Tag Archives: marathon

Trying to do two marathons at once

Posted on by — Leave a reply

So, last year, dh and I did a walking marathon together. I have two bad knees, so running is OUT of the question, but I can walk for days. And, as the theory went, I should then be able to walk for a day straight, right? The answer is, as I discovered: YES. I chronicled this in a series of posts (starting with my decision to do the marathon in the first place), so that I could share what I went through. Part of why I did that was so that others who were interested in learning about what it’s like to walk a marathon could see what my experience was like, and part of it was to make a record for myself, so that I could remember (and not have the same issues with recovering this time out).

I decided that I want to walk the marathon again this year, and I have about 8 months to prepare this time – instead of the 2 months I had last time. I have a bunch of reasons for wanting to do this, but I feel like I have to fight for the time to train against the other marathon I’m in – the constant attempt to balance work, family, home, etc. I was on a Twitter party last night about fitness, and one of the questions that came up was about how you manage to get in your time for a workout when you’re balancing against the other things going on in your life (work, family, illness, etc.). When I was training hard during those two months, I manufactured time and dh was a huge part of that – reworking the schedule so that we could manage to free up time for me to do some lighter training during the week. I never did manage to get my act together to do more than a couple of longer training walks on the weekend.

Some of it is that I’m fighting myself – my desire to get sleep, my desire to keep dinner moving on time, my desire not to screw up dh’s schedule so that both of us can get in the right number of hours at work. Some of it is that dh also needs a shot at working out, and that means balancing the schedule of day care drop off/pick up to make it work for both of us. But, mostly, I know this is me – my block to get past. I have to draw a line in the sand and say that this is what I need to do.

The thing is: I learned last year that I can go an entire 26.2 miles in one day. I wasn’t really sure I could do it until I did. And then, when I did, I figured that I would get hooked and want to do it again. the answer is, naturally, YES. I don’t want to do it lots of times in a year, mostly because I’m not physically in any shape to commit to doing more than once a year. But I’d like to work on that. I’d like not to be a size 14/16 forever. I’d like to look at my legs and see muscle, not jiggle over muscle. Also, I’d like to be able to do that marathon again this year and not spend the last mile of it limping from hip pain.

The only way I see this happening is if I actually commit myself to training better and harder, and the only way that will happen is if I find some kind of way to push myself to go to the gym even when I’m tired, even when I’m worried about how to get dinner to the table on time, even when I know it may mean that I’m bringing work home at night when I’m too tired to think. I still haven’t figured out how to do this, but I have less than 8 months to do it.

Recovering from walking the walk

Posted on by — 2 Comments ↓

I was reminded this weekend that I had yet to post about what it was like after the walk. That was actually a tough thing all in itself, in a way that I totally hadn’t expected. As I mentioned on my last post on this subject, when we finished the marathon, we were both fairly lame – hobbling (or at least moving very slowly) back up the street to get to our car. Since my left leg was the one that was pretty tweaked, I was able to drive home. I even had the energy to do the 35 minute drive (yet another thing I hadn’t really thought about beforehand). The first problem occurred when we got home.

That day, the weather was really just perfect. It started out in the mid-to-upper 40’s (F) when we got walking, and it was in the upper 60’s by the time we finished. Since it had been fairly warm for weeks, we hadn’t bothered to turn on the heat. Why would we? Well, when you get home from a marathon, and your house has been sitting unheated, in a state of relative coolth, that can pose a problem. We walked in the house and we were both freezing cold. We turned on the heat and immediately put on an extra layer each, walking around the house in an attempt to warm up.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and just decided to take a shower. DH had done some flipping around on-line when we got home and learned a few key things. First off, apparently you should have someone who DIDN’T do the marathon around you for at least the first 12 hours following a marathon, to observe and assist, and to make sure that you don’t do anything stupid. It seems that marathons mess with your systems enough that you may have reduced capacity to make good decisions. Oh goody.

Second, you should only take a lukewarm shower afterward, because a hot shower can trigger more lactic acid production and cause even more problems for you. This really didn’t make me happy, because the only shower that I like is the shower that you consider a few degrees below scalding. I just can’t take cold or lukewarm showers.

So, I went into our room and started to undress to get ready for the shower. This is where things went awry. All of a sudden, I realized JUST HOW cold I was. (Hint: really f***ing cold.) I took the lukewarm shower, as instructed, my teeth chattering like one of those cheesy little toys the entire time. I was miserable, and I hadn’t felt this awful about a shower since the time I took a cold shower when dd was a baby and our (now prior) water heater was incapable of supplying any more hot water that morning. I got out of the shower, dripping wet and completely incapable of doing much about it – I was so cold I was shaking, and I could tell that my blood sugar was dropping like a stone.

Now’s as good a time as any to mention that I’m mildly hypoglycemic. I learned this when I was in college and I discovered the down side of not eating breakfast before getting up early to work the breakfast shift at the campus student union. (Nurse at Student Health Center: “Please drink some OJ.” Me: “No, thanks.” Nurse: “Your blood sugar is 40. Please drink some OJ.” Me: “What does that mean?” Nurse: “You should be unconscious right about now.” Me: “Oh. Sure, can I please have some OJ?”)

I realized my blood sugar was dropping badly and that my ability to communicate that was lowering almost as rapidly. I got dressed in a couple of layers, including fleece pajamas. DH came in to check on me and I kept telling him how cold I was. He thought I felt warm to him, so he went looking for a thermometer. The practically new-in-packaging thermometer registered something in the 104.8F range (wholly unbelievable). He was pretty sure he was low, so he took his own temperature, and he registered something like 102.8F. In both cases, we thought the numbers quite unlikely (I’ve had fevers up to 105.6F, so I know what they feel like, and this WAS NOT it), so we decided to ignore the thermometer and just get something to eat.

I limped my way out to our den. DH had offered to make me a snack, so I asked for a pizza (we always have small Weight Watchers or Lean Cuisine ones lying around); it’s one of the foods that routinely stabilizes my blood sugar. Trouble was, there wasn’t enough time to wait for the pizza. So, I had DH bring me some apple juice to kickstart my blood sugar, and then I had a couple of small pieces of the pizza. A little more juice and some Smartfood popcorn, and I was feeling more human. That’s all good, considering DH isn’t used to seeing my blood sugar dip too much, and he was ready to call for the ambulance. In truth, he could have called the ambulance, and all they would’ve done was push sugar; there wasn’t anything else to do. Drinking the apple juice was the best way to handle that in a DIY fashion, and I really didn’t want to have to go to the ER. Of course, you could chalk that up to “reduced capacity due to marathon”, but hypoglycemics and diabetics who are used to keeping on an even keel learn how to manage their body and listen to it when it tells you something. If I thought that the hospital was required, even in that level of haze I would’ve said so. Had I been unable to speak, it would’ve been a moot point.

DH recovered more easily than I did, mostly by virtue of his having been a runner for so long and being in better physical shape. Still, we were both achy and twingy for a few days. His aches were gone sooner; by about 4 days post-marathon, I was back to normal. Much of the recovery process involved trying to rehydrate and keep ibuprofen in my system nearly continuously. Once DH did the lookup on his food-tracker app, we realized that we probably burned something like 1200-1300 calories walking the marathon – which explains why my blood sugar went haywire after I’d eaten something like 2 peanut butter sandwiches, 2 pieces of larabar, some peanut butter crackers, a granola bar, and two bananas (plus some Gatorade and water). That’s really not a lot, when you think about it.

All in all, I think it was a decent enough recovery, but parts of it were concerning. Obviously, we didn’t think through the after-period nearly as well as we should have – but we managed to muddle through it. Next time, I’d do more to stabilize my sugars post-race (although I’d still avoid the clam chowder that someone rather insanely thought would be fun to give away at the finish line…ugh). I think the big lesson learned here is that you can’t plan enough for something like this. You can get yourself psyched up, geared up, and trained for a marathon. You can even walk a marathon. But, once you’ve done all of that, your body needs to recover, and the recovery is something you can’t really skimp on except at your own peril. Lesson learned. Next time, we’ll be better prepared.

For, you see, even as I thought about it days afterwards, I’m starting to solidify in my mind that the odds are there will be a next time. Perhaps even next year. It may be brave and crazy, but next time, it’ll also be better planned.

Walking the walk…all 26.2 miles of it (part 2)

Posted on by — 2 Comments ↓

(this is a continuation of a prior entry – click here to read part 1)

Mile 12 – Mile 21

We stopped at a nutrition station that I had erroneously thought was a halfway marker (turns out it was more like mile 12). Stretching ensued, along with changing of socks and munching on the peanut butter sandwiches that I’d made for us before we left in the morning. I felt refreshed, and I hoped that things would improve. At this point, I strapped on my headphones, hoping that the sounds coming from my freshly loaded iPod would distract me from any further discomfort and get me walking on a rhythm. By the time we made it to the lunch area setup somewhere in mile 14, I was hobbling. The pain in my left leg was astonishing and nearly crippling. I limped my way to the medical tent, but they told me that they couldn’t dispense any medication. Fortunately, an angel of a walker overheard my plight and offered me as many as I would like from her bag of ibuprofen. I took three from her, thanking her profusely, and moved slowly and carefully up the hill through the lunch tent to grab a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

By now, my spirits were considerably lower. I was focusing on using my breathing to get me through, because the walking was so painful. About 45min to an hour after we left the lunch tent, the ibuprofen had kicked in and nearly completely removed the pain in my hip. The pain in my knee remained, but it was dulled slightly. I could walk, but I didn’t have much of a head of steam anymore.

Oddly, Heartbreak Hill and the other hills of Newton, MA, were no particular trouble; I think the change in gait that was needed to propel me up the hills was enough to give my hips and knees a rest from the repetitive stress of doing the same movement over and over again on the flat distances.

When we made it to the end of mile 21, we were astride Boston College, a former stomping ground of mine from my Masters degree days. And this is where I hit the wall.

Mile 21 through the finish

I sat down to stretch at the next-to-last nutrition station, on the side of the campus, and I realized that getting up was going to be a lot more difficult than I thought. DH was ready to continue walking, although by this time he was tired and not feeling 100% either. I paused for a moment. I could either stop right there, giving in to the fact that I didn’t think I could take another step, or I could ignore that feeling, will my feet to move and see what happens. I chose the latter option.

Once I started walking again, I realized that I was getting small blisters on my feet. They were nothing compared to what I’d endured in those bad sneakers during my training, but they were adding more annoyance to the journey. Add to this the fact that the ibuprofen was wearing off prematurely, and I was moving only based on sheer will. Since this is a walk that’s done on sidewalks (no roads are closed for the walk), we were required to stop at every red light that we came across. Early on, this was no big deal, but when you have only minor momentum and you’re five miles from the finish, every little stop is a small attempt at defeat, chipping away at your resolve and your ability to keep the head of steam going.

Every mile marker was an inspiration, begging us to keep moving. By the time we were coming into Kenmore Square, a mile away from the finish, we were both moving slowly…but still moving. Coming down Boylston Street didn’t give me nearly the victorious feeling I expected, until we were crossing Dartmouth Street from the Boston Public Library into the chute to the finish line. It was amazing. It was impossible. We had finished.

After the race, we sat on the grass and stretched for a while. Then, hoping we had enough left in us to get there, we limped our way back up Boylston Street for the block it took to get to Marathon Sports, where I bought the two of us “26.2” stickers for our cars. I so badly wanted to earn that sticker, ever since I first learned about the walk, and I was going to use whatever energy I had to get it.

We then gingerly made our way back to the car (parked in a garage a couple of blocks away), and I drove us home. We hadn’t really considered whether or not either of us would be able to drive after the race, and I was truly grateful that my LEFT leg was the one that was tweaked and that I drive an automatic transmission car. If I had a manual transmission, getting home would’ve been one tricky proposition.

We drove home, tired, incredibly sore, and very happy to have finished it. And that’s where we got to the part we hadn’t bargained on, the hill we hadn’t anticipated climbing: what happens AFTER you do a marathon.
Next up: Recovering from the marathon