Last winter I trained for a half marathon. My longest run was about 13 miles. No problem. Loved the training. So much so that over the summer I trained for a marathon, and became obsessed with the long, long run. Those near mystical two to three hour runs through Southern New Hampshire that carry you through as diverse a landscape in your personality as they do through the geography of the state. Those long runs meant so much to me that after my October race, I decided to do another marathon right away. I wrote Hyannis on the calendar for February, and here I am, with a few weeks left of the main training cycle before the taper.
And I’ve learned something about myself. Those magical three hour summer runs? In the winter, to me, they feel like hard, ugly slogs. And I say “to me” specifically because some people may love them. I don’t. A snowy eight miler? Fun! Twenty? Not so much…
Maybe it’s partly because the weather has been so bad this winter; I haven’t had a long run on a sweet, warm(ish) blue sky winter day, it’s been a lot of snow and wind. Maybe it’s because it’s been so dark (these long runs have all been early in the morning or late in the day, so much of them in winter-dark roads dodging the headlights of glare-invisible cars, thank heaven for reflective vests and gear). The dark was not an issue during half marathon distance training runs. And perhaps because of the combined conditions, I’ve been wrestling with injuries a lot more frequently than during summer training. All of which leads me to the conclusion that I like marathon training in the spring, summer and fall. Winter is nice for shorter runs through snowy streets, maybe some speed workouts on the treadmill, and a glass of Scotch by the fire with a good book.
At the end of my long run last night, a truism occurred to me that may or may not be true for anyone else. Summer long runs feed the spirit; winter long runs test it. (I must be careful not to downplay how hard summer long runs can be as I recall them through the haze of nostalgia; they can provide their own share of brutal times.) At mile 16 last night I came to an intersection. Turn right, and the house would be an eighth of a mile up the road. The plan? Turn left and run two miles out in the other direction, then come back. I stuck to the plan. But it wasn’t easy. I had to keep reminding myself that what happens in the last few miles of a long run is the whole point of the long run. All those miles before the last ones are solely to get you to those final miles, which are the ones that are training your body to endure the rigor and exhaustion of the marathon. It was only that thought, of having wasted all those other hard miles, that strengthened my resolve enough to turn left and not right and press four miles further into the darkness. I tried to take a swig of water but the nozzle had frozen up. A few minutes later, the left lens fell out of my glasses. I finished the run in a strange blur, or maybe I should say more of a strange blur than I was already running in anyway.
I am going to finish training for Hyannis, and run the best race I can. But despite the pleasure and benefit some of this winter’s training has provided me so far, I still can’t help but wonder if it will be the last time I schedule a race that requires training long miles in the winter. Late spring and fall marathons and frequent short mile running in the winter may be more my bag. Or maybe I’ll finish this training cycle, run this race, and next summer find myself romanticizing the charms of cold, dark winter runs as I plod through three hours in scorching, dehydrating dust-choked heat. Ah, sweet memory!
Tags: marathon, Running, winter
Good job getting it done. Yes, the memories (and stories) are better than the actual experience. But there’s no other way to make memories…