Baby, It's Hot Outside

A few months ago we had our kitchen renovated.  While I shopped for things like cabinet handles and grout, I quickly learned that I really didn’t care that much about things like cabinet handles and grout.  So, when my husband Wil told me that we just HAD to get a sink faucet that had a mist sprayer, I said the two words that we often say to each other in order to keep our marriage of almost 15 years going strong: “Yes, Dear.”

Why am I talking about sink faucets?  Well, I’ll get back to that.  This blog is actually about the training run I did this morning.  In my quest to complete the 2012 New York Marathon, I’m knee deep in my training plan.  Sadly, this training plan cannot accommodate  weather patterns, so last night I realized that I was going to have to do a 16 mile run while it was about 79 degrees with 87% humidity.  For those who don’t know much about that stuff, let me phrase it this way: this run was scaring the poop out of me. 

There was another reason why I was nervous to do this run.  This 16 mile training run was the exact same run that I had to cut short back in February when I was training for the New Jersey Marathon because I’d hurt my Achilles tendon.  This is the run that ended up being my last run at all for over 2 months, the run that knocked me right out of that New Jersey Marathon, along with a handful of other races.

I didn’t want to do the run at all, and I told Wil.  His reply: “Look, are you going to get up and do it, or are you going to make me get up so freakin’ early with you in order to force you out the door to do it?”  Again, I answered with those two words: “Yes, Dear.”

So, this morning I got up painfully early for a Saturday morning, in order to eat something and let it digest a bit before I tortured myself in what was going to feel like Hell for so many reasons.  I filled up four water bottles, the most my fuel belt can hold, stuck a few gels in my pocket, pinned two extra wristbands onto my fuel belt (yes, I know they look dorky, but they’re the only thing I can think of that carries easily to wipe the insane amount of sweat off me so that I don’t short out my iPod – again), took a deep breath, and went out.

For the first few steps I thought, “Hmm, this isn’t so bad.”  Then I realized my shirt was already about 1/3 soaked before I hit my first mile marker.  And I had 15 more to go.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.  But, I kept plodding along.  I had to overcome my fear of running in this heat, and I HAD to finish this run, the run I left unfinished 6 months ago.

Every mile or so, I checked in with my leg.  It’s healed, but it still gets VERY tight, and every now and then it acts like an overtired toddler and gets a bit cranky.  By mile 4 it was still quiet and happy, so I didn’t worry too much about the Beast within my own Achilles tendon.

I’ve trained myself not to need water for the first 6 miles, mostly so that I don’t have to stop for water breaks during shorter races.  Hey, I’m slow enough already; I don’t need to add to that.  But it was SO hot that by mile 5 I was grabbing the first bottle on my fuel belt and sucking it down.  I went to wipe my lips with a part of my shirt, any part that was dry – and there were none.  Wow, it was hot out.

After mile 6, I quickly stopped to eat a Gu gel and to stretch my Achilles out a little; it seemed to be waking up from its nap, and I wasn’t ready to hear from it yet.  At mile 8 I decided to celebrate hitting the halfway point by swapping my now soaked wristbands for the dry ones I had pinned to my fuel belt.  I touched the new pair – and they were just as wet as the pair I was wearing.  I was sweating so much that I had dripped sweat onto the wristbands that were hanging from my fuel belt and completely saturated them.  I know, gross.

By mile 12, I started having a problem.  Nope, it wasn’t my leg.  Nope, it wasn’t that it was getting hotter (well, maybe it was, but what was another pound to an elephant at that point?).  I was running out of water.  In my 3 years of training, I had never run out of water.  If anything, I’d had too much and ended up schlepping a bottle or two for miles for absolutely no reason.  But, I was down to my last ½ bottle.  Just when I started to get really concerned, I saw a house up ahead with its sprinklers on.  Was this an oasis?  No, they were really on!  I got to the house, looked quickly and didn’t see anyone.  Then I took two of my water bottles and filled them up with the sprinkler.  Trashy, I know, but it seemed a lot less ghetto than stroking out from dehydration.  That’s just my opinion.

With extra water in hand, I continued on my run.  I have to admit, at mile 14 I almost started to cry.  It was just too hot, this run was too hard.  I was so sweaty that I could feel it dripping off my shorts and onto my legs.  I wanted to stop.  But then I thought, “OK, but then you still won’t have finished this run, and the marathon is an entire 10 miles longer.  What are you going to do?”  I knew the answer, I was going to continue.  So, I held back the tears and kept going.

As you can tell by the fact that I posted this blog, I made it home.  I finished those two extra bottles of water, and when I got into the house, I said two words to Wil.  No, not “Yes, Dear.”  This time they were “ice water.”  While Wil got me the water, I walked right over to the kitchen sink, hung my head over it and turned on the faucet. I doused my head with the mist sprayer that we HAD to have, and I quietly laughed at how much I suddenly cared about our kitchen renovations.

Well, I did it.  I finished that 16 mile run that I had to quit in February.  I’m paying better attention to my body this time, and it’s working.  And not only that, but I faced my fear of running in brutal heat and humidity all by myself – well, and only committing the minor felonies of trespassing and stealing water. 

This week is a “step back” week, meaning my runs are shorter to give my body a little break.  And that’s too bad; it’s supposed to be a scorcher all week.