Late last year, hopped up on post-race endorphins, my husband and I registered for a half marathon at the end of August, a race that would be at the perfect point in my training for a December marathon. “It’ll be great!” we told each other.
My body wasn’t on board with the training schedule, though. Thanks to a nagging injury, I spent the last six weeks in a boot and am just now getting back on the road to recovery. I’ve lost a lot of strength and a lot of flexibility. And I’ve lost both the August half marathon and the December marathon.
My husband and I had been anticipating the weekend getaway, though, and cheering him on would be fun, if bittersweet. Our hotel was near the start/finish area of the race, and I decided to walk part of the course, scream like crazy when he ran by, and take photos along the way. It was a beautiful, chilly morning, and I enjoyed the slow walk.
Along the course
A few tears threatened to fall, though, when I saw the pace group near where I should/would have been at that point in the race.
In last week’s post, I told you about my hopes for a personal worst (PW) in a race. Well, I finished the race (yay!) and have a new PW (also yay?). The weather was beautiful, the course was hilly, and I took time to stop and smell the roses. Well, not exactly. There weren’t any roses along the course. But I did take time to stop both ways on the out-and-back course to hug a friend who was volunteering at a water stop.
She’s a great encourager and broke into a huge grin both times she saw me. Her husband and I had see-sawed places several times during the race, saying hello by name each time one of us passed the other (which made us both chuckle a little). He finished well ahead of me, running his best time in 10 years, no small feat at age 71! (This wonderful couple completed a 100-mile race last year, becoming the oldest married couple to do so.)
I felt happier at the end of this race than usual, probably because I hadn’t exhausted myself mentally or physically to run a fast time. That didn’t mean I wasn’t sore. The pain Monday signaled that I had to be gentle with myself. I needed to find a way to rest.
Resting in black and white
How many of you think of resting in terms of black and white? Rest means you’re lying down or sitting. Black and white, right? There are times we must rest in this way—a dear friend recovering from surgery right now knows the frustration of a forced black and white rest all too well. I hope she’ll be well enough soon to get on her feet for a more active rest.
There are other times when black and white isn’t the only kind of rest we need, when rest with a bit of color is best. Continue reading →
You’ll hear runners talk about PRs or PBs or BQs (personal record, personal best, Boston qualifier), but there’s one alphabet-soup abbreviation that most runners don’t like to think about, much less talk about: PWs, the personal worst time a runner has recorded for a given distance.
Runners revel in PBs. PBs mean that we’ve been working hard to accomplish greater speed and all the hard parts of our training plans are finally starting to pay off. And don’t even get me started about BQs. It’s an exciting goal to attain a qualifying time for Boston, a marathon where you must have a proven time to even get to register for the race. PWs, though? They’re just not fun.