Grandma's recovery, both mentally and physically

The first few days of recovering from a marathon is kind of an odd time. On the one hand, you know you shouldn't be running because your legs are probably shot. But on the other hand, you're so used to going out for a jog on a regular basis that you forgot what it feels like to do otherwise.

It's been four days since Grandma's, but it seems like it's been closer to a month. Most of the time has been spent reading (just finished "Born on the Fourth of July"), watching movies (forgot how good "The Graduate" is) and catching up on sleep. You might say that I'm going through running withdrawals: I feel like I need a fix, even if it's going to hurt.

But my brain knows better. My legs are still feeling the effects of the race and my feet have been in and out of ice buckets ever since I limped across the finish line on Saturday. My psyche is still recovering from Grandma's too, as the results of the race have indeed bruised it.

I'd be lying if I said that Grandma's went according to plan. Ever since I started training for it late last fall, the goal was always to run it in 3:10:00 or less and qualify for Boston Marathon. I logged a lot of hard miles for it (ending at more than 1,100, averaging about 34 a week), I dropped weight for it (grand total of 18 pounds), and I burned through lord knows how many running shoes. It was pretty much a 'Rocky' montage of running for eight months.

But a Boston-qualifying time just wasn't in the cards for me that day. The aches and pains of running became too much for me around Mile 17 and I spent the last nine miles rotating between running, walking and conversing with other runners who had fallen back in the race. Every attempt to take off running was met with either the sharp pain of leg cramps or the steadying pain of the blisters on my feet. My dreams of sprinting across the finish line were instead replaced by the reality of limping across the line like a cross between Fred Sanford and The Gimp from 'Pulp Fiction.'

I wound up finishing 3:30:35, not a bad time by any means and also an 8-minute drop from the time I got last year. But it wasn't the time I was shooting for after all those months of training. Like anyone else who's ever worked hard for something, you can imagine my disappointment.

However, after giving it time to marinate over the last few days, I've come to accept and be proud of how I did. Sure, it wasn't the time I was shooting for, but like everything else in life, races don't always go according to plan.

I still had a lot of fun in Duluth that weekend (thanks again to my cousin for letting me stay at her place) and enjoyed every minute of competing in a race that had 5,500 other runners in it. I'll never forget the sight of all those runners lining up at the start of the race, and I'll never forget the relief of seeing my dad and my girlfriend at the finish line after it was all over.

Besides, life goes on. Rather than dwelling on what could've been, I plan on spending the next few weeks getting reacquainted with my bike and getting ready for RAGRAI next month. After all, the bike isn't going to peddle itself across Iowa.

As for taking another run (no pun intended) at a Boston-qualifying time, I haven't decided yet on signing up for the Mankato Marathon. Like any other running hobbyist, I'm excited for the prospect of a road race in my own backyard. However, it's going to take some time to talk my legs into another 26.2 miles of torture.


*Note: The photo in this post is of me running Grandma's, courtesy of (aka stolen from, I don't like paying $15 a photo) marathonfoto.com. Amazingly, this photo doesn't show me grimacing in pain or walking.

Leg pains: profound. Grandma's Marathon: complete

I just got back to the place I'm staying in Duluth after running Grandma's Marathon this morning. Since my legs are pretty much useless at this point, I might as well give a few notes and observations about the famed run along Lake Superior.

• First off, fantastic venue for the course. Maybe I'm weird, but running alongside a lake has always been something that makes me run better, and there's no lake quite like Lake Superior. There were several beautiful viewpoints along way and the lake was almost always visible. The course was also fairly flat for most of the way. Several experienced runners warned me about Lemon Drop Hill, but aside from it being after Mile 20, it wasn't anything too daunting.
• The only other marathon I did was last year and had all of 180 participants in it. In fact, the largest race I've ever ran in prior to today had about 1,500 runners. So you can imagine the culture shock I had with seeing nearly 10,000 runners at the starting line. It literally looked like a sea of people.
• This was the first race I've ever competed in where they had a "beer" option at the later water stations. Considering how my race was going (more on that later), barley and hops was the last thing I needed.
• Aside from it being a popular marathon in the area, part of the reason I signed up for Grandma's was it's famous (or infamous, depending on your opinion) downtown scene following the race. Since it's 3:00 p.m. now, I obviously haven't ventured downtown yet for the evening. But from what I saw at the finish line, Grandma's didn't disappoint. A live band started playing early in the day, restaurants in the area were busing at the seams with people and the beer tent at the finish line was churning out cups at a frantic pace. Despite being worn down from the race, I'm actually pretty excited to hit up downtown later.
• As far as how my race went, I was doing quite well for most of the race (kept pace for a 3:10 finish until around Mile 18). But around Mile 17, my left foot started to feel like it was on fire. At Mile 19, I took off my shoe and my worst fears were confirmed: I had a massive blood blister on the ball of my foot. If it had happened later in the race, I might have tried to run through it, but since I had 7 miles to go, I settled into a running/walking combo that pretty much killed my chances for a good time. Making matters worse, both my legs started to cramp up terribly around Mile 24 and I pretty much couldn't shake the pain for the rest of the race. Despite all that, I finished with a time of 3:30:34, not the time I was shooting for, but all things considered, I'm satisfied with how I did.

Now that I've typed out some of my thoughts, an ice bath and a nap awaits me.

Taking the big step: registering for the race

Personal trainers will tell you that the hardest part of getting into an exercise routine is getting that first workout under your belt.

I won't disagree with that notion. It takes a lot of effort to change your habits and talk your body into a new routine. The first time exercising after a long relapse can be about as fun as pulling teeth for even the most seasoned of workout junkies.

However, allow me to introduce a close second on the difficulty scale for getting into a workout routine: signing up for that tough race.

The race doesn't have to be anything special. It can be a 2-mile run, a 5K, a mini triathlon, a wheel chair race, a crab walk race, whatever. All that matters is that it's a race that will challenge your abilities and force you to train for it to some degree. That way, by signing up for it, you're setting a goal to shoot for and pushing yourself beyond your comfort level to reach that goal.

Registering for a race is a huge step. It means that you've committed yourself financially to that race and feel almost obligated to get in shape for it as a result of that commitment. Nobody wants to spend money on something to give a half-hearted effort, right?

Anyone can talk about running a race, but very few actually follow through with it. The reasons for for a person backing out of it endless. Maybe they can't find a friend to train with or run the race with. Maybe they just don't have the time for it. Maybe they don't want to put their body through the abuse. Maybe they'd rather spend their money on something else.

Whatever the case, consider yourself in the minority if you actually work up the ambition to sign up for a race. By signing up, you've pushed yourself beyond the talking phase and are one step closer to actually competing in the race.

I bring this up because yesterday, after spending the last three months training and the last several weeks talking myself into it, I finally registered for Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, thus committing $90 of my own money to run a 26.2 mile race this summer.

"Do I really want to put myself through this again?" I thought to myself. "Wasn't one marathon enough? It took a week to walk normally after the first one for God sakes!"

I literally spent an hour contemplating this while staring at the registration Web page of Grandma's. Heck, it took me two weeks just to work up the courage to LOOK at the registration page. I've ran my fair share of races, but I still get weak in the knees when I think about running a full marathon.

My first marathon went well, but it challenged me physically and mentally in a way that I'd never been challenged before. It exhausted me in all ways possible. It was as if my brain had just gone through college finals week and my legs had just been run over by a bus.

Alas, the ambitious side of me (or masochistic side, depending on your interpretation) won over and I signed myself up for another five months of long runs, ice packs and Ibuprofen. But it'll all be worth it when I cross the finish line on the North Shore, find my friends and go out and celebrate a race well-ran.

I'd say that's a good use of $90.