off the
mileage because now your body is a well trained machine and it's ready for M
Day, even if you aren't. Therefore you're going to have to run less and less to
conserve energy. That means, unbeknowest to you, you will now be depriving your
body of addictive chemicals. You will be a joy and a half at work and at home
from now until March and they will ALL want to strangle you in your sleep.
You'll think you've lost the ability to run and the least little strain or
blister means it's all over. Everything is a disaster and you hate everyone
just as much as they hate you. No one will want to come and cheer you on and
you don't care but it's only 26.2 miles which ANYONE CAN DO, RIGHT?!! Sheesh.
THE CONVENTION
Today you took off from work and went
downtown to the Convention Center to pick up your bib race number and
everything you need to run in the biggest race in Los Angeles. Very important
to get all this stuff BEFORE the race. You need a timing chip for your shoe
too. They tell you 100 times not to forget - DO YOUR RESEARCH BEFORE YOU EVEN
REGISTER. There is a LOT to remember. You've got your bib, so now you are free
to enjoy the sites. And sights. Everyone there is obviously a runner (even you
now). So many booths - but you are warned NOT to try anything new - it's too
soon before the race. Every new thing should have been tested during training.
By now you should know your body inside and out, what your stomach can
tolerate, what socks to wear (nylon, not cotton, same with shirts please) so as
not to blister, a breathable hat that ventilates, etc. All of this should be
second nature to you months before M Day. You've read every book you can get
your hands on regarding running, especially women and running, so you feel you
are as expert as you can be. At least that's how you feel today. Lord knows
what will happen tomorrow.
THE LAST MEAL
So tonight all of you get to go to the
Biltmore Hotel downtown for a big pasta party. The valet wants to charge you
something abhorrently ridiculous (did he say $20??!!) so you back on out and
around the corner to park somewhere else and then hike on over once again back
to the hotel. But now you're in. And everyone is there - all of the team
members you bonded with, your coach, all the staff members. There are speeches
and pictures and you look at all of this people and marvel at how you put up
with each others ups and downs the past 6 months. And it's beautiful. Coach
gives you a big hug and tells you he believes in you and to get some sleep but
not to worry about tossing and turning from nervousness (it's all normal) and
that you would have gotten sleep earlier in the week so tonight just de-stress.
Because TOMORROW IS M DAY!!! As you drive home, you think about all of this and
can't believe 6 months went by so fast. The best thing about it of course is
that everyone encourages you to eat carbs and one of your favorite comfort
foods, pretzels, is now your snack of choice on a run. You're happy to share of
course. People eat orange slices, bananas, pretzels, red vines and gels and
power bars and obviously lots of water and sports drinks. You'll have to keep
running when all this is over so you can keep eating the fun stuff.
M DAY
Believe it or not, the day has arrived.
The Los Angeles Marathon. You've arranged to meet your friends at the starting
line. Some of them park at the finish line thinking they'll drive themselves
home, but you have coerced friends to drive you home. Who knows how you'll feel
at the end? You wake up while it's still almost night, eat your oatmeal and
recheck everything you've laid out before. Bib, timing chip, singlet shirt,
jacket, running pants, shoes, socks, pack with blister band-aids, sunscreen,
pretzels, salt vial, gels, power bars, extra safety pins, inhaler, sanitizer
gels (for those awful porta pottys), hat, sunglasses, cell phone (to coordinate
meeting supportive friends at different mile markers) and timing watch. You've
finally figured out how to set the watch so it beeps at intervals, just like
it's supposed to. Dark and cold, you carpool to the meeting place.
There are a lot of people here already,
some reporters and many, many runners. As it gets closer to start time,
everyone is ushered over to the start and you and your friends get more and
more excited. Are you really running a marathon??? Randy Newman's "I Love
L.A." blares out the speakers just as the starting pistol goes off and
here you all go!
You were worried about the Cahuenga Pass
(you've spent months studying the map layout of the route) but it's not too
bad. You're pacing yourself, remembering Coach telling you to start slow, save
the energy for the end. It's great to see so many people come out to support
all the runners, but you can't high five them all or you will wear out too
early. You will let their energy and excitement sustain and propel you. You're
seeing Los Angeles in a way you've never seen before, from the ground, with all
the streets closed, just for you. And you're running in the footsteps of the
elite runners, another thing you never thought you'd do. Hollywood Blvd, Vine,
Hancock, Park, KoreaTown, USC, South Central and more, all the way downtown to
Flower, all in one day. Incredible.
Around Mile 12, your first set of
supporters show up, hooting and hollering. You introduce everyone and you are
still running with your team mates at this point, reminding each other to drink
and eat enough. After that, you start drifting apart and start your own
personal journey. Having been warned that headphones are not allowed you didn't
bring your IPod, but so many people seem to be running with them that you
regret not bringing it. No one cares and no one is checking. At Mile 18, your
legs feel cramped and one of the staff members tells you to drink more
GATORADE. You just need to make it to Mile 20 and another of your supporters
will be there to cheer you on.
Mile 20. Thank God. You want to stop,
you want to give up, the day has never seemed longer. Your Pace Group is
expected to finish in 7 1/2 hours and now the lead runners are long gone, home
and showered and you are still suffering, alone and desperate. But you see your
friends and it's a miracle. They run a good part of the way with you, checking
on you, keeping you focused and distracted at the same time, encouraging and
loving you. It's a shot in the arm.
After that, you feel more and more
determined and become even more focused. Physically, it's a pretty impossible
thing you're doing, so at this mileage it's now all on your brain. You have to
tell yourself you can do it, that you will finish and that nothing will stop
you. Passing some team mates, you feel better, even though the miles seem
longer and longer. Mile 24, Mile 25.
Mile 26. Can it be? Yes, and there's the
finish line! Triumphant you see the flashing time as 8 hours (official timing
chip says 7:59). EIGHT HOURS of constant run/walking. Why aren't you more
tired? You receive your medal and then collapse, calling your friends to help
you negotiate your way out of there. It starts sinking in that you RAN A
MARATHON. You just went 26.2 miles and lived to tell the tale. No one will ever
be able to take this away from you. You finally understand the
big-journey-begins-with-a-single-step thing.
THE END
You should wear that medal, all week or
even all month or however long you damn well want to. For a day of pain, you've
earned a lifetime of bragging rights and it starts now. Speaking of which, when
you check in with your Coach later, he tells you he was pretty worried about
you, because of all the shin splints. You are floored. If you had known this,
you might have let doubt overwhelm you, but because of all the positive
feedback and encouragement you actually thought you could do this impossible
thing, when really, you shouldn't have been able to. It blows your mind. And
this is the turning point where you realize that it's important to listen to
your heart and to trust yourself. You know how to prepare for things now, how
to do research, how to work out, what to eat, what to wear, why you should take
an ice bath after a long run and heck, maybe you can even offer advice to other
people in your shoes who think they can't do it. Now you can tell them they
can.
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John Adams - HBO
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